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May is Mental Health Month
May is Mental Health Month. I believe everyone has had to cope with a mental health issue. Everyone. When I was a brand new Mom, more than fifty years ago, I got home from a five-day hospital stay (which was kind of standard in the olden days) and everything about being a parent came rushing at me. Where was my baby who slept blissfully during the day? Where was my baby who didn’t throw-up after every feeding? Why didn’t someone tell me about lava-rrhea? Even though I was one of seven children and had helped many times with the care and feeding of younger siblings, I was at home with my own child. Not the same game. Not the same league. I knew nothing about my own child. I actually knew nothing about being a parent. I was completely overwhelmed and, not so slowly, my coping mechanisms began to shut down. I could barely take care of myself, and now I had a newborn who relied on me.
Postpartum depression is a mental health issue.
I had a mental health issue. I couldn’t eat. Getting out of bed was a tremendous effort. I was always tired. I became obsessed with germs and was fearful one of us would die because I hadn’t cleaned or sterilized or washed, or cooked something properly. Responding to a crying infant was almost beyond my ability. Preparing formula was angst-ridden. What if I didn’t boil everything long enough. What if I forgot I had an infant? What if I ran out of diapers? What if I’d breastfed? What if I never felt a deep connection to my child. My depression wasn’t helped by people who thought I should “buck-up” and be grateful for a healthy, beautiful newborn. Those people made feel “ungrateful”. I felt helpless, stupid, foolish and, mostly, ashamed because I was barely coping. Gradually, a few friends and some family, convinced me I obviously had a character flaw because I wasn’t a Poster Mom. Stories were about a cousin, or friend of a friend, or a neighbour who really loved their baby. It sounded as if “some people” saw me as incapable of loving my baby. I was a Postpartum Depressed Mom. I felt sad, anxious and overwhelmed. I wanted to scream to this person, or that person, “I’m not feeling blue. It isn’t baby blues”. The best I could do was try to keep the tears at bay and offer a little smile. Had there been an Internet, I would have been able to see I wasn’t alone. I was vaguely aware that people suffered from the trauma, drama and hormones of giving birth. But in the 1970s the best I could hope for was one of us—me or the kid—would sort things out. One day we’d be okay. Until then?
Well, until the moment during my twoweek postnatal checkup the Doctor M. asked me if I had any questions. I mumbled something about feeling sad and tired. His response was three-fold. Firstly, he said he hoped I wasn’t asking for “happy pills” because I was far too young to need anything like that. I wasn’t asking. And, believe it or not, I had no idea what he was talking about —”happy pills”? Then he suggested I should be happy there wasn’t anything wrong with our son. Apparently there were women who would be happy to have a newborn who cried a lot. When I told him I was tired all the time, he told me to sleep when the baby was sleeping. Our precious newborn baby didn’t sleep much. I went from not eating to overeating and being a zombie. And then?
And then, about five months after our son was born we moved to the County. On top of postpartum depression I suddenly had to deal with being in a new community, living in a rural rental, having a party line, not having public transit, not having a job, being far from my home and a new Family Doctor who told me I was being dramatic. Now I’m pretty sure there were lots of people who had mental health crises living in the County but they sure weren’t going to talk about it, especially not to someone who wasn’t “County”. Postpartum depression, like any mental health concern, was something a person often had to deal with alone because a new mom should be grateful. When I look at my children now, I know they’ve had to cope and were afraid to “say what”.
So, here’s to understanding, to compassion and here’s to empathy for those among us who may be fighting alone.
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