And so we arrive at my last installment about my post natal depression experience. Once we had packed belongings for myself and Lincoln (yes, that’s what so special about the Brisbane Centre for Post Natal Disorders or BCPND, baby gets to come too) we were on our way to the help we needed. It had been a long and exhausting day and I was completely spent as we made our way in the dark to the Belmont Private Hospital where the centre was housed. I was shown in by a friendly and bubbly midwife who gave me a brief tour of the facility before showing me to my room. I was asked to fill out various forms but because I was so tired I was literally falling asleep between forms. Eventually the task was completed and I was fed some toast before we settled Lincoln in the nursery. A very weary Dave said his goodbyes and I prepared to go to sleep for the night.
Despite being exhausted, sleep was difficult as I was away from Dave and I could hear babies crying, but I eventually drifted off. I was woken during the night by a midwife bringing Lincoln to me for a breastfeed. Heartbroken that I couldn’t, I mumbled “I don’t breastfeed” before falling back to sleep. The apologetic nurse retreated and gave Lincoln some of my expressed milk. When morning dawned and I awoke I was once again gripped by anxiety. Feeling a desperate need to run from my life, I bolted out the front door, stopping as I reached the driveway. Knowing that there was nowhere to go I sat down in the gutter and cried. A very gentle midwife followed me out and escorted me back inside, soothing me as we walked. The early morning is a blur to me. I went through the motions while my emotions tumbled about inside me. I was frightened, I was miserable, and I didn’t want my baby.
As luck (or providence) would have it, there was a Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) course beginning that day for BCPND patients and I was ushered along. Introducing ourselves, I heard myself say “My baby wouldn’t breastfeed and when he rejected me, I rejected him.” Introductions over we moved on to the interesting part – learning how our thoughts control our emotions and ultimately, our actions. When it was morning tea time I went back to the ward to check Lincoln. He was sound asleep and absolutely gorgeous. I held the side of his crib sobbing because I could see he was so beautiful, but I just didn’t want him. I went back to group, eager to learn what I could. When we broke for lunch I again returned to the ward. This time Lincoln was in the lounge area, propped up in a baby rocker. He looked so small, and lost, and alone that my eyes welled up as I cried for the little baby who wasn’t wanted. He was due for a feed, and mustering up all my courage, I informed the staff that I would like to attempt breastfeeding again. Everyone was eager to support me and I was made comfortable in a cosy chair in the nursery kitchen area. Completely topless and surrounded by midwives and a breastfeeding consultant I was ready to face my nemesis.
My first attempt to attach Lincoln was as devastatingly fruitless as the last. Despite holding him correctly, attaching him correctly, and in all respects having the correct method, Lincoln would not attach. Feelings of pain and anger tore through me as I conceded defeat. But the staff didn’t give up. Again and again with their help I attempted to feed my baby. Again and again Lincoln failed to attach, and then finally, 15 minutes after our first attempt, Lincoln attached! Pure joy flooded through me as I sat, a women contented, breastfeeding my beautiful baby. When it came time to change sides, Lincoln attached straight away and fed to his heart’s content. As I made my way from the room that day I felt as though I was floating on air. An important step had taken place, I had bonded with my baby. It was a proud and relieved Dave who visited that afternoon to find his happy wife cradling a satisfied baby, both happily breastfeeding.
All was not smooth sailing from that point on though. I was still wrestling with the fear of looking after a baby, and it became apparent that Lincoln’s feeding difficulties were not over. For each and every feed for the next five weeks, Lincoln would take at least 15 minutes to attach. It was only ever on the first side, once he had fed from one breast, he would happily attach and feed from the other with no complications. Sometimes it took longer to attach, occasionally 30 minutes, on one occasion an hour, but I knew if I persevered he would eventually get it and all would be well. It became one of my favourite things to do to make myself comfortable and enjoy 45 minutes of breastfeeding bonding. The helping hand and support I received from the staff at BCPND along with medication to manage my anxiety and depression were the first steps to my recovery and the beginning of my new life with my family.
