Good Enough Read online

  Days at Tresillian are filled with therapy: both group sessions with and without partners, and plenty of one-on-ones with counsellors and psychologists. Through activities with the counsellors we learn to look at our ‘little people’ (never ‘babies’) with fresh eyes. We play games in which we are asked to describe our baby’s personality in three words (THE BLOODY ANTICHRIST doesn’t cut it here, so I go with stubborn, dramatic and miserable) and in another we have to list everything we see, hear, feel and smell when we hold our little people. Looking at my little one kicking away in her onesie, I break out into a big smile, and lo and behold, Cella smiles right back. Somewhere along the way, I’ve begun to enjoy her and I didn’t even realise. We both begin to relax and on cue, Cella begins to sleep a little better. ‘She was just reacting to you and you were reacting to her, and you were both caught up in a vicious cycle,’ says one nurse, making me feel just that little bit more shitty.

  On my final night of Tresillian, not long after the partners meeting ends, a distressed mother turns up at the front door in the middle of the night threatening to kill herself unless she gets urgent care. An ambulance is called and she is taken away for psychiatric evaluation and as precarious as the woman’s situation seems, I think she’s an absolute hero for seeking help. She could have just as easily been the woman we tut-tut over in the newspaper, the one who drowns her baby in the bath or buries it under the house. And I know how easily any one of us could become that woman because I’ve been there myself.

  Am I depressed and if so, how do I seek help?

  How do you know if you have postnatal depression? The Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale is a set of questions designed to evaluate whether new mothers have depression. All you have to do is circle the number next to the response closest to how you’ve felt over the past seven days. Then it’s a matter of adding up your numbers – the higher the score, the more likely it is you’re depressed. Don’t consider this a diagnosis; however, if you have a score of 10 or higher, it’s important to see your doctor as soon as possible.

  Do you have these symptoms?

  Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale aside, if you’ve had any of the following symptoms for longer than a two-week period, you should also contact your GP for a consultation:

  * Feeling sad or down.

  * Loss of interest or pleasure in your usual pursuits and life generally.

  * Loss of motivation.

  * Loss of self-esteem and confidence.

  * Negative feelings such as feeling guilty, angry, hopeless and helpless.

  * Social withdrawal.

  * Suicidal thoughts or ideas.

  * High levels of anxiety.

  * Poor concentration and memory.

  * Insomnia.

  * Panic attacks.

  * Loss of appetite.

  * Weight loss or weight gain.

  * Reduced libido.

  * Fatigue/loss of energy.

  The Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale*

  1. I have been able to laugh and see the funny side of things.

  0 As much as I always could

  1 Not quite so much now

  2 Definitely not so much now

  3 Not at all

  2. I have looked forward with enjoyment to things.

  0 As much as I ever did

  1 Rather less than I used to

  2 Definitely less than I used to

  3 Hardly at all

  3. I have blamed myself unnecessarily when things went wrong.

  3 Yes, most of the time

  2 Yes, some of the time

  1 Not very often

  0 No, never

  4. I have been anxious or worried for no good reason.

  0 No, not at all

  1 Hardly ever

  2 Yes, sometimes

  3 Yes, very often

  5. I have felt scared or panicky for no very good reason.

  3 Yes, quite a lot

  2 Yes, sometimes

  1 No, not much

  0 No, not at all

  6. Things have been getting on top of me.

  3 Yes, most of the time I haven’t been able to cope at all

  2 Yes, sometimes I haven’t been coping as well as usual

  1 No, most of the time I have coped quite well

  0 No, I have been coping as well as ever

  7. I have been so unhappy that I have had difficulty sleeping.

  3 Yes, most of the time

  2 Yes, sometimes

  1 Not very often

  0 No, not at all

  8. I have felt sad or miserable.

  3 Yes, most of the time

  2 Yes, quite often

  1 Not very often

  0 No, not at all

  9. I have been so unhappy that I have been crying.

  3 Yes, most of the time

  2 Yes, quite often

  1 Only occasionally

  0 No, never

  10. The thought of harming myself has occurred to me.

  3 Yes, quite often

  2 Sometimes

  1 Hardly ever

  0 Never

  * Cox J, Holden J, Sagovsky R. (1987) Detection of postnatal depression: development of the 10-item Edinburgh postnatal depression scale. Brit J Psychiatry 150: 782-86.

  Treatment methods

  Mild to moderate depression responds well to cognitive behaviour therapy, which is often thought to be the most effective treatment because changing the way you think can often change the way you feel and view the world. Medicare rebates are available for many treatments. Speak to your GP about your eligibility.

  Medication, in conjunction with counselling, is often recommended for those suffering from more severe depression. Although taking antidepressants while breastfeeding is met with trepidation by some mums, experts who specialise in breastfeeding and medications say much of this concern is not supported by scientific evidence. Once on medication, however, it is imperative you never suddenly stop taking it. Speak to your GP for advice.

  If you’re someone who would feel more comfortable trying natural remedies such as St John’s wort for mild depression, you should always discuss this with your GP as some remedies can interfere with contraceptives and other medication.

  Looking after number one

  No, not your baby, YOU. It might defy nature, but you know how flight safety videos show you how to place your own oxygen mask first so you’ll remain fully functioning to be able to look after your child? It’s a bit like that. Here are some tips on making sure you’re fully functioning now you’re a mum:

  1. First up: Make peace with the fact that parenting a baby is bloody demanding and you are NOT going to love it 24/7 and that’s okay. You are not a failure if you find it hard to cope at times. We all feel that way but, sadly, most of us are too afraid to admit it. Not me though. If you’re having a hard time coping, give me a call and I’ll shout you a beer and a hug, no problem.

  2. Embrace your inner woman by unleashing the gift of the gab. We all have it and although it’s painful to admit your perceived ‘failings’, trust me when I tell you not a single woman on the face of this planet is going to judge you. We’re too busy worrying about our own mothering skills. By speaking out, you’re not only letting others know you need support, you’re actually also helping other women feel more comfortable about coming out.

  3. Prioritise your mental health. Baby has needs and we all know that, but so does mummy. Let your people know that regular time-out is vital and – here’s the most important part – take it. Take it and run!

  4. Know the saying ‘it takes a village’? Well it takes a village to look after mama too, not just baby. Ask for help if you feel like you’re drowning, or if you’re too proud, at least accept offers of help. Even if it’s something as simple as bringing over a dish or doing a load of washing, it will make a difference.

  5. Practise the art of relaxation – it’s often the first line of defence against depression.

  6. Try to get some regul
ar exercise when you can. Even if you’re not a fan, exercise stimulates the pleasure centres in your brain, which helps to improve mood and eliminate stress-inducing brain chemicals. Even popping bub in the pram and going for a long, brisk walk can do wonders.

  7. Keep an eye out on your new mum friends, too. Regularly check in with them and ask how they’re doing (never ask them outright if they have postnatal depression or that you think they might have it as it may be too confronting). If you’re sensing a social withdrawal or any other concerning behaviour, ask them if they’d like you to accompany them to the GP.

  8. And lastly, keep an eye on your partner. Postnatal depression in men is on the rise (studies show 9.7 per cent of fathers suffer from it in the first year) and while it’s likely to be more gradual with them, they are far less likely to talk about it. While having a partner with PND is the strongest predictor a man will have it, it can also occur independently as men grapple with emotions of feeling trapped, excluded or resentful of the baby, plus unmet expectations for the resumption of sex (including fear it may never return to normal). Look out for: increased anger and conflict; increased use of alcohol and other drugs; frustration or irritability; violent behaviour; weight loss; becoming easily stressed; increased impulsiveness; feeling discouraged; and increased complaints about physical problems.

  Need help?

  Australian Psychological Society psychology.org.au

  beyondblue National Depression Initiative beyondblue.org.au

  Black Dog Institute blackdoginstitute.org.au

  Lifeline lifeline.org.au

  PANDA (Post and Antenatal Depression Association) panda.org.au

  Co-sleeping, moi?

  I’ve been planning this shopping trip for weeks. With the kind of military precision of which an army general would be proud, I’ve circled items in catalogues, phoned ahead to clarify price discrepancies and wrangled a ‘take no shit’ friend, Lucy, to help me fight the powers of the assistants’ sales pitches. For today I am on a mission to kit out my baby’s nursery.

  It doesn’t take me long to go into overdrive. Within minutes of entering the overpriced baby goods store, I purchase a cot that transforms into a single bed, piles of organic cot sheets and blankets (because their successful marketing campaigns have convinced me that the fibres in standard items will only serve to give my baby cancer), a car seat and what appears to be the world’s most expensive mobile – a Mozart-playing number with all sorts of crazy patterns and textures on it so baby will be mind-controlled into going to sleep. Little do I know at this point that car seat aside, I will eventually grow to despise all of these purchases. Cots that turn into beds are, quite frankly, shit, and you’re better off just buying a single bed when the time comes. Standard cotton sheets do NOT cause cancer – I mean, we spent our babyhoods sucking on the bars of our lead-painted cots and we’ve turned out alright, haven’t we? As for that mobile? Bloody awful. In a few months’ time, I will eventually fling it across the room in a fit of rage and replace it with a $15 wooden ladybird piece my daughter will love. Standing there in the middle of the store, however, I am still pregnant with all of this ahead of me.

  My huge pile of items threatening to topple over at the register, I’m about to pay when I realise I’ve forgotten all about the bassinette. I race off with Lucy screaming at me from behind, ‘STOP! Some babies don’t take to bassinettes so you’re better off just placing baby in a cot from the get-go!’ She catches up to me and tries to wrench from my hands the tiny bassinette sheet set I’ve picked up. ‘And besides,’ she adds quietly, ‘the baby may even end up sleeping in your bed with you, so why waste the money?’ Well, she might as well have hit me over the head with a hammer. I drop the items and turn to stare at her, saucer-eyed. ‘Oh, don’t spout that hippy shit with me, Luce,’ I laugh. ‘Do you honestly think I’m the type of person who wears a baby to bed and breastfeeds a kid who’s old enough to eat steak with a knife and fork?’ I’ve heard about this attachment parenting malarkey – sleep-deprived women who’ve chosen to drop out of mainstream society only to spend their days marinating themselves in patchouli oil and sitting around on woven rugs shouting about bringing down the new world order, right? I’m onto them.

  The way I see it, this baby has three options: sleep in a cot placed next to our bed, sleep in a cot in her own room, or sleep in a bassinette in our room. ‘I’ll take this one too!’ I tell the sales assistant, pointing at an overpriced bassinette standing nearby. ‘According to SIDS, having a baby sleep in the bassinette by your bed is the safest bet so that’s what we’re going to do,’ I say somewhat haughtily, as I open up my purse yet again. ‘And you know what?’ I add. ‘The tail does not wag the dog in our home!’ Co-sleeping? Ha! I don’t think so.

  THREE MONTHS LATER

  Right, is it just me, or is the phrase ‘sleeping like a baby’ the biggest crock of shit you’ve ever heard? If you’re one of the 5 per cent whose baby began sleeping through the night at two weeks, this mightn’t mean much to you, but for women like me, ‘sleeping like a baby’ has come to mean waking up every two hours to squawk, cry or scream, and baby doesn’t sleep much either. Where is this drugged-out baby they promised me in my baby-care classes? It turns out sweet, adorable baby Cella has no plans to go gently into that good night. She won’t go kicking and screaming into that good night, either. In fact, some nights I fear the only way she’ll see that bloody good night at all is through the use of chloroform and a rag and I suspect that’s a pretty big DoCS issue.

  The bassinette – that over-priced, twee piece of shit mocks me from the corner of my room where it sits largely unused. Cella, accustomed to the lofty surrounds of my five-star uterus, refuses to set one tiny toe in it, recoiling at the horror of it all as though I’ve suggested a nightly stay at a budget motel. Night after night, it’s the same old story. I sit in the darkened room, breastfeeding her until her eyes roll blissfully into the back of her head. Once she’s sleeping soundly, I pluck her off my nipple, and place her into her bassinette before gently tiptoeing out of the room. I don’t even get halfway down the hall before a massive ‘WAAAAHHHH’ alerts me to the fact Mademoiselle has woken and she is not at all happy. Heart sinking, I walk back into the room, pick her up, settle her once more and place her back into her bed. But again, she starts up like a siren. This goes on for hours until exhausted and somewhat drained of my will to live, I wrap her up like a mummy and cart her into bed with me. There, nestled in the crook of my arm like a football, a newly contented Cella visibly relaxes and immediately falls fast asleep, with Lee and me not far behind. And ladies and gentlemen, this is how we inadvertently become co-sleepers.

  Although it is immediately clear to us that the ‘baby sleeping in our bed’ thing works a treat, I’m still determined not to be ‘that’ person so I try to get her to sleep in her bassinette a few more times. Obviously I think throwing money at the situation will solve the problem so I buy a few more new blankets and a new mattress but nothing seems to work. The minute I place her in anything soft and cushiony, she begins screaming like holy water is burning her Satanic soul. But when I tuck her into my bed? Complete silence, and a willingness to go all unconscious. Suddenly a light bulb goes off above my head. If this is the only way any of us are getting any sleep in this house, then a family of patchouli-wearing, rug-weaving co-sleepers we shall become.

  Decision made, I consult the SIDS website to get up to date on their co-sleeping recommendations. I’m aware there are benefits to co-sleeping; several studies have demonstrated that babies who sleep in close proximity to their mothers have better outcomes relating to successful initiation and duration of breastfeeding, for example, and there have been many sleep experts who insist newborns who share a bed with their parents are safer than those who sleep in a cot. But I’m still a little concerned about – oh, you know – accidentally killing my child, which is a real risk when you take to bed with a little one in your arms. Through better education, SIDS-related deaths have decreased 80 pe
r cent since 1989, although there’s enough evidence to suggest sharing a sleep surface with a baby – particularly a newborn – increases the risk of SIDS and other fatal sleeping accidents. While there are days when I want to kill her, this does not exactly make my heart sing with joy and I fear we’re doing completely the wrong thing.

  Fortunately, the SIDS website is a godsend and says as long as you’re not affected by drugs and alcohol (tick), don’t smoke (tick), don’t tuck baby into the covers (tick), sleep her on her back (tick) and make sure nothing can cover her head such as pillows or a quilt (tick), you should be okay. Being me, I still can’t help but worry – that list of things that can go wrong is pretty damn long (and ugly). The most common risks include rolling onto the baby while you’re asleep, particularly if you’ve had a tipple or two, popped a Valium, or like most mums just haven’t slept all that much the past month or two. Entrapment is also common, as is the danger of baby becoming wedged between the mattress and another object such as a wall, suffocation from pillows or blankets, or getting their head stuck in bed railings. You could go crazy thinking about everything that could go wrong so I decide to stop dwelling on the what-ifs. Besides, if this all feels so right, how could anything be wrong?