'Descending into deep depression'


In 1987 (I know a long time ago) I went into labour with my son, Jack. It lasted a long time, 40 hours I think. Its all rather hazy now but I remember wanting to die, willing myself to die to stop the pain. He had a very big head and they couldn't get him out. I wouldn't go from 6 centimetres to the the 10. it just went on and on.

Everything hurt even my teeth...I remember Drs coming into the room and saying she is too tired to go on. We'll give her another hour then we will have to take her down for a section. All I could think of was please let me die, please. Then the shifts changed for the nurses, it had happened a few times whilst I was there. A nurse came in - she was the type you don't mess with. She took control of the situation, somehow; how? But the lady informed me the baby was coming out before 9pm or she wasn't a midwife. She turned me onto my side put my leg over her shoulder and she (god bless that lady where did she come from) along with my mother somehow got him out.

All I could hear were was their two voices, my mother screaming at me and the lady ....I just wanted to die, I could feel myself floating in and out of reality...at 8.43pm I gave birth..... I couldn't look at my child. Yes, I felt responsible for him, I would have defended him with my life, but somehow I didn't love him, not for a long time.

We had no connection, no bond. He cried a lot, all the time. He wouldn't breastfeed. But screamed for food all the time, taking 2 ounces max then falling asleep. I descended into deep depression. A black hole that still today I crawl into. I looked at all the other mums they seemed to be doing it right. Why couldn't I get it right? Why didn't my baby look at me and love me like all the other mums had their kids look at them. I tried so hard. And so it continued for me and my son, for quarter of his life and for the best part of mine. No connection. Nothing. I blamed myself. I was a crap mum.

Twenty seven years later, I studied a Psychology BSc degree. There, in the pages of the book was my son........... at twenty eight he was diagnosed as severely autistic. There was his huge head, there was the reason he didn't feed, there was the reason he never looked at me, there was the reason I had no connection to him, except this feeling of responsibility. There was my answer. We have never looked back. But, if I had just one wish left in this life, I wish it could have been different. x

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