THE DARK TIME ENDS AT LAST

As suddenly and inexplicably as it had descended, my depression began to lift.  I was weaned off the anti-psychotic (I had never been psychotic) and told I could go home Monday with a prescription for an antidepressant.  Paul was overjoyed as being both Mommy and Daddy had been very difficult.  Jeanne had not been allowed to come and visit me.

On Saturday night the patients and staff had an unexpected treat.  Two singers came with their own pianist and we all gathered in the big room where we had our snacks.  The singers were from Melba's church and were fantastic.  They sang selections from the musical Show Boat and I was enchanted.  I was thrilled that I could actually feel enchanted--any feeling but despair and acute anxiety.  The gentleman possessed a deep, resonant voice and ended the performance with a stirring rendition of Old Man River.  There was enthusiastic applause and calls for encores (from me) and they were more than happy to oblige.  Even the shut down patients were clapping.  The couple asked Melba to sing with them and to no one's surprise Melba was fantastic as the trio sang a medley from Show Boat.

The kitchen had outdone themselves with snacks and gorgeous cupcakes were the crowning glory.

The ice had surely been broken and I had a wonderful time and I'm pretty sure everyone else did too.  Melba made sure no one felt left out.

On Monday I packed my little suitcase, hugged Melba and told her she should be on Broadway.  Paul and Jeanne were waiting for me downstairs and I went home at last.  Although I have experienced brief periods of depression and anxiety since then, I never again felt the crushing despair and persistent pessimism of those dark days.

There were consequences, however.  For two years after I left the hospital I brought singers from the Players where Paul was director who gladly sang for this special audience.

And years later I went back to school, finished my BA and earned an MA in Counseling and worked as a psychotherapist for 36 frustrating and fulfilling years.  At some point I ran into my former psychiatrist and I told him of my new profession.

He smiled and murmured, "It's about time."

A VERY DARK TIME - Part 2

I don't know how long I was in the hospital.  At first, I slept all the time, but then they began decreasing my dosage a bit and I went to Arts and Crafts.  I tried to make things but it felt like my  fingers were sausages and I kept dropping my little piece of leather on the floor.  I was hopeless.  Of course, now I love arts and crafts.  The psychiatrist seemed to recognize talents in me I didn't know I had.  I was asked to take an elderly widower for a walk and it went very well.  Every day after that he and I walked together.  Then I was asked to play shuffleboard with a suicidal teenaged boy which I was happy to do as I really liked shuffleboard and was a pretty good player.  But my severely depressed young man was a shark and soundly beat me every single time.  He would hit the disk so hard that I thought he would split it.  We played in a long hallway with the court painted on the floor.  Our violent play stopped traffic and the drugged patients just stood by, watching, until the game was over and then they scurried down the hall, probably on their way to making small leather pouches.  

There was never conversation of any kind during our intense play, but one day he said, "I'm going home tomorrow."

I just stood there, but I realized I would miss him.  "Oh," I said.  My slowed down brain could think of nothing to say.

Then, "You're a really good player."

His expression didn't change, but he said, "Yes.  I know."

Every evening we all met in the common room for snacks.  Our gathering was presided over by a big, smiling, good-natured Black nurse whose ready laugh warmed the room.  Her name was Melba and I wanted her to be my grandmother; everyone did I think.  That night I noticed a very old lady spreading peanut butter on a napkin and I was afraid she would eat it.  She did eat it.  I jumped up, ran to Nurse Melba and whispered, "She's eating a napkin with peanut butter on it."

She gave me her big, generous smile and said, "Help me up, Baby; I got a bad knee."  So, together, we walked over to the lady who was ripping up her napkin sandwich into small pieces.

"Now, Honey, let's get you some bread that's easy to eat.  Here, this bread is real soft; I'll put some peanut butter on it.  This kind don't have any nuts in it.  Should be easy to eat."

The elderly lady took a bite and smiled.  "It's real good."

Thank the Lord for Nurse Melba.  I went back to my seat and bit into a chocolate chip cookie.  When I looked around the room, I saw the Wonder Boy of Shuffleboard looking at me.

He smiled.  HE SMILED.

TO BE CONCLUDED

A VERY DARK TIME

The day we took our baby home was bitterly cold for Florida.  We bundled Jeanne in tiny sweaters, booties, a hat and many receiving blankets to shield her from the icy wind.  In her short life Jeanne had only experienced warmth.  When the cold hit her little face, her eyes widened and she looked at me very intently in disbelief.  What in the world was this?  I held her close to me to protect her not only from the freezing cold but from everything else in the world that could possibly hurt her.

The euphoria I felt in the hospital was gone.  I felt anxious and inadequate.  How could I possibly care for this helpless infant?  I was frightened and tearful.  I experienced a feeling I had never felt before--despair.  But I said nothing to Paul.  I fed my baby; I changed her; I sang little songs to her; I washed her tiny clothes.  I held her in my arms, but inside I felt nothing but panic and despair.  What was wrong with me?  I couldn't sleep at night so I got up for all Jeanne's feedings.  We sat on the couch as she drank from her bottle and I cried silently.

The days dragged by and I was no better.  I asked Paul to call the doctor as something was very wrong.  I heard him talking to Dr. Scott in a low voice and I tried not to scream.

"The doctor thinks you have  post-partum depression.  He wants me to take you to the hospital right away."  How could I go to the hospital and leave my baby?  Paul's mother came over looking terrified and took Jeanne from my arms as I cried.

Dr. Scott met us at the hospital and conferred briefly with Paul and a psychiatrist.  I had shut down completely and just stood there like a sleepwalker.  This was fifty years ago and there were very few antidepressants available, so I was given a anti-
psychotic and slept thirteen hours.  Even now, so many years later, I can still recall the unrelenting terror of that time.

                                     TO BE CONTINUED

WE SEE OUR BABY AT LAST!

Jeanne was brought to us (finally) bathed and dressed and hungry.  Paul and I were ecstatic as I fed her the tiny bottle of formula and looked into her huge aquamarine eyes.  I had never seen eyes that startling color before and I prayed they would stay that intense blue-green, but they did not.  Within a few weeks Jeanne had brown eyes like me, but she was a gorgeous baby girl with perfect skin, dimpled hands, downy brown hair and a lovely smile.  Naturally, none of the three other babies in the room could compare to our baby who we knew was extraordinary.

Grandparents arrived who were as smitten as we were and pronounced Jeanne perfect.  Many, many flowers were delivered from our relatives and friends until I felt I lived in a fragrant garden.  I missed my baby when she was taken back to the nursery and eagerly waited until the next feeding.

Only one thing marred the perfection of these few days.  It was a cold, cold February and late at night the temperature in the room dropped.  We new mothers were told that each and every time we used the bathroom, we had to take the pitcher of  icy green liquid antibiotic and hurl it onto our most private parts.  Each time I would delay as long as possible before dousing myself with the near freezing liquid.  What fresh hell was this?  Who had devised this fiendish plan?  If I didn't do it, would they KNOW?  There were probably hidden cameras!  So I would hold my breath and pour it on with my right hand, try to muffle my screams with my left hand and then hobble back to bed, my thin ugly hospital gown offering no protection from the icy cold whatsoever.  Once back under the covers, I thanked God for creating warmth, surely his most wondrous invention, except for babies of course.

To be concluded

A NEW BEGINNING - Part 2

The next half hour went by very fast.  I was rushed to the delivery room and given something to wear on my wrist.  If the pain got bad, I was to breathe in some gas. Unfortunately, as soon as I went out my arm would drop and the pain was still there!  Dr. Scott came rushing in still wearing his golf clothes beneath his gown and got to work.  I was asked if I wanted a mirror placed in front of the birth canal.  Being squeamish I really didn't want to know just what was happening, so I declined while screaming.  A few minutes passed during which I was not brave.....and then Jeanne Kathryn Bressoud arrived.  I was overjoyed.  I was allowed to see her for about a nanosecond before she was whisked away (things were very different then). At some point I was given something to stop my milk from coming in and I don't recall giving my permission.  It was just assumed new mothers would NOT nurse and we were given lots of formula upon leaving the hospital.  Mother/baby bonding apparently had no importance in those days as I did not see Jeanne for hours.  I was whisked out of the delivery room and left in the hall as it had all happened so fast there was no room ready.

I saw Paul coming down the hall looking cheerful.  He began telling me a funny story about something that happened at dinner. Finally, I interrupted with "Are you excited?"  He looked confused.  "About the baby being a girl?" "What?" I began to wonder about his mental health and then I realized that he didn't know.

"Jeanne has been born, Paul, while you were gone!  Didn't anyone call you?"

A huge grin lit up his face.  "The baby is a girl?  She's here?"

"Yes, she's here.  It happened very fast. They don't even have a room ready for me. I'm so happy! Isn't it wonderful?"

"Yes!!"  Paul actually jumped into the air.  I could not believe my eyes.  We both started laughing and acting like fools.

              TO BE CONTINUED

FEBRUARY 22, 1967--A NEW BEGINNING

On the morning of February 22, 1967, I was awakened by a slight, but significant pain.  I woke my husband, Paul, immediately.

"I have a pain!" I cried.  He looked bewildered and his blue eyes slowly closed.  "Wake up," I cried.  "Today is the day and I have a pain."  His blue eyes slowly opened.

"Have you taken some aspirin?" he said reasonably.  Was the man simple?

"Today is the 22nd and I have a pain.  It may be labor!"  He immediately snapped to attention and started running around the room, looking for God-knows-what.  Probably his clothes.  "Should I call Dr. Scott?"

"Yes, call Dr. Scott!" he said and lit a cigarette.  "I'll make coffee and you call Dr. Scott and ask him what to do."

"Do we have time for coffee?" I said. "What if the baby is coming now?"

Paul inhaled deeply and thought about this.  "I don't think it happens that fast."

"No, surely not," I said.  All I could think of was Prissy in Gone With The Wind screaming, "I don't know nuthin' 'bout birthin' babies!" (It was 1967.  We didn't know this was racist.)

Dr. Scott was quite calm and said we could meander down to the hospital any time now.  It would be a while before the baby came.

Seven or eight hours later I had still not had a serious pain and was laughing and joking with the Candystripers.  Paul had hoped for a little action by now and he was becoming increasingly anxious.

"Paul, go on over to your parents' house and have some dinner.  I think it's going to be a while yet."  Gratefully, Paul sped away to the safety of his mother's dinner table.  Since there was absolutely no drama, the pretty little Candystripers lost interest and wandered away.  I was quite cheerful.  What was all the fuss about childbirth for heaven's sakes?  I burrowed under the covers with Cosmopolitan and Helen Gurley Brown, hoping to find an article about sex.  I soon found one entitled 27 Positions for Blissful Sex and I settled down for a good read when....

            Oh, my God! I yelped.

Was this was they were talking about?  Suddenly, I wanted to put a knife under the bed to cut the pain in two.  Good Grief!!  This was terrible!  After two more earth-shattering pains I called the nurse.

"And how are we doing, Miss Linda?  Coming along are we?" she said, smiling broadly.  How dare she smile?  Suddenly, I disliked her intensely.  I was suffering and she was all sweetness and light.

"I think my baby is coming!" I loudly announced.  "In fact, I'm sure of it."

"Oh, let's not jump the gun, Sweetheart. This is your first and I don't think--"

"Would you check," I said through gritted teeth.  "I can feel it coming."

Nurse Ratched laughed merrily as she pulled aside the covers.  "We'll just take a little looksee and you can calm down oh my God it IS coming and Dr. Scott is at the golf course it's Wednesday."  Nurse looked stricken.  "I'll just go and call him," she said and departed with all possible speed.

I was alone with my baby ready to pop out into the world at any moment.  I crossed my legs and prayed. Out loud.  

              TO BE CONTINUED
                  



"

GOING HOME

 Paul and I were driving down the highway in Ohio after a wonderful visit with his brother, George, his sister-in-law, Leigh, and their beautiful children.  Leigh was pregnant again.  We had a fine time and hated to leave except that we were going home at last to start our new life together. Chatting and laughing, we sped down the highway toward Florida when suddenly everything changed. We heard a terrifying noise as another car crashed into ours and we turned over and over and over until at last we came to a stop in a ditch with the roof of our car on the ground and broken glass everywhere.  I was in shock and could not understand what had happened.*

                                           

     Paul was unhurt and climbed out the window.  I could hear Paul talking to me, but I couldn't understand what he was saying.  I heard sirens approaching. Someone was lifting me very gently and placing me on a stretcher. I was dimly aware that I was in pain and covered with broken glass. Blood was everywhere.  Paul was talking to me, telling     me not to worry; I would be all right.  

                                 

I remember nothing of the ambulance ride to the hospital; I barely recall the hospital. There was pain and blood and X rays. I kept saying my neck hurt. And my back.  I was given a pain shot followed by euphoria.  I smiled at Paul who looked stricken. I saw that he was talking to a doctor but I drifted off.

            

We went back to George and Leigh who graciously took us in.  Paul bought a new car and we drove to Sarasota.  My neck still hurt.  A couple of weeks later we received pictures taken by the ambulance people of the wrecked car, me being lifted out of it; Paul standing by looking anxious and a man in a suit who looked.....guilty.  Later we learned that it was he who crashed his brand new car into ours.  He wanted to see how fast it would go.  Apparently, pretty fast.

*These are not the real pictures of our crash.  Ours were much more frightening, but they have disappeared in the mists of time.  And my neck still hurts.