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Whose baby?

When I looked at my son all I saw was a stranger...


Published by: Jessica Gibb
Published on: 19 January 2012

They say a mother's bond with her baby is unbreakable. But what happens if it's never there to begin with?
As I cradled my newborn, I reached for his bottle with shaking hands. It felt so alien and scary. He started to suckle, and I awkwardly changed my grip to support his head. ‘Is this right?' I panicked, terrified I'd drop the tiny mite.
‘You're doing fine,' reassured my husband Darrell. It didn't feel it. And now Ian was pulling away and crying. That was it, I was a useless mum.
‘You take him,' I cried to Darrell.
He was seven days old now, why wasn't I getting the hang of it? From the minute he'd been born, I'd felt like a fraud. I'd gazed down at his bright blue eyes for the first time, waiting for that rush of love people talk about, searching for something in him I recognised so I could feel some attachment to him.
Nothing. I'd felt like I was looking at a stranger's baby. ‘I've given birth,' I kept saying, but I couldn't get my head around it.
At hospital, I was like a robot as I bathed, fed and changed little Ian, going through the routine of tasks with no tenderness or feeling.
Soon, it was time to go home. I stood in the Winnie-the-Pooh nursery I'd spent hours preparing, and felt cold and empty.
As the weeks went on, I sat on the sofa day in, day out, frozen with paranoia. I was a bad mum. I couldn't love my child. I couldn't even feed him for fear of doing it wrong.
Darrell, 45, became a full-time dad, but even though I had barely anything to do with Ian, my anxiety grew. A trip to the shop made me shake with fear.
After six months, I was so sick with worry I couldn't keep food down. My weight plummeted to six-and-a-half stone. Darrell tried everything to get me to eat, from making me tiny portions to coaxing me with my favourite Pot Noodle.
‘If I eat that, I'll be sick,' I said, pushing away the mashed potato.
‘Why don't you have a nice bath and try to relax?' he said. His patience was amazing - and made me feel guiltier. He was looking after our son and me.
Soaking in the bubbles, candles lit around me, I closed my eyes and tried to relax. But the same niggles kept coming back. When would my mother's instinct kick in?
The next thing I knew, I was blinking my eyes open into a bright, white light.
‘W-where am I?' I stuttered.
‘She's awake! Call her husband,' I heard a woman say.
Confused, I looked around. Hey, I was in hospital. How had I got here and where... Oh God, fear gripped me. Where was my son?!
‘Ian?' I gasped, looking around frantically. ‘Where's Ian?'
A nurse ran over. ‘Debra, Ian's not here. You're on a ward at Chorley Hospital, your husband will be here with the baby soon.'
I sank back on my pillow. What had happened to me in that bath?! Minutes later, Darrell appeared, pushing the pram. I looked at Ian, and my eyes lit up - and a smile spread across Darrell's face. He put our son in my arms, and I gazed at him. ‘I missed you.'
‘What about me?' Darrell joked.
‘Of course you too,' I smiled. ‘What happened? The last thing I remember is being in the bath...'
‘I came into the bathroom to see if you were okay, and you were having a seizure. I got you to hospital - since then, you've been awake, but couldn't remember anything, not even your name.'
For five weeks I'd been in that state. It must have been awful for Darrell to see and, thankfully, I couldn't remember any of it. What had caused it?
‘The doctors said you'd been suffering postnatal depression,' he said. ‘And the overload of stress on your brain caused the seizure.'
‘So... how come I'm back to normal now?' I asked.
‘The only explanation is that you bumped your head this afternoon, on the shelf above your head,' he said. ‘It triggered a second seizure - and you got your memory back.'
The first thing I'd said when I'd come to my senses was my son's name. It was the first time I'd wanted him with me. I'd felt such panic wondering where he was...
Now he was in my arms, I felt calm in a way I never had before. The bond still wasn't there, but I felt like I was ready to build that connection. Suddenly, I worried about what I'd missed. ‘Has he started sitting up?' I asked.
Luckily, he hadn't - yet. After a few weeks of therapy for postnatal depression, I was sent home to bond with my baby. One day, while Darrell made dinner, I picked up a spoon and started feeding Ian. ‘Here comes the aeroplane,' I cooed.
Giggling, he put his hand in his mouth and threw the food back at me. Before, I'd have felt rejected - a failure. Now I laughed. ‘Cheeky!'
Slowly, my maternal instincts kicked in and I started taking over Ian's care. He was growing up so fast - before I knew it, he was one.
Then I walked into his nursery one morning. My little boy was sitting up, grinning at me. His arms reached towards me.
And that's when I felt it. That rush of love all mothers talk about. It was like nothing I'd experienced before. ‘Hello, little man,' I cooed, picking him up and taking him into the front room, where Darrell was watching TV. ‘I love Ian,' I beamed. ‘He's mine, and I love him more than anything.'
My beaming hubby jumped up and wrapped his arms around us. ‘I love you both so much,' he said.
Just a few days later, Ian took his first steps. I'll never forget my swell of pride as he toddled from one side of the room to the other.
After another year of therapy, I was finally told I'd suffered from puerperal psychosis. It's a severe type of postnatal depression which causes delusions and confusion.
Hearing that, some of my guilt faded away. I wasn't a bad mother, it was a faulty mix of hormones that had made me feel so anxious.
When I fell pregnant, after Ian's third birthday, I was nervous. Doctors kept an eye on me after the birth of Jasmine-Star, now five, but I only suffered mild baby blues. With Stephanie, one, I was fine.
Now I'm a mum to three beautiful children. I may have missed out on the first months of Ian's life, but now I treasure every second of motherhood.
Debra Dunn, 32, Chorley, Lancs