Fight or flight mode. It’s our body’s way of protecting us against threats, an innate survival instinct kicking in. But I think there’s also a third option. One where you do neither of these things, instead becoming frozen, almost accepting of your situation.
It feels as though I’ve done nothing so far, which is why today I’ve found the energy to take action. Maybe this will be it, a way to climb out of this hole, instead of letting the soil bury me deeper.
The doctor’s waiting room is full today, and I sit in the corner, hoping to disappear into the wall. Perhaps when they call my name, I’ll stay silent and pretend it’s not me, and then when they’ve given up, baffled, I could get up and leave. This surgery is big and impersonal enough for me to do that.
‘Eve Conway?’
The doctor’s standing by the door, searching faces, and without wanting to I stand and make my way towards her, my legs taking control of my brain. Too late now. Too late for anything.
In her office, she introduces herself as Dr Humphreys, and I take a seat while she settles behind her desk, typing something onto her computer. ‘Now,’ she says, with a smile, ‘what can I do for you today?’
Even though her tone is friendly, for a moment I consider making up some problem with my periods or something similar, because it feels as though I will never get the truth out. But I’m here now – I have to keep going.
‘I, um, something… I’ve just had a baby and I think I’m really struggling.’ There, it’s done. Some of the truth, at least, is now out there and can’t be taken back.
Dr Humphreys stops typing and gives me her full attention. ‘I see. Okay, why don’t you tell me exactly what’s going on and then we can see how best to help you?’
Finally. Someone kind who can help me. So why does this fill me with dread? There are so many things I won’t be able to tell her, so how can she really help me? ‘I… can’t seem to bond with my baby. I know it can take time, but she’s nearly three months old now, and surely it should have happened by now?’
‘Not at all. These things can take time. It’s all perfectly understandable. Your hormones are still all over the place, and you’re a new mum on top of that. Who wouldn’t have a bit of a wobble?’ She smiles, and more than anything I want to believe her, and have faith that I can get help.
Now is my chance to tell her it’s more than this, so much more, to tell her the truth. All of it. Free myself from this prison I’ve created with my silence. But I can’t even form the thoughts, let alone say the words.
I lean forward and try to smile. ‘Yes, I know you’re right. It just takes time to get back to normal, then?’ I ask this even though for me there no longer is a normal.
She starts typing again, and I let myself get lost in the click of her nails on the keyboard. ‘I’m just going to ask you a few questions,’ she says.
Then she is asking me about suicidal thoughts and thoughts of harming my baby, forcing me to snap to attention. I can’t have her making a record of these things about me, there for medical staff to see for the rest of my life.
Lie, lie, lie.
‘No. Nothing at all like that. It’s more just feeling low and… not really coping with the newborn stage.’
Tap tap tap.
By the end of her questions she is smiling, and I feel as though I’ve just passed an exam. Any minute now she will congratulate me and hand me a certificate.
‘Well, judging from your responses, it looks like you could have the baby blues. It’s very common. You have no previous episodes of depression, so I’m fairly confident that this will pass if you get the right support.’ She opens her desk drawer and pulls out a card. ‘This is a free online counselling service where trained counsellors offer cognitive behaviour therapy. It’s all done on your computer or tablet whenever is convenient for you. I really recommend it. All sorts of issues can be addressed by CBT, and this online service is definitely the way forward. No long waiting lists or having to travel miles for sessions. Give it a go and see how you get on. But in the meantime, if you start to feel worse in any way, please do come back here straightaway.’
Nodding, I take the card and thank her, feeling even worse leaving her office than I did walking in. Because now it seems clear to me that there’s nobody who can help me.
‘Thanks for looking after her,’ I say to Mum. She’s rooting through her kitchen drawer while Kayla sleeps on a huge cushion on the floor. I should question Mum about whether she is safe lying there like that, but I don’t have the energy. Kayla is breathing, and Mum is right here with her.
‘What are you looking for?’ I ask.
‘A stamp. I know I bought some the other day and I always keep them in the drawer, so I don’t know where they’ve got to.’
It’s happening again. ‘I thought you kept them in your purse. In case you need one when you’re out.’ This has been what Mum has always done, so it’s strange that she’s questioning it.
‘No, I don’t,’ she protests. ‘I keep them right here. I always have done.’
‘Do me a favour, Mum – will you just have a quick look in your purse, just to humour me?’
She stares at me with wide angry eyes, as if I’ve just accused her of a crime. ‘Fine,’ she hisses, heading to the hall, where her bag sits on the phone table. ‘But I’ll expect an apology after, Eve.’
When she returns and delves into her purse, she frowns and pulls out a new book of stamps. ‘How strange. I must have put them there by mistake.’ She glances at me. ‘I remember now – I was really distracted that day and wasn’t concentrating. Well, at least I’ve got them now. How funny that I put them in my purse.’
There is no way I will point out that this is where she has kept them since I was a child.
Later, while we sit down with coffee and wait for Kayla to wake up, I ask Mum if she’ll make a doctor’s appointment. ‘Just so they can put your mind at ease… about these little things you keep forgetting.’
She stares at me. ‘What do you mean? What exactly are you saying, Eve? That I’m losing my mind or something?’
‘No, of course not, I just—’
‘I think you should go now,’ she says, standing up and taking my unfinished mug of coffee from me.
‘Mum, Kayla’s still sleeping.’
‘Just go!’ she screams, her voice a high-pitched screech.
Kayla’s eyes ping open, and she quickly begins to cry, the deafening sound mingling with Mum’s shouts for me to get out.
And as I drive home, with Kayla sobbing in her car seat, Mum’s behaviour, together with that text message, make my head feel like it will explode at any moment. And I drive far too fast, way too recklessly, my mind envisaging smashing at full speed into a lamppost.