Emma
WE CALLED her Emma, which meant complete, and rightly so, because she made us complete.

She made our family whole, and that was what I wanted, desperately wanted, I realized, so that the nagging I felt at my core would wane as soon as it had come.

Emma, our beautiful Emma, was born on October 1, 2000 and weighed nine pounds, three ounces.

My husband, Nathan, and I were as happy as ever with our new bundle of joy that was the perfect addition to our new life that began one year ago.

“She has your eyes,” Nate said for the millionth time, as we cuddled her between us in bed a few days later.

I smiled as I stared at him staring at her, and a million things went through my mind.

In that instant, the feeling of happiness and contentment I felt was replaced by worry and apprehension of the foray that faced us, that faced me.

Would I be able to do this?

Would I, Mrs. Karen Palmer, at only 23-years-old, be able to take care of this tiny person?

Would I be a good mother and wife?

Could I…..

Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe.

Na-a-a…Na-a-a…Nate!

In an instant, he rushed over to my side.

“Baby, baby what’s wrong?”

“I ca-a-a-n…I can’t breathe,” I choked out.

“Look at me!” he said in earnest. “Calm down. One, two, three…ten.”

It took me a while, but I finally started breathing normal again, and as I looked into his eyes, I saw that he was nonplussed.

“I am okay,” I assured him.

Or so I thought…

Over the next two months, it came at me real fast… the mood swings; the tearfulness; the loss of interest …and the fatigue.

But most distressing were the feelings of guilt, because I could not take care of Emma or my husband… or even my home.

Arrg! I screamed one day while sitting by myself, and sent a plate lying on the table catapulting off the kitchen wall.

And then I broke.

The weeping walls closed in around me and I surrendered, my only refuge the distant hope that I will get over this.

“I will be okay,” I mumbled to myself. “I will be okay.”

There and then I decided that I wanted none of this.

I would have my way; I would have my family back.

The next day, Nate seemed even more confused than ever at my about-face, since he was not exactly oblivious to the behaviour of my ‘other self’.

But I was okay now, and sent an impish grin in his direction, hoping it would convey the same.

It worked, because he smiled and leaned in to kiss me with a fierce passion.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said simply.

I smiled.

As I resumed my daily routine that day, I set Emma down for her afternoon nap and stood by her crib to stare at her.

“She was so beautiful, so precious and….” my thoughts wandered.

As my gaze shifted, I was abruptly brought back to the present as I stared into the mirror on the wall on Emma’s room.

“Who are you?” I demanded.

“What are you doing here?”

The woman there just laughed an eerie laugh.

“You know the little bugger is the reason you’re so miserable,” the stranger drawled, pointing at Emma.

“What are you saying? Emma!” And protectively, I shifted my arms around my baby girl.

The woman stepped forward to me.

I backed up a bit.

I was stepping towards the nursery door, baby in hand.

“I can take care of that little problem for you; I can help you, and give you back your life. Just give me the child.”

I was shocked into silence, and could only stare at her in horror.

This was my baby: How could I give her away? I would not!

As if the acknowledgement was a trigger, I readied myself for a fight.

I would protect my baby, whatever the cost.

We were still playing cat and mouse, me backing up, and she advancing. So when I spotted a break, I made a mad dash for the door, running downstairs, Emma clutched close to my bosom.

As I reached the living room, I could hear the fiend behind me.

How did she get in?

How….? But I didn’t have time for questions. So, pushing them to the back of my mind, I laid Emma carefully down on the sofa, still fast asleep.

She looked so peaceful.

And with that, I made the few steps into the kitchen and grabbed a knife.

She was almost to Emma, when I hurried back.

“Leave my baby alone!” I shouted.

But she just laughed, mocking me into a fit of rage.

And as she stretched her hand towards my precious baby girl, I plunged ahead, knife raised and cutting into the air before it finally ripped against skin…

I saw the blood before I felt the pain…

I had done it; I had saved my baby from the monster that wanted to take her away.

Writer’s Note:
All women are susceptible to postpartum depression, regardless of age, marital status, education level, or socioeconomic status.

Postpartum psychiatric illness is typically divided into three categories: (1) Postpartum blues (2) Postpartum depression and (3) Postpartum psychosis.

It typically emerges over the first two to three postpartum months, but may occur at any point after delivery.

The postpartum period is characterised by a rapid shift in the hormonal environment and symptoms include:

• Depressed or sad mood

• Tearfulness

• Loss of interest in usual activities

• Feelings of guilt

• Feelings of worthlessness or incompetence

• Fatigue

• Sleep disturbance

• Change in appetite

• Poor concentration

• Suicidal thoughts

Patients with postpartum psychiatric illness are offered a variety of services by clinicians with particular expertise in this area:

• Clinical evaluation for postpartum mood and anxiety disorders

• Medication management

• Consultation regarding breastfeeding and psychotropic medications

• Recommendations regarding non-pharmacological treatments