True to their word, Gerald and Judy turned up within the hour. Judy was carrying a tray of freshly made cupcakes, despite the sudden nature of my call. Gerald stood with his arms firmly wedged against his sides. His grey eyes held no warmth. I got the feeling he was here for Judy, not me.
By the time they arrived, I was feeling a little better. Just knowing that help was on its way eased the worst of the panic. I cradled Joseph in my arms as I showed them in.
“Would you like me to take him?” asked Judy. Actually, at that moment, I really didn’t. I was enjoying the comfort of my son’s warm body against my chest. Still, I felt it would be ungracious not to let Judy hold him when she’d come all this way, so I passed him over. For some reason, it felt like having a part of my body torn off. I shuddered.
However, Judy was an angel. She changed him, she settled him down for a nap, and she tidied my kitchen. When she suggested that I take a nap, I could have kissed her. It was exactly what I needed. I whispered, “Nighty night” to Joseph and climbed the stairs, safe in the knowledge that there was somebody there to look after him.
I had no idea that I would wake up feeling as though the world had tumbled down around me.
I opened my eyes; it was getting dark outside. I was disorientated. It took me a few moments to remember that I had a son. I mentally punished myself for forgetting Joseph, even for a second. But something else was bad too, wasn’t it? I remembered Simon. I hadn’t heard from him since he angrily marched out of my house saying that we hated each other. Was he ignoring my voicemail, or did he not get it? Both possibilities hurt.
This was a disaster. I had a son I couldn’t look after, and shared parental responsibility with a man who hated me. I tried to sit up but it felt like something was weighing down on me, forcing me back into the mattress.
I lay back on the bed. It felt as though the horsemen of the apocalypse were dancing around my head, as if my brain were the core of an apocalyptic carousel. Even thinking about my beautiful little boy could not urge me to get out of bed.
I felt foolish. How could I have thought that I could function without lithium? I had an incurable mental illness. How stupid I had been to even dream that I could live both medication and depression free. It was one or the other.
If I went back on lithium, I’d have to stop breastfeeding but if I stayed off lithium, I would not be able to look after him. Either way I would fail my son. What was the point of getting out of bed, when Joseph was going to lose, whatever I did? It was only a matter of time before I destroyed his life, one way or another.
I heard a knock on my bedroom door. “Can I come in?” It was Judy.
I hadn’t realised I was crying until I tried to speak.
The door slowly opened and in she came, alone.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
I couldn’t bring myself to respond.
“Can I get you a cup of tea?”
What would a cup of tea do? I had a life threatening illness, not a chill.
“Or a coffee?”
Still, I couldn’t bring myself to say a thing.
“Are you going to come down?”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I can’t.”
She was quiet for some moments. Finally, she said, softly, “Would you like us to take him for the night?”
“No!” I cried. What a vile thought! Suddenly the lethargy was gone.
“I’m sorry,” she said kindly, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“He’s only sixteen days old! I’m still nursing!”
“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to upset you.” She took my hand and looked at me with tenderness. “Let me go and get Joseph. He needs his mum.”
* * *
The following morning, things were even worse. I no longer suspected, but knew that I was a terrible mother. What sort of life would Joseph have with a bipolar woman? Any woman in the world would be a better mother than I ever could, with my mood swings and my temper.
I should give him up. I gulped. Was I brave and selfless enough to send him to a better life, away from me? Almost certainly not. Instead, I would stand in the way of his happiness for my own selfish gain, for years and years.
Perhaps the only way to secure Joseph’s happiness would be to take myself out of the equation altogether. There was that ominous word again, spinning on the horizon like a meteor waiting to strike – suicide.
I could hear Joseph crying in his cot. I desperately wanted to go to him, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t feed him with these thoughts in my head. The disease in my mind would pass to him through my milk as certainly as any lithium could. The last thing a mother wants is her baby on her breast and suicide on her mind.
The despair intensified; I couldn’t even feed my own son. There was formula in the fridge. That wasn’t diseased, was it? I could feed him with that. But then still, it would have come from my poisonous hand.
Eventually, I managed to pull myself out of bed. You’re not contagious. You’re not contagious. I took Joseph from his cot. I held him in my arms and a rush of chemicals flushed through my neural passages. The momentary boost from holding my son shook me into a moment of clarity.
The worst thing I could do, the absolute worst thing I could possibly do to him, was die. I wasn’t the mother I wanted to be, but I was a mother – his mother. My responsibility was not to free him of me; it was to get myself better. I had to rise above the depression, and get myself back to a place where I could care for him.
How did I usually combat depression? Lithium had been the most effective treatment, but there were other things that helped, techniques I’d used in the past to help me combat mood swings. Without lithium, the next best thing was regular sleep, and beyond that, regular meals.
My heart sank. How could I possibly have any sort of routine whilst looking after a baby who didn’t sleep through the night? He was less than three weeks old. These sleepless nights could go on for months, years even; all the while, I’d be getting sicker and sicker.
I couldn’t even contemplate months of depression. Today, only two days in, I was already having thoughts of harming myself. How could I possibly survive indefinite agony?
It was then that I realised what I had to do; a short term solution that would facilitate my son’s long-term happiness. I had to take Judy up on her offer. I had to let them look after Joseph overnight.
Chapter 11
My body said, ‘Stay in bed’. My brain said, ‘Stay in bed’. The tears screamed, ‘Stay in bed’. But my little boy, now painfully far from my touch, cried, ‘Get out of bed!’
I remembered my sacrifice – watching Gerald and Judy drive away with my baby felt like having my guts ripped out. The only comfort was the knowledge that I was doing what was best for Joseph in the long run. Were I to allow the depression to consume me now, my sacrifice would have been all for nothing. I had to get better.
With tears streaming down my face, I managed to shuffle my legs to the edge of the bed. Tentatively, I let a toe drop onto the floor. As I transferred the weight to my legs, I felt that I might collapse under the mass of negative thoughts plaguing me. I didn’t feel ready to get out of bed just yet but I could manage the other important task: calling the doctor.
Some three hours later, I managed to get out of bed, get myself dressed, and make the three-mile walk to my doctor’s surgery. Many of the homes I passed already boasted Christmas decorations. I felt so detached from the festive spirit that they merely looked garish and mocking.
Every step, every breath, was assisted by thoughts of Joseph. When, finally, the doctor was ready to see me, I knew what I had to say.
“I’m ready to go back on lithium.”
The doctor looked at me through her kind hazel eyes and smiled. She was an experienced GP perhaps pushing retirement, with grey hairs interwoven with chestnut strands from her younger days. I liked her a lot.
“Any particular reason why lithium?”
“It works.”
“True, you do get on well with lithium.”
“I know it means I’ll have to stop breast feeding, but honestly, I’ve been so ill that I think formula would be better for Joseph than my depression. He’s staying with his grandparents at the moment. Things have got that bad.”
“Simon’s parents?”
“Yes.”
“Have you seen your father?”
“He doesn’t even know I was pregnant.”
“What about Simon, where is he?”
“Antarctica.”
“Oh,” she said, looking slightly concerned. “Well, that’s certainly interesting.”
I smiled, weakly. I was far too tired to tell her about the ice marathon and its importance. I just wanted to get my prescription and get home, so that I could start recovering as soon as possible.
“Tell me, what’s been happening?”
“Well, my mood was all right immediately after the birth, as you know. Then, suddenly, two days ago I started feeling dramatically worse.”
“How has your sleep been?”
“Disturbed, naturally.”
“Well, the combination of coming off your medication and lack of sleep is almost certainly the cause of your low mood. What we need to work out now is how we’re going to get you better.”
“That’s why I want to go back on lithium.”
“There are mood stabilisers we could consider that would allow you to continue breastfeeding.”
“And you think it’s worth trying them?”
“Yes, but they probably won’t be enough to get you through this crisis by themselves. You’ll need regular sleep. Are the grandparents happy to keep helping out?”
“Yes, but I can’t be away from Joseph for any longer. It’s killing me.”
“Do you have to be away from him? Couldn’t you see him in the daytime?”
“Yes, I can.”
“Well perhaps that’s the best plan. Spend time with him when you can, but let them take care of him at night.”
The thought of another night away from Joseph was excruciating. I liked Judy; I admired the way she was with Joseph, but what if something happened? What if he needed something they couldn’t give him? What if they turned their backs for a second and harm came to him? It had been decades since Simon was born; what if they’d forgotten how to look after a baby?
“You’re worrying about him, aren’t you?” asked the doctor.
I frowned.
“You are doing your best,” she assured me. “That’s all anybody can do.”
* * *
Gerald watched me like a hawk as I rocked Joseph in my arms. I sang a little song – an improvised extended version of ‘Little Bo Peep’. I knew my voice was fractured and that tears were preparing to fall, but I sang anyway. I counted his little fingers and stroked the cute wrinkle by his left ear. He did look well. He gazed up at me. I wondered if he knew who I was and the significance of me leaving.
“He needs some sleep now,” said Judy, softly.
What? No. Judy didn’t get to say ‘He needs some sleep now’. That was my call to make! I felt my insides begin to curdle as she took him from my arms. Then she turned away, and I couldn’t even see him anymore.
“No!” I cried. The tears moistened my lower eyelids. “Not yet.”
I heard Joseph whimper and I wanted to go to him.
“Shush, shush, shush,” Judy sang to my son, ignoring me.
I turned to Gerald, “He doesn’t need to go to bed yet!”
Judy walked out of the door, her figure shrinking into the distance, ripping hope away from me.
I sprang up. “Not yet!” I shouted. I felt all the progress I’d been making dissolve. I was back to ground zero once again. I felt desperate and helpless. My breathing started to accelerate. I felt dizzy. I started stuttering reasons why he shouldn’t be in bed yet. I cried out his name …
When I felt Gerald’s arms on my waist, I realised that I was hysterical.
“No!” I sobbed. “He can’t go to bed yet!”
“Calm yourself!” shouted Gerald, firmly.
“We agreed that you would look after him at night,” I pleaded. “It’s only six fifteen!”
“This isn’t doing anybody any good,” he barked, forcing me down onto the sofa. “It’s not helping you and it’s not helping my grandson.”
* * *
I was in bits. Spending the day with Joseph only to say goodbye to him again had been torture. Watching Judy carry him away up the stairs had been as painful as watching their car drive away the previous day. Now I had to, somehow, manage a second night apart.
The little pill in my hand looked so insignificant; could it help to lift this dreadful, dark curtain and reunite me with my son? Well, it couldn’t make things any worse. I read the instructions on the packet: ‘Take with a meal’.
How could I possibly eat? No part of me was hungry. In fact, if truth be told, I felt a little sick. Not only that, but even emptying a tin of soup into a pan felt like it would take more effort than I could muster.
I wished that Simon were here. He wouldn’t be able to fix whatever chemical imbalance was assaulting my brain, but he might be able to make things a little better, and right now, any improvement would be welcome. I pictured Joseph reaching for Simon’s hand in the hospital; it was the most uplifting memory I’d ever kept.
Today Simon would be training in the Andes. I wondered how it was going. I would give anything just to receive a text moaning about his cold toes.
I looked at my phone. I knew where to find a website full of photos from the previous year. I found comfort in enjoying pictures of the locations where I knew Simon would soon be running, imagining the icy landscapes painting in front of his eyes.
Would he be thinking of me as he trod that frozen ground? Would he picture me in my house the way my mind’s palette brushed him onto these blue and white scenes? What would he think if he knew I’d handed Joseph over to his parents? Would he be furious?
Never mind what Simon would think, I’d done the right thing – the hardest option, but the right one. Then I had a moment of clarity – if I’d already done the hardest part, then I could definitely get through the rest. What was heating up some soup compared with saying goodbye to my son, twice?
I made my way into the kitchen and found a saucepan. I felt dizzy, I felt tired, I felt like going back to bed and never getting up again, but I was going to make that soup. And then, the next morning, I would get up and make myself some porridge. Because that was what I had to do. I had to go through the motions, no matter how exhausting they felt, until I was ready to be reunited with my son.
* * *
The doorbell rang. I sprang out of my seat before it had finished chiming. I stumbled as I rushed to the door. I scanned the frosted glass as I hurried down the hall. I threw open the front door. A rush of cold air stung my face.
The short, but solid figure of Joseph’s grandfather blocked the doorway – his arms empty.
“Gerald?” I uttered, my eyes hunting for my baby boy. “Where’s Joseph?”
“Can I come in?” He looked stern.
“Where’s Joseph?” I demanded.
He repeated, “Can I come in?”
I felt panic rising up through my body, one shivering nerve after another. “Where is Joseph?”
Gerald pushed past me and strode into the dining room, looking sterner than I’d ever seen him. His eyebrows almost scraped his eyeballs.
“What is it? Has something happened?”
“We …” he began. “Why don’t you take a seat?”
I sat myself down on the sofa, too concerned about Joseph to remind him that this was my house. My big turquoise eyes pleaded with him. What?
“I … We think it would be best if Joseph stays with us from now on.”
“What?” I breathed.
What did he mean ‘from now on’? Surely, he meant for one more night – just to make sure that I was fully re
covered. He couldn’t possibly mean …
“What do you mean?” I stammered.
“He’s going to live with us.”
What the fuck?
He said nothing, using the silence to tell me that the decision had been made. I felt the floor rumble beneath me. His silence was harrowing. How could the decision have been made? It wasn’t his decision to make!
“It’s not for you to decide!” I cried.
“You know it’s in his best interests,” he said. His voice held the same certain tones as Simon’s, but Simon had never used his to break my heart.
“But I’m better now!” I cried, trying to sound as calm as I possibly could. “Yes, it took me four days, but I’m ready to look after him now.”
“And what about the next time you’re ill?”
“We’ll deal with that if it happens!” I could feel my blood beginning to boil. I tried to calm myself down, to show how stable I was. However, no matter how stable you are, somebody taking your baby away from you is bound to destroy your serenity. “It’s not your decision!” I yelled. Then, with all the will I could manage, I said, as softly as I could, “Forgive me, I just love my son very much.”
“You haven’t seen him for two days!” derided Gerald.
“That’s because it was too hard for me.”
“Too hard to see your own son?”
“I came to see him, didn’t I?”
“Yes, once.”
“It hurt too much to keep saying goodbye, so I realised that keeping away would give me the best chance of a fast recovery.”
“You couldn’t wait to get rid of him,” he sneered.
“That is ludicrous! The only thing keeping me going has been thoughts of seeing my little boy again. Do you think, for a second, that I’d have handed him over to you if I’d known that you’d do this?”
“It’s all about what’s right for you, isn’t it?”
“Not even in the slightest! You think being separated from my son for four days was what I wanted? It broke my heart, but I did it because I knew he was better off with you.”
“Which is why he’s staying with us.”
“Simon will be back in three days. Do you think he’ll just happily let you do this?”
The Ice Marathon Page 8