The first time I was on a psychiatric ward I was just 29. Like most women I hoped that one day I would have at least one child, but when I was told that I had Schizophrenia and would have to be on medication for the rest of my life, it dawned on me straight away that this would make a pregnancy very difficult, if not impossible. All of the psychiatric medications pass over the placenta into the unborn child, and breast feeding is impossible. When I talked about this to my parents, my Dad said that he would get me a puppy, but it was hardly the same. I was so depressed over this. I know a lot of women cannot have children and they have to come to terms with it, but this fact does not make it any easier when it affects you personally.
My diagnosis of Schizophrenia turned out to be wrong. When I left hospital I felt so ill on modecate injections (I was not only zombified, but I had that awful inner restlessness which is a common side-effect) that I stopped having them. I then made a complete recovery, and was able to work full-time. My consultant then admitted that he had been wrong about me, that I was more likely a "manic depressive". The misdiagnois came about because of a student doctor constantly badgering me to admit that I had "heard voices". I never had, but because I wanted to please these doctors who had the power to let me go home, in the end I said that I had. The same doctor also asked me if I had been "high" when I was at College, prior to coming into hospital. I thought she meant "high" on illegal drugs, so I said "absolutely not!". On this very flimsy evidence my whole life was mapped out for me, I would be on medication for ever, or risk being ill and having to go through the whole dreadful hospital experience all over again.
Schizophrenics actually dream of being manic depressives, it is a much less serious diagnosis, and medication breaks, although frowned upon, are more likely to be possible. So now it seemed that having a baby might actually be something I could think about in the future.
When I was 34 I met a lovely man who I knew almost instantly I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. We are definitely soul mates. We got on so well that when people heard us laughing together, they said "I want some of whatever they are on"! He was tall, blond, handsome, with an unusual red beard, and he had a wonderful gentle nature, as well as being a bit of a hippie and into mystical things. Not only that, but he was half-Scottish, and I have always had an attraction to people with a Scottish connection. I am pleased to be able to say that we are still together today, 18 years later. We never bothered to get married because neither of us like the whole "wedding day" thing and consider it be be a waste of time and money. All those hats and tears - yuk!
We did not exactly plan to have a baby, but after a romantic week at a holiday cottage in Scotland, I found that I was pregnant. My son was the world's most wanted baby. I was so happy, I could hardly believe it, and after everything I had been through, it was like a miracle, my miracle.
I had a psychiatric social worker at the time, and she had helped me to get my first ever home of my own. It was a one-bedroomed flat which had just been built, and it so happened that Rebecca, my friend from hospital, was my next-door neighbour. The communal gardens behind the flats backed onto open countryside, and so they were always full of birds, and roe deer were regular visitors. There were unusual dark purple, and white poppies growing wild in the grass. Next to the gardens there was a school playground and the happy sound of children playing was wonderful. I used to love to sit at my desk writing poetry or letters, and looking out onto those gardens.
Soon after I had moved into my flat, I told my social worker that I was pregnant. Her reaction was not at all what I expected. She was not happy for me, there was no "Congratulations", only "How on earth are you going to cope?" My partner, Iain, had not moved in with me yet, and because of my mental health history, she thought I would never manage as a single mother. I think that all expectant mothers probably worry about whether they will be a good parent, but to be told before I even had the chance to prove her wrong, that parenting was not for me, was quite devastating. She even said, "You don't have to go through with it you know". She had recently had a baby, but had gone back to work and was happy to leave the child with strangers all day. I don't call that good parenting. I know some mothers have no choice but to work, but she had a husband with a good job and had no reason to carry on working other than, selfishly, not wanting to give up her career. I know this is an unpopular view to have, but young children need their mothers, or, at least, a parent, either the mother or father, should be at home, if only for the first five years. Well if she wanted someone else to witness her child's first step or first word, I suppose that was up to her. But she had a hell of a cheek to tell me I would not be a fit mother.
Without telling me what she intended to do, she filed a report with the children and families department at social services, with a recommendation that my unborn child be put on the "At Risk " register. This meant that a social worker in that department had to do a very detailed study about my family circumstances. The main worry was what would happen to the child if I had to go into hospital. My parents and Iain's Mum were interviewed as well as Iain and myself. It was a very stressful process to go through. Fortunately, Dr Longton was prepared to help me, and he wrote a letter saying that as far as he was concerned, there was no need for my child to be on the At Risk register. Without his input, the outcome might have been different, but the final report agreed with him. It was so awful for there even to have been an implication that my child would be in any sort of danger, even before I'd had a chance to prove that I could be a good mother. I was lucky that Dr Longton liked me. (When I was in hospital he said to my Dad, "We are all thinking that, if a nice person like Anne Brian is Schizophrenic, then we ALL want to be Schizophrenic".)
I also had a CPN at the time who was really nasty. When I told her I had given up smoking, and was reading books about child development, she said "So you think you're the perfect mother, do you?" My parents made a complaint about her
Up until the seventh month of my pregnancy, I had been completely medication-free. However, all of this unwelcome attention from social services took its toll, and, inevitably, I had a "breakdown". I had also had problems at my flat because most of the other tenants were only there temporarily, and they used to have loud music on and parties late into the night, and someone actually slashed all the tyres on my car. I also used to have my milk stolen all the time and parcels left by the postman were taken too.
My partner, Iain, moved in with me then, but I did spend a few days in hospital which was terrible because I had quit smoking for the baby's sake, but there was nowhere to go on the ward which was not full of smoke. People even smoked in the non-smoking areas. At least Dr Longton realised that it was not a good place for me to be, and I was not sectioned or made to stay. He had previously prescribed tablets for me, but I refused to take them because they looked like Ativan, and in the past I had a terrible time with withdrawal symptoms when I came off it. I also was not keen for my baby to be born addicted to Ativan. Dr Longton said that the tablets he had recommended were Ativan under a different name. They are often used in pregnancy because they do not stay in the blood for long and therefore are supposed to have less effect on the foetus than other drugs. When I explained my misgivings about Ativan, he said that I could have a low dose of Clopixol, in tablet form, instead. It was such a low dose that it did not really have much of an effect on the way I was feeling, and I did not really get well again until after Callum was born.
My labour was long and difficult, but it was wonderful to hold my baby in my arms. Iain was there with me, and afterwards he looked as tired as I did. Callum was delivered by a lovely big black midwife, he weighed nine pounds and he was born at 9pm. I did not expect to have such a big baby, so all of his first baby-grows were too small. I was not able to breast feed him because of having medication in my milk, but he thrived on formula milk. He was a gorgeous baby, at first his hair was dark like mine but it went blond later, and he had lovely blue eyes. When he was little he was full of fun and an absolute joy to play with. I never tired of playing with him, and I had a great book called "How to Entertain a Toddler" which suggested doing interesting things like going on a train journey or things you could make together. We both hated "Teletubbies", which was a big disappointment and not nearly as good as Playdays, which had been in that TV slot previously.
When Callum was seven we took him out of school and home educated him. He is a very bright and talented boy, and he found school frustrating and boring. He used to hide his shoes so that he would not have to go. He is 16 now and doing a diploma in Creative and Media at our local FE College. He is heading for a "distinction". He is an accomplished pianist, and writes pieces of his own. He goes horse-riding every weekend, and he's a great swimmer now, although he used to hate school swimming lessons. He has already written a novel and has begun a second one. He is planning to go to film school, and he would like to be a screenwriter. He was chosen to interview Kate Humble for the Radio Times "Kid's Special". He is very interested in birds and all wildlife, and he's vegetarian. I am so proud of him! He is a lovely lad and wherever he goes, people love him. He's the bright star in my life that makes all of my past suffering not matter any more.
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