Flavia Guarino

I was not diagnosed with PND after my first baby, but I know I had it. I don’t remember much of my time with my little man. I know I loved him to bits, I cried a lot, and I don’t remember sleeping a lot and I remember severe pain after the birth for about eight months afterwards from a traumatic delivery. I’m so glad that I kept a scrapbook of the times we spent together.

I was , however diagnosed after the birth of my second little man…only because I was such a mess, on my own and the PND was rather pronounced…it was blatantly obvious! Medication and some dramatic life changes have seen things come full circle.

Due to the circumstances surrounding my marriage separation six months earlier, financial constraints and the diagnosis of PND I was privileged enough to be eligible to participate in a ‘Family Care Program’ through the local community health clinic. It involved a year of home visits by my clinic nurse and regular contact with a very special Social Worker. It is a program designed for at-risk families to ensure the well-being of both Mum and the little ones. I was beyond horrified that we were at risk. I needed help.

I counted it a privilege because I really didn’t get out of the house much for the first six months. I ordered groceries on-line if possible, I ordered bulk, frozen meals which were delivered, I would also order fruit and veges at my local green-grocer so that I only had to ask someone to pick up the box for me when they were going to visit and avoided answering the phone altogether because I couldn’t even handle the ’scrutiny’ of well meaning friends. The thought of large groups of people had me reeling into the nearest shoebox. Playgroup, church: basically any social gatherings were out of the question. I didn’t want visitors.

Boot camp–sleep erratically, wake, eat, wash and bed.

I needed help desparately and I would get extremely frustrated that people would want to come for a chat and see my new baby but were unable to see that I couldn’t even manage to organize meals for us. After a stint in hospital with a sick little baby at eight weeks old I was not coping. I was fortunate enough to have an old friend who had been overseas at the time swoop in to my rescue…she came and helped with my children, meals and housework twice a week for a couple of hours at a time after work for what seemed like and eternity.

I got in contact with my local church and they delivered meals every couple of days for months…my church delivery girl is now one of my very closest friends, I sought counselling through a different local church and they came to my house once a week for over a year without charge and lo-and-behold–one of my counsellors has become a very dear friend too! I was not a member of either church and found it completely humbling that so many compassionate strangers were available.

During my journey I managed to write Mummy, Let’s Go! and illustrate it which was therapy in itself. The guide and journal that accompany it came together later last year. As the divorce is now finalised, the children’s issues are tidy and the last of the settlement issues are being resolved it seems a lifetime ago.

I am now at a point where I wonder if I imagined all my distress…then someone will want to look through my manuscripts or like this week, I have put my paintings in to be framed for the up and coming display at The Logan West Library and then my not to distant memories come flooding back…

In those moments, I can’t help but smile a smug little grin knowing that the best revenge is a life well lived and the knowledge that sharing my experiences might just help someone else on their journey to freedom.

Peaceful Journey

Flavia
For more thoughts about depression go to the Mummy, Let’s Go!