Part 1 / Chapter Six ⥈ Into the Depths

 

     At dinner one night my young son announced "Mama, I know boys and girls don't usually do this, but I love Polly you know."

     Smiling, I replied "Oh, boys and girls do feel like that. When I was six I loved a boy named James. He gave me one of his hamsters."

     "At snack time Polly and I hug each other," he giggled bashfully.

     "You must like each being near each other."

     "Well actually," he said "Polly hugs me. Then I hug her back. You and daddy love each other, right?"

     I hesitated briefly as I looked at his beautiful, innocent face. "Yes. Yes, we do."

     I was now the mother of two, my son aged four and a half and his new baby sister just one month old, born in Warwickshire, England. We were living here on a fellowship with Daniel working toward his doctorate at the University of Warwick. I was taking a year out. In one sense it was a true gift to be able to devote myself to the children, but I wrestled with the question over full-time motherhood versus embracing modern freedoms and working.

     I had just bundled the children up for a walk to the post office when the telephone rang. I startled at the sound as we didn't technically have telephone service. To call out we had to use the phone box two blocks down, on the corner. Only a month ago I had waddled over there, in labour, calling the university to track Daniel down and send him home. Picking up the receiver, I said tentatively, "Hello?"

     "Hello?" asked the voice on the other end. It was my mother. She was flying over in a few weeks to meet the new baby and take our son to Ireland for a few days. I was excited and feeling a little homesick. Skipping any pleasantries she stated matter-of-factly, "Something's happened. Your sister is in hospital."

    My hands and face went clammy. Was it a car accident? She was 20 and had been living out on her own for two years now. The doorbell suddenly rang and I directed my son to answer it. "What happened?" I asked my mother.

     From the front door my son called, "A man wants our scissors."

     "What?" I bellowed, a little too forcibly. This bizarre juxtaposition of events was just too much. I said to my mother in the receiver. "One sec. Don't go away! I'll be right back." I went to the door where a neatly dressed man was standing with some sort of grinding machine.

     "Sorry, could you come back another day? I'm on an emergency call from Canada." I closed the door and tousled my son's hair affectionately, apologizing for my curt tone.

     My heart was pounding by time I picked up the heavy, old-fashioned black telephone receiver again. "Mum?" Please be there my inside voice was saying.

     "Hello?" she said again.

     "Yes, mum, what happened?"

     "Your sister had a nervous breakdown. She's in the Psych Unit at the hospital." Karen had been living with dad and his wife for the last few weeks, mum said. She'd been acting strangely, telling dad to take his ruby ring off because something evil was sending messages through it. At her insistence they'd let her go home for a couple of nights until she called in a panic, completely convinced that her neighbour was trying to screw her cat.

     I pushed the pram along the sidewalk with my mind a million miles away. Warning signs had come at various times. I knew my parents were concerned about the friends she hung out with and whether they were into drugs. She once asked Daniel and I if we ever heard messages from God. Well some people claim they do, I thought, at the time.

     "Mama", my son chimed. "Is it candy store day today?"

     I flipped back to my current normal, but could feel a knot in my stomach. "Oh, you smart boy," I teased. "How did you know?" He grinned, his eyes alight. Our neighbourhood had the best sweets shop, a true confectionary as only the British can do. The fact that Daniel was British by birth and now so was his daughter, made us eligible for weekly child benefits which we claimed at the local post office. Our daughter's first benefit should be on today's cheque. It was a welcome boon enabling me to spend a little on things for the children. We made do, but a fellowship grant provided a slim income for a family.

     It occurred to me that mum should have been sleeping when she called back a few days later. She worked midnight shift at a group home for severely disabled men aged 19 and older. "I'm glad the number I gave you off this phone works", I told her. My sister-in-law, who lived in London had put me on to it. We went down on the train occasionally, for weekend visits. Usually we arranged these by posting a letter in the morning, which she would incredulously receive in the afternoon. One time she asked if we had a telephone. We told her we did, but it was too expensive to subscribe. That's when she let us in on the secret that people could probably call in, for free. She'd phoned us one time and it worked - although in England the caller is charged. I hadn't known if it would work from out of country. "So what's happening, mum?"

     "Well first, I've changed my date for the trip. I'm coming on April 27th."

     Tears burned as they filled my eyes; six more weeks, but at least she was still coming.

     "Your sister is being moved to Riverview. Seems like this whole thing will take a while." She sounded tired.

     "What are they saying?"

     "They think it's an acute schizoaffective break. They've given her some drugs to calm her down, as she's been very angry and even violent."

     My heart lurched. Oh, God. It was serious. I couldn't fathom my sister being abusive. I felt so helpless being so far away.

     "I've just got home from the hospital now as they allowed a visit today. I know she was happy I came, but she's not very responsive."

     Suddenly I looked at the clock. "Oh, mum. I've really got to go. I'm due to pick The Bean up from preschool." He attended two afternoons a week, for two hours.

     "I need to get to bed anyway. Give him a kiss from grandma. I'm so worried he's forgetting who I am."

     "He hasn't forgotten you mum. I'll give him the kiss. O.k., 'bye." I rushed into the living room to get the pram and noticed my little one was just waking up. "Hello little sleepy one", I cooed. She immediately flashed a toothless smile and I said in a sing song voice, "I see you smiling at me. We have to go and pick up your big brother. Sorry Little Lert, we don't have time to change you." She'd have to wait until we got back. No detours to the playground on the way home today. Fortunately she was an easy-going baby. Parenting wasn't the same anxious mystery as it often is with the first.

     The midwife came in the morning for our six-week check-up. She'd undressed Little Lert who was now squirming and wildly pumping both arms and legs. Her tiny face was squinching, ready to cry at the sudden coolness of being naked. "Looking alert and healthy," the midwife said as she put a finger into the palm of her hand. "Ooh, she's got a mighty grip." Flipping her over Little Lert struggled to lift her head. "She's trying," the midwife said. "No diaper rash, that's good. How's the feeding going?"

    "You won't believe it," I said, "but she slept through the night last night - well six hours anyway. I woke up needing to feed 'cause my milk was bursting. I was stunned at the hour of the clock. Is it o.k. for her to go that long without food?"

     "Oh, she'll tell you when she needs you, poppet. You can dress her now and then it's your turn."

      I lay on the couch as the midwife examined me. "You're healing up well. No redness where the stitches were. Yup, you're ready to let your husband in, if you know what I mean." My face turned red. Some of the things we women have to get by. She didn't miss a beat, "Nipples o.k.?"

     "Umm, a little tender."

     "Keep using the lanolin cream, three times a day. You're looking a little pale. Dr. Wilmot wants you to drink a Guinness everyday. It's got some good vitamins in it and will help your milk flow."

     That night Daniel and I did give it a try. He was careful, going slow and it was wonderful to connect as husband and wife, become a woman again with time out from parenting and household duties. I felt so alone these last few months. When I reached orgasm, milk started dripping furiously from my breasts. "Hmm, tastes sweet," he murmured. After, as Daniel lay drifting off, I felt tears rise and trickle out the corners of my eyes, down my cheeks. I lay there breathing softly, hoping sleep would come soon. But the need for a hearty cry grew and when I was sure he was in deep slumber I got up, taking my pillow with me, creeping downstairs to bury my face and empty my heart. I sobbed for my journey into the unknown of parenthood, and for my sister's journey into the unknown of a mental illness. I sobbed for my hopes with Daniel and his most recent betrayal with one of his grad students.