Page 46 of Insidious

“Would you mind if I join the party?” he asked.

I shrugged.

“I just don’t understand how I got to the point where I thought I should kill myself. I don’t feel like that anymore. I just don’t understand how I could have been depressed,” I continued, close to tears.

Dr Davis looked thoughtful.

“See this?” He lifted his arm to show me a little pod attached to the underside of his arm.

“I have type 1 diabetes,” he said simply. “My parents struggled with it when I was younger until I learned to manage it myself. I was diagnosed at six.”

He paused as he looked at me directly.

“Do you think it was my fault that so much of their attention went to me? Do you think it is my fault I needed the care? Do you think I didn’t deserve it?”

“That’s different,” I said immediately.

He shook his head gently.

“No, it’s not.”

“You have a condition,” he said. “After childbirth, your hormones drop rapidly—oestrogen, progesterone. Your stress hormones go up. Your brain chemistry shifts. It affects how you think, how you feel, how you cope.” He shrugged slightly. “It’s not weakness. Your hormones and neurotransmitters are out of balance. And if you need medication, then you need medication.”

Then he smiled

“I think you’ll do whatever it takes to get back to your daughter. Right?”

That pulled a small, reluctant smile out of me.

“Right,” I said, looking at both of them. “Thank you.”

Sandra just smiled.

“You’re welcome, lass. We will talk more tomorrow, alright?”

Now, I sit here, with Amelie in my arms, feeding her, feeling her weight against me, watching her tiny hand curl into my gown as her little mouth moves, eyes just like mine watching me like I am the most interesting thing she has ever seen.

And I feel that pull I felt when she was doing cartwheels within me while I was trying to sleep.

She is my reason. My everything.

“Thank you,” I whisper as I look down at my daughter.

She settles against me like she belongs here. The stars seem like they have aligned.

I don’t feel like I’m drowning. I just know that I want to keep trying to put myself back together, one small step at a time.

***

The next few days pass in a quiet, repetitive cycle—doctors, nurses, medications, and rest. So much rest. It feels like my body is forcing me to slow down in a way I have never allowed myself to before.

Mum takes over when she needs to, feeding Amelie with formula from time to time, and I notice something strange. I don’t feel guilty, not the way I would have a week ago. It feels necessary for me to get better. Sandra was right. It does take the pressure off, to know that my baby is getting enough.

Lily has to go back, but before she leaves, she leans against the bed, arms folded, and watches me in that way she does.

“We have a lot to talk about,” she says finally. “But you’ve got too much going on right now.”

I don’t argue. I would also like to postpone that conversation.