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“The doctor’s talking to Sky, and then she’d like to talk to you.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” I dodge past her and stride into the main reception area. Another nurse looks up, replacing her surprise with what I can clearly see is a game face. “Somebody tell me what the fuck is happening!” Game face switches to alarm face, and I close my eyes. “Sorry. What’s happened?”
“I’ll bring baby, Dylan, and we can wait until Sky’s free. Let’s talk in private.”
Head fucked, I follow the young nurse. “They’re okay though?” I repeat. “They’re not hurt?”
I know the nurses are doing their job, following their training on how to handle situations—and people—in this way, but the careful question deflection irritates me. Only when the young nurse brings me my son wrapped in a blanket I remember buying with Sky, yellow and covered in teddies, do I calm down.
He blinks at me as I look down at him, and I hold my lips against his forehead, breathing in his baby scent. One half of my world is in my arms, but the other half is missing.
A coffee cup cools on the table as I cradle my son and wait for the doctor, but it doesn’t take much to figure out what’s wrong when they use words likedistressedandunwell. I’m angry with myself for not noticing Sky was ill. I know about post-natal depression, worried my perfectionist, list-making girl might fall into a hole, but she didn’t seem low.
A woman comes into the room. Dressed in a skirt suit. Friendly, calm.
Tells me my wife’s suffering from psychosis.
I tell the doctor she has no idea what the fuck she’s talking about, that Sky is a loving mother and wife, and she would never hurt anybody. Ever.
The woman waits for me to calm and explains what she means, explains postpartum psychosis. I hold my son tightly, the words washing over me because they can’t be true, because my strong beautiful girl isn’t allowed to suffer like this. All I wanted was for us to be a family, to be perfect, to love and laugh and live. I’m not stupid. I know parenthood will have its tough moments, but those moments should be sleepless nights and my fears I won’t cut it as a dad. Not Sky believing these awful things; scared, hurting, and hiding her pain.
Sky’s alone in a room, curled up on a sofa staring at her phone when I go to her. I leave the baby with a nurse, worried how Sky’ll react. Her eyes are reddened by tears, and the moment she sees me she stands.
“I’m sorry, Dylan,” she whispers. “I should’ve told you where I was going before I left today.”
“Tell me what’s happening. I’m confused, Sky.”
“They say I’m mistaken. Do you believe me?”
“I believe you should take time out. You’re exhausted.” I bite my lip, fully aware the psychiatrist I spoke to wants to admit Sky to a clinic for a couple of days. I tell her she needs a break, but Sky’s resistant.
“They think I’m crazy, Dylan. Do you think I’m crazy?”
I cover my mouth with my hand because I have no words. Then I grasp Sky in my arms and hold her tight, wishing I had our son here too, and we could all hold each other. I hold back the terror over how I’ll cope without her strength. As she hugs me, I bury my face in her hair, breathing my strawberry scented Sky and wanting to fix her.
But I leave her.
After an hour trying to talk Sky around, promising her I’ll make everything okay, and I force myself to walk away from a Sky who’s confused and in tears. I’m on the verge of returning to her, but the nurse and doctor convince me this is what I need to do, if only for the rest of the day.
I take our son to the London apartment, then almost fall apart myself when I realise all I have for him is the bag Sky took to the hospital filled with his clothes and essentials.
He cries, muffled by his attempt to suck the blanket around him and I snap out of my self-pity to organise a bottle.
Get a grip. Stay strong.
The tiny boy cuddles in the crook of my arm as I feed him, his hand curled tightly around my finger.
“I guess it’s just you and me for now, buddy,” I whisper against his cheek and fight the rising surge threatening to weaken me when I need to be at my strongest.
I have never been this lost in my whole life.
