A (25:09)
I can. I was on the verge of postnatal depression and postpartum psychosis, so I was in and out of lucidity. I had a wonderful pregnancy. I'll try and pray to you this. So I had an incredible pregnancy. Those ones where people say, the blooming woman in pregnancy. My skin was fabulous, my hair was great. I loved being pregnant. I loved every day of being pregnant. I had a husband, we had some money in the bank. We weren't worrying about the financial aspect of having a kid. My husband was a successful actor. I knew I was in a position that if I wanted to continue work as an actress, I could. We were having a much wanted child and skippity do. And even when I was overdue, I still was thinking, oh, I love being pregnant, love being pregnant. So I was the little. Anybody ever mentioned about postnatal depression? Didn't cross my mind. So I had my baby privately. Tim was a bit of a, I say this with love, a champagne socialist. So he was a bit begrudging. But the hospital I was allocated, National Health, was just. It was a disaster. And I had him in, what I didn't know at the time was a natural childbirth hospital. I'd just gone because someone said, it's a great private hospital. So I went there and in one of the classes, they were talking about this natural childbirth. And I remember saying, yeah, obviously, if it's agony, you will give us some pain relief, won't you? And they said, oh, Mrs. Healy as I was then, Mrs. Healy. It's not the Victorian times, of course, of course. We will fast forward to Hit me over the head with a spiked fucking mallet. No pain relief. So. And Matthew, true to form, was, you know, in there listening to the radio, having a fag, thinking, I'm not hurrying, there's no rush on here. 42 hours later, natural childbirth. Not gas and air, nothing. Out he came. It was wonderful. It was just wonderful. He was the first boy. My dad was so thrown because he thought he'd have a girl, I'd have a girl. And it was all fantastic. And they said I was the most unanxious mum in the hospital. There's only probably about six other moms in there. I didn't pull the anxiety cord, nothing. Feeding him, wanted to try breastfeeding, wasn't fixated on it. My mum had been amazing. If it doesn't work, love, don't let them pressure you, you know, bottle fed, babies will be fine. So she was fantastic and got him home. And this was on the Wednesday, so I had him on the Saturday, got him home on the Wednesday, and I opened all the cards that had arrived and I dissolved into this emotional state of hormonal chaos. And I was aware that I had the baby blues, so it didn't frighten me, it was just. I couldn't open a card without crying and looking at this child and feeling this wave of huge responsibility. But I was all right, right? Two days later, my mum and dad arrived from the Northeast. And it was a moment that I had dreamt of for years. I can remember feeling devoid of feeling something I'd never felt before. Not depression, just a very void feeling that when my mum was saying, oh, my God, you know, I knew I'd love my grandchild, but I was unprepared for this overwhelming love I feel for him. I couldn't cry, I couldn't feel anything. And I went to bed that night and I had the first panic attack that I'd ever had. I wasn't thinking panic, I wasn't anxious. I just woke with the only thing I can. The sort of analogy is that you're driving along in your car and a lorry cuts you up and you think you're gonna die and. And you pull over to the lay by and you stop and your heart is racing like it's going to come out your chest, but the danger passes and eventually you calm down. It was like that, but never the danger passing. And I'd gone to bed with huge breastfeeding Bazookas. And after the panic attack, so I'm talking just hours, I had no milk and I had spaniel's ears, boobs, to put no finer point on it. I'd lost all the milk. And this community midwife came round who I'd never had before, and she was bloody awful, Elizabeth, if I'm honest with you, and I'm a huge respecter of the NHS and wonderful people in that organization. And I said. And she went, oh, that is not normal. She said that. Really. I've only ever seen that happen if a spouse dies or a parent dies, or indeed if the child dies. You're gonna have to go out and get some bottles. That's really not it now. Now, the flag that would be waving in front of them would be hormonal. This is a hormonal disaster. Something has gone seriously wrong in this woman's hormones. Obviously, there is a chemical chaos, you know, when your hormones are righting themselves. But nobody knew anything. Tim went out and they got the bottles and they brought them back. And there was the Milton with the bottles in at the top. And we had this long kitchen. And to this day, if I smell the perfume that my mum wore, because she came down for three days and had to take leave of work as a psychiatric nurse, she had to take leave of work to look after me. And if I smell the perfume that she was wearing, which was Yvoir de Balmain, it will. Or if I smell Milton in someone's house. So that was maybe the Thursday, Friday. On the Saturday, Mum said, let's take him out for a walk. And I wasn't depressed, I just was odd. And we went for a walk in Crouch End in London, and I'd lived there for 10 years, so it was somewhere I knew very, very well. And on the way back from this coffee, we went into a corner shop to get some milk. And on the radio it was announcing the horrible Hillsborough disaster, April 15, 1989. And I came out the shop and I remember saying to Mum, there's been this awful disaster. 96 people have been crushed and died. It's terrible. And we got half a mile home and Mum asked me a question about it, and I remember saying, that was a dream. And she said, no, no, sweetheart, you just told. And I said, oh, my God, why are you trying to make me go mad? That was a dream. I dreamt it. And my mum thought, oh, okay, this is not good. We got in the house and my mum said that she walked out of the bedroom and I was on the Windowsill, trying to open the window. Now, the press picked that up, as if I was trying to take my own life. I wasn't. I didn't know where I was or what I was doing. So there was no conscious decision to do that. And I then just spent three months pretty much in the corner of a sofa wanting someone to give me an injection. And my mum was so brilliant and she knew that keeping the contact with my child was really important. So every four hours she would make me walk to the bottles, make the bottle, which was like she'd said, go and climb Everest. And I would make the bottle and I would feed him. And I had no bad feelings towards this child. I just had, why have I got this child? And then the blackness started and it was like it started from my feet and rolled up like a blanket. And it meant that the depression was so thick, it was, it was so thick that I couldn't move my hands or my mouth. And so when you then have an illness where people say, you've got to snap out of it, you know, you've got a beautiful baby who's healthy, you've got an amazing family, people have got no idea, you know. So all I've tried to do in my kind of mental health advocacy role, unelected, but, you know, that's what I felt I should do, is just try and explain to people that this is an illness which is as serious as any other illness. You just can't, you just can't see it. And there's not enough, there's not enough help for women who are going through that because not everybody is lucky enough to have the family that I had. So when I read a headline about someone who has recently had children and they've taken their own life, I completely understand it. And these headlines are, how selfish, how utterly selfish. No, it's not fucking selfish, it's desperate because you think that you are just a drain on everybody else's life is how you feel. And that, of course, led to the rocky road of self medication, which when you are so desperate, you would do anything. If someone said to me, and again, you'll get the flak going, that's so disrespectful to people who've had to have that done. If someone said to me, you need to lose a limb, and if you do, you will never have depression again, I would have offered both arms like that, to be honest, I still would. You would never say to a person, so say, for example, when my mum had cancer, she lived so brilliantly and courageously with cancer for 20 years. And most of that time she didn't look poorly. You wouldn't say to my mum, annie, we know you've got cancer, but you've been in bed for what, a month now. Get up, get some trainers on, show everybody that you've got a bit more about you and get on with you. Wouldn't say that to somebody, but I would have that said to me every single week of life, you know, but. But I will add that living with a mental illness, the times in between and how I've managed it with help, I still consider that I've had a wonderful, a wonderful life and I still do have huge lengths of time of great joy. Great joy for me is feeling normal. It's not being frightened of the mornings. Because with a depressive, you are frightened of the mornings a lot of the time because you have no idea what the morning's gonna bring. So when I wake up and it's about 11 o' clock before I think, oh, I'm all right, that's a really good day.