37 – The Storm Before The Maelstrom

I’d gone into this pregnancy with a strong and positive mindset. Because of the debilitating post-natal depression I’d suffered after giving birth to Jai, I needed to ensure I didn’t de-rail again. I was determined to stay healthy: emotionally, mentally and physically. I did everything I could. I ate healthily, stayed active, went swimming, even continued working at the elderly care home for most of it, and I’d been to see the counsellor at my local mental health centre.

I told my family about it, that I was worried about post-natal depression and that I had an appointment. But I had to see the counsellor alone. Everyone was busy with school or work. I spoke frankly with her about what had happened to me the last time after giving birth. She told me to come and see her immediately if I felt any of the symptoms again.

We didn’t discuss my childhood and the trauma I’d faced. Perhaps if we’d done so, she would have recommended that I begin therapy then.

When you’re so young (I was 21 at this time) you don’t know if you’re broken, you don’t know any different. You think everyone’s lives are the same.

I figured I was as prepared as possible and hopeful that it wouldn’t happen again.

But sure enough, not long after giving birth, a lofty, dark tower was stealthily brewing over my head. The storm clouds gained tonnage and sucked me in.

Bypassing asking me about my childhood or assessing me for past trauma a second time, the mental health worker referred me to a psychiatrist who put me on Fluoxetine, brand name – Prozac, an antidepressant, usually prescribed these days for Major Depressive Disorder. Nobody apart from my immediate family knew I was on Prozac.

I’d been on the drug for a couple of weeks when one evening, I was at a local pub with my husband and our friends.

I’d had a glass of white wine, and was on to my second, which was way less than the usual bottle that I could easily manage. My psychiatrist hadn’t mentioned anything to me about not drinking alcohol. As far as I knew, I was to live life as normal, which, for us, meant boozy weekends out at restaurants, bars and pubs with Maanav and his friends.

While writing this, I looked up Prozac online again on the NHS site and it doesn’t mention that it cannot be taken with alcohol. In fact, it says:

You can drink alcohol while taking fluoxetine but it may make you feel sleepy. It might be best to stop drinking alcohol for the first few days of treatment until you see how the medicine affects you.

That particular evening, early on in the night, I felt tipsier than I usually would after two glasses. I excused myself and walked, a little unsteady on my feet, toward the washroom at the back of the pub.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a wheelchair in Accident and Emergency at the hospital. I was curled up like a small child, in a confused state. My head was spinning and I couldn’t lift it. I thought I might vomit. Apparently, l’d already done so, on the floor of the pub, right before I’d fainted and hit the floor.

From the small space I occupied in the wheelchair and my brain, I could hear voices talking in muffled tones around me: Maanav’s, some medical staff, our friends’.  A doctor was explaining to my husband that the alcohol had interacted with the Prozac and it wasn’t advisable to mix the two. This was how our friends found out I was on antidepressants.

I was mortified. My dirty secret was out.

My thoughts went to my children. I felt that I as a mother, being in this state, I had let my Jai and Veer down. I just wanted to be at home and cuddle them. With my face wet with tears, “My babies, my babies,” was all I could cry out. My listless head was supported by the arm of the wheelchair and my sobbing face shielded from view by my hands.

Just days before this, I was having a ball at a photo shoot for a major UK brand. And, I was even happier that day because, this time, the shoot wasn’t for me. My modelling agency loved baby Veer’s photos so much that at a couple of months old, he landed his first modelling job.

One minute it felt as if everything was perfect, and the next, I was in a hospital wheelchair crying my eyes out in shame and confusion. Another reminder of the doggedly temporary and transient nature of this world. Up, down, up, down, down… down.

I don’t remember much of the months prior to or after that evening. I remember more of Jai’s first months vividly. But after I had Veer, it feels like most of that time never registered in my mind. I wasn’t present, like I had somehow switched off, checked out. Whether it was the depression or the Prozac, I don’t know. Even now, as I write, I draw blanks when I sit down to recall.

There are some memories, though, that I cannot erase. One in particular. One that I wasn’t looking forward to admitting or writing about. Because it’s an awful, fetid trench.

One day, I did the unthinkable…