“We’ll call this one The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men. Apparently Dec. 18th just couldn’t come soon enough for Samuel, so he decided to make his (unnecessarily) dramatic entrance about 8 weeks early, on October 22nd, 2018 at 12:34pm. One way or the other, he’s in like a lion and all 4lbs and 3oz are ready to wreck shit. He’s already off the respirator that many born at his stage must remain on for several weeks. Mom is elated and already got to hold him skin-to-skin for about 30 minutes in the NICU, while dad is itching to get over his cold so he can spend some time with him, too. It’s been a rollercoaster 48 hours, but so far so god. Welcome, Sam. I’ve got so much to tell you.” My husband, Sam's father announced to friends and family on social media a few days after I gave birth - a bit early to our very tiny Sam.
I was wildly relieved he was (mostly) ok simultaneous to a jumble of other emotions that I couldn’t - at the time - name. I cried the entire day I was discharged from the hospital and Sam wasn’t. I pumped milk immediately before our final childbirth class that we attended en route to the NICU. It inadvertently turned into a Q&A session where the remainder of the first-time expecting moms asked a myriad of questions surrounding the birth, hospital, and my recovery. I waxed poetic about the hospital underwear (that I was still wearing at the time) and vividly remember:
1. telling all the expecting moms to request extras before they left the hospital, and
2. one of the expecting dads making a hoarding joke at my expense.
I also vividly remember multiple phone calls (from insurance - from the hospital) following up after my discharge, asking directly if I was experiencing any Postpartum Depression.
On each call, I asked, “I’m sad my baby is in the NICU. Is that Postpartum Depression?”
“That’s a good question.” they each responded, not giving an answer, before moving on to the next question on their sheet.
Sam was thankfully discharged a couple of weeks before my six-week postpartum checkup. Because we were alternating parental leave days, and didn’t have a car, I wore Sam on the train to the check up. With no other place to put him, I spread my winter coat on the tiled floor for him to sleep on while I changed into a hospital gown and pondered the questions on the Edinburg Postnatal Depression Scale (EPDS) the nurse had left for me to review while I waited for my doctor. I was so preoccupied with the physicality of recovering and feeding and pumping and returning to work earlier than should ever be required that I did not have the capacity, let alone awareness to address how I was recovering mentally.
I don’t remember how I answered each question, nor do I remember my doctor really paying much attention to it - let alone my answers. While I may not have understood my postpartum depression and anxiety at the time, I understood profoundly how lacking the healthcare industry was in helping me address - name - acknowledge and start recovering from my postpartum depression. My hope is that this collection of Postpartum Underwear raises awareness that the psychological recovery and support a woman needs and requires after giving birth is just as significant as the physical recovery. And, in the most perfect world, more steps can be made to better support postpartum women in the days - months (sometimes years) when they need it the most.
