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It all started exactly two years ago. After a year of being man and wife, Sam and I decided perhaps we should think about adding a little one to the mix. I had read that it took an average of about 6 months to conceive so we thought we would take the pressure off and just start early. To our surprise, a month after that on the 16^th of August '15 (the day I turned 27), I peed on a stick and found out I was pregnant. It was the best birthday present ever.

A special birthday present

We tried to keep it to ourselves but it was just too good a secret to keep. We told our family and our closest friends. We were both surprised but so so excited. I felt like I needed this. This would be a next chapter of growth, something I was beginning to miss after feeling a tad too comfortable where I was.

So the planning began. If you know me well, you’d know that I prepare myself for things pretty well in advance. I was always a little competitive and at times paranoid which only intensified my need to plan. Unlike many others, I didn’t leave uni assignments to the last minute, not because I didn’t want to but because I was simply incapable of doing so. I never could bear the stress of leaving it and would often finish days sometimes a week in advance. Of course, in many ways this was a good trait. I did well at school, it helped me in my teaching career and I’d generally have many areas of my life in order.

In other ways, it caused me great pain. I’d sulk when things didn’t work out the way I planned, I would very easily get mad at people who didn’t see things the way I saw them and in short, struggled to accept the things I couldn’t change.

The 16^th of August and its high was an example of things going the way I wanted. All was good and right in the world. I was on track in life. My 27^th year would be an awesome one.

Until it wasn’t.

Blips

After experiencing morning sickness for a month or so, I started to bleed a little. This couldn’t be a good sign and I panicked. I moved our ultrasound appointment up and Sam and I went in to see what was going on. I was super nervous but then I saw the blips on the screen and the smile on my sonographer’s face. I knew this was a good sign. The blips were a heartbeat and a healthy one too. We left feeling relieved.

The relief was short lived. The bleeding continued and cramps followed. One Thursday afternoon, I found myself crying in my colleague’s office. I felt like something was wrong. She told me to call Sam and go to the hospital. I did just that.

The next day, our worst fears were confirmed. There was no more blip. No more heartbeat. No more baby. It was there, but it was gone. I had a miscarriage.

In the hospital, just before we found out we lost our little person

Physically, the pain wasn’t too bad. Emotionally, I was wrecked.

The next few days, weeks, months were especially hard on Sam and I. We cried till there were no more tears to cry. I questioned and questioned and questioned. I was angry. I was beyond angry, I was enraged. At my core, I was deeply crushed. I couldn’t understand how I could feel so much pain and why.

Over the course of those few months, through the pain, through embracing it and letting go, my heart was slowly restored. I came to a point where I had to accept God’s sovereignty, and slowly even to honour and be grateful for it because He is always good. He is always faithful. He works it all for our good, His glory. I knew that it wasn’t something I could understand fully, but I knew I had to trust.

Fast forward to February, another pregnancy test and I was with child yet again. This time, I prepared myself for the worst and tried not to plan my life too far in advance like I did the last time. I took it a week at a time.

Joshua and PNDA

As most of you know, 9 months later, I had Joshua. He was perfect, all 3.11 kgs of him from his hairy head (which he lost over time) to his tiny but sharp toenails. There was nothing more wonderful than holding him in my arms. I was beyond happy.

With Josh moments after he was born

But that too, was short lived. A month in and I started to feel a lot of negative emotions. A deep sorrow, irritability and disinterest. I was tired all the time. I struggled to get out of bed. I struggled to get through the day. I struggled to think and to articulate my thoughts like I usually did. I stopped planning. I was depressed and I didn’t know it.

A month later, I found myself telling Sam to call an ambulance. I couldn’t take it anymore, this deep anguish that was eating me up. I wasn’t suicidal or violent, but something was killing me on the inside.

The next four weeks were the hardest weeks of my life, by far. I was diagnosed with post natal depression, with some symptoms of anxiety. I realized that this wasn’t some celebrity illness made popular by the wonderful Brooke Shields. It was real, very real and I had it. It had me.

Recovery

Thankfully, very slowly, things started to improve. With the help of the lovely nurses at the mother and baby unit, and the medication kicking in, I went from feeling like crap and bawling my eyes out all day, to having tiny moments where I was myself again. I could enjoy my food, I could watch the tennis, I could fall asleep. All without feeling like I was fading away, dying without my consent.

Josh chilling at the Mum and Bub Unit

Of course recovery was tough. Its ups and downs were unpredictable. It felt like hell on earth, a torture of the mental kind. It was only when Josh was about 5 months old that I began to feel like I could overcome this. The part of me that was me, was bigger than the part that wasn’t, if that makes sense. Finally I was able to believe when others told me that it would pass.

Today, Josh is 9 months old. I am in the process of tapering off my anti-depressant and I am feeling completely different than I did when I told Sam to call that ambulance. I am optimistic, active and hopeful again. I love Joshua so terribly much and cannot imagine my life without him.

Today I feel grateful. Grateful for life, for God’s grace upon ours, for the pain and what I learnt through it. I can actually say that I don’t wish it didn’t happen anymore. Because if it didn’t, I wouldn’t have understood how the bad can and is used for good, if we let Him. 

Today, I also feel empowered. I believe mental health is not something that should be brushed off like we often do with anything taboo in our Asian culture. It’s not something that can be ‘gotten over’ by willing yourself to. It’s an illness, and a very real one. The more we understand about it, the more we can help others battling it.

So today, I choose to #starttheconversation and keep it going, through this blog, the posts to come (with personal stories, researched information and interviews with other survivors) and through honest talks over nasi lemak and teh tarik in my day to day catch ups.

If you have enjoyed what you have read, watch this space for more posts and updates. Also, if you feel that this is something our society needs to hear more about, feel free to share this and #startthecoversation with others in your own networks. This topic is too important to stay silent on.

Finally, if you have questions, feedback, or maybe you have a story to tell, or just want to connect, do say hi at kwisty@gmail.com