Post-partum blues (not)


I have just given birth last month. A month before that, my father died. A week before his death, I was busy preparing for what could be the biggest step in our lives.


That was how my year started: with lots of stress. Someone commented on how bravely I was going through all these: "how can you handle these things?".


It wasn't as if I just breezed through them. Fresh from the Christmas rush (I was very pregnant and had to do the shopping for everyone), I had to do another very important thing in January that needed my full energy, lots of money (that meant bulk of our life savings), and my full concentration. Neil and I worked through the final step in one whole day, with me taking a leave from work to accomplish it.


We finished it on my father's birthday, January 22. Six days after, he passed away.


A month after, February 22, I gave birth to Kaitlin Ava. Underwent caesarian section.


Three "stressors" in just one quarter. "I could have died from stress," someone said to me.


I did submit myself to stress. Grief. Despair.


I stressed over our first task. But I chose to make tress a good thing because we finished it complete, and on our target date.


I grieved over my father's death. But I did not wallow in it, because I had already long forgiven him, and had no regrets with our relationship. We had exchanged text messages a week before he died, and it was a peaceful exchange. I dreamed about him, twice, and it wasn't grim at all. My heart wasn't heavy.


I underwent a painful surgery to bring forth Kaitlin Ava. But I recovered quickly, and stayed in the hospital for just about two days. I fought to purely
breastfeed her, ignoring others' comments that I should give her formula milk because she seemed "not to get enough milk" because of her constant feeding at my breast. I read and read about breastfeeding, and I alone encouraged myself. I know Kaitlin gets the milk that she needs. We're on our sixth week now and she's still purely breastfed.


I woke up today and wondered how I fought all these. And then I chanced upon Exie's blog and read about "The miracle of melancholia" by Eric Wilson (published on
the Los Angeles Times): "We need sorrow, constant and robust, to make us human, alive, sensitive to the sweet rhythms of growth and decay, death and life". I have
not been aware of sorrow's "benefits" until I have read this piece. And there's a mention of Joni Mitchell's take on gloom: she sees her sorrow as the "sand that
makes the pearl". Very well said, indeed.