So, I have had my stitches taken out, I am now fleunt in baby speak and can actually leave the house before 11am in the morning with child. Physically I'm doing great and the GP says my C section scar is more like top end plastic surgery and I should be grateful that I have been stitched so lovingly. I look ok. I am functioning. If I can keep this "pretending I'm alright stuff" up, maybe it'll actually make me feel better. You know - Fake it to make it.
At this time the health visit also begins to see you more often as midwifery services pretty much stop after the first week. Sometimes they see you for up to 28 days, and that is only if you're a special case. The health visitor, a lovely Irish lady, turns up unannounced (which I am immediately suspicious of). She has a lovely tick box assessment for identifying post natal depression. Its a simplistic tool she tells me. NO really? Are you a murderer - tick yes. I try my hardest to answer the questions as though she was seeing me on a day where I feel ok, or less like killing myself. Its like asking an alcoholic how many beers they've had to drink that day and the answer is always, "Just 2." Playing it down (or Lying as its commonly known) I hope, will help me be deemed sane and left in peace for the rest of eternity. I still believe that this will all just pass if I sit it out, or try and think my way out of it. You know, find my own solution. I try really, really hard, but I end up crying and showing that I'm not the full ticket. Apparently I'm on the cusp of PND using her assessment tool. So even lying means I'm unwell. God knows what I'd be if I been rigourously honest. "Lets make you an appointment with a female GP and try to get you feeling a bit better."
Medicating myself to feel well is not an option I really want to entertain, but I currently feel so rubbish I agree. Prozac and I are going to get to know eachother rather well from now on. This truly is the begining of my journey into my inner world and the terrors and wonders that lie within.