Fifty Shades of Post-Partum

To my readers: Okay, I lied. There is a part 4 to this chapter. Warning, things are on a downward trajectory.

Chapter 21: Magic (Part 4)

I cannot believe that I missed so many things in Ana's behavior today. Her method of hiding her food rather than eating it, and then her detachment from the conversation both escaped me. I know that these are classic signs of depression, but I wasn't paying close enough attention. Naturally, it was Taylor who noticed. I know that I let my guard slip, but it was just so easy.

Ana's darker moods have been very much defined by her inability to get out of bed, eat, and interact with others. Today she was up and around, actually sitting at the dinner table appearing to eat, and following enough of the conversation to answer appropriately when directly asked a question.

With so many others vying for Phoebe's attention, Ana's lack of interest in her didn't kick in. After all, most mothers will step back when the grandparents are around to give them "baby time," and Carrick spends far less time with her than I do.

Christian seems to have missed it all too. It almost feels like we had seen a little bit of progress and then let our guard down completely. I feel so guilty. I am afraid to even mention it to Christian, because I do not want him to feel guilty also. However, I don't want him to be surprised if Ana suddenly slips back in to her old malaise. I know that he has to be warned.

After her husband leaves the kitchen, Gail looks over at me.

"Don't worry, Grace," she says quietly. "We all missed it. It's one of the reasons that Charlotte wanted Jason and us to be here today. She wanted the rest of us to relax. We need a break as much as Shonda. She knew that not only does Jason never take a break, but that he is also trained to stand guard the way that he does and remain watchful in an unobtrusive manner."

"So Charlotte anticipated this?" I ask. "And you and Taylor knew?"

"Yes," she admits. "We both knew."

"Then why did he make me feel just now as if I had been derelict in my duty?" I respond in annoyance.

"That's his way," she sighs. "He doesn't necessary have the best people skills with 'civilians,' so to speak, and he does still view things through a military lens. I don't know if he will ever break himself of that habit."

"But now it's back to reality?" I ask.

"I'm afraid so," she replies. "But we have to look at the day as an overall success. We managed to get Ana through it without having to call Charlotte. We did get her up and out of bed and downstairs for the important parts of the day without an enormous struggle. I am sure that she will have to go to bed soon. I know that she is exhausted from the effort of maintaining a pretense for the rest of us."

"Oh," I say, not knowing what else I can say.

When we are finished, we return to the living room, where Carrick and Christian are drinking brandy, Ana is sitting and holding Phoebe, and Teddy and Sophie are once more playing with the trains. Sophie has been a patient little soul all day. But she is also looking worn out as she leans once again on Magic. Ana has not been the only one putting up a front for the rest of us.

I am grateful that the poor child has been able to spend the day with us. I know that the Taylors would have had a sad little Christmas by themselves. Knowing Taylor, he would have spent most of the day working, leaving Gail and Sophie together to pass the time. The transition to full-time stepmother has not been entirely smooth for Gail.

"It used to be so easy when she came," she told me once. "Since Jeannine was the one who was really raising her, she got to do all the hard work and rule making. When Sophie came to visit us, I really didn't think about discipline. We just hung out together as friends. Sophie has always been an exceptionally well-behaved child, but if anyone ever had to play the 'heavy,' so to speak, Jason did it."

"But now it's different."

"Very," she said emphatically. "Jason isn't around much, so I am left with the discipline and decision-making most of the time. Luckily, Sophie doesn't resent me. She's a pretty easy kid anyway. I doubt that we will ever see much rebellion out of her. On the bright side of things, Jason doesn't try to play good cop, bad cop. He backs me up on everything. It's that old chain of command thing, I guess. Never undermine your lower ranking officers."

Taylor returns to the living room.

"Gail, Sophie," he says. "I think that it's time to go home."

"Yes, Daddy," says Sophie immediately getting up.

"No! No!" cries Teddy. "Soo-ee!"

"I'm sorry, Teddy," says the little girl seriously. "But I have to go with Daddy and Gail. I will come back in the morning."

"SOO-EE!" he wails.

The young man has obviously finished his day. I go over and scoop him up and carry him upstairs and he continues to cry for Sophie. When we are alone in his room, he snuggles into my neck.

"Gramma," he gulps. "Soo-ee?"

"Tomorrow," I say gently. "Now it's time for sweet dreams."

"Dweams?" he asks.

"Happy thoughts while you sleep," I answer.

"Twains?" he asks.

"Yes," I reply. "If thoughts of trains are happy thoughts, you can dream about trains."

Now that he is settled down, it is no problem to change him and get him into his crib, which is definitely too small. I frown. Then we are joined by Christian, Ana, Phoebe, and Carrick.

"Goodnight, son," says Christian as he gives him a kiss on the head.

"Goodnight, baby," says Carrick next.

"No baby," mutters Teddy sleepily. "Fee-bee, baby."

"No, of course not," chuckles Carrick.

Then Ana bends over him.

"Goodnight, big boy," she softly.

"'Night, Mommy," he yawns. "Teddy, big boy."

We tiptoe out and over to Christian and Ana's room. Phoebe is also fast asleep, so Ana lays her down in the bassinet. Ana turns without a word and goes into the bathroom, presumably to change. Christian looks like he wants to say something, but I put a finger to my lips.

"Christian," I say. "You really need to get Teddy a 'big boy' bed. He is almost overflowing the crib. And before you know it, Phoebe will need it."

"I noticed that myself," he answers. "Tomorrow I guess, we can order one online."

"Um," says Carrick hesitantly. "I actually noticed it last week. I didn't get around to telling you that our Christmas gift to Teddy is a train-shaped bed. It has bars to attach to the sides so that when he is first getting used to it. It will be delivered tomorrow."

"Thank you, Carrick," says Ana returning from the bathroom, already dressed for bed.

"Bedtime for us too, honey?" asks Christian.

"I'm sure that it's too early for you," she says. "Why don't you go downstairs with Carrick and Grace? We will be fine up here. I am sure that Sawyer will let you know if anything happens."

Christian looks at her sharply for a minute, but there is no rancor in her voice, merely acceptance. The three of us return to the living room. Christian goes over to the bar and picks up the bottle of brandy.

"Mother? Dad?" he asks.

"Yes, please," I answer, as Carrick waves him off.

He hands me my drink and then sits down heavily. For a moment, he is silent and the he looks directly at me.

"This isn't anywhere near being over," he states.

"Well," I say. "I don't know if I would quite be so negative about it. She did better today than we thought that she would. In fairness, however, there hasn't really been enough time for the Wellbutrin to kick in."

"It takes about a week," he says.

"Yes," I reply. "So it's very possible that the small amount of progress that we are seeing is something that she is doing on her own. That is a good sign. It may also be why she is so exhausted. When you are feeling so depressed, just doing simple things like dressing and eating become huge chores."

"That makes sense," he replies. "It's just frustrating because no matter how much I read about the illness, while there seem to be some overarching patterns of behavior, a lot of the symptoms are individual to the patient."

"That's very true," I agree. "All we can do is take it one day at a time. And Charlotte will be back tomorrow morning to check in with Ana and the rest of us."

"At first I was skeptical when she wanted Ana to try and go it alone today," he says. "But now I'm glad that she did."

"Me too," replies Carrick and then changes the subject.

I am glad to talk about other things. There is no value in talking in circles about the same things regarding Ana. That kind of obsessive thinking is of no benefit to anyone. It's difficult for someone like Christian, who spends so much of his time problem solving. This is not a problem to be solved. It is an illness to be treated.

By ten o'clock, we are all ready for bed. Carrick and I go up to our room. We don't have much to say to each other. We are both tired from the long day.

"In some ways it's harder," Carrick says suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

"In some ways it is much harder seeing Ana so sick than it was when you were sick," he replies. "When you were sick, I could put all of my focus on you. But in this case, it's not just Ana that we have to worry about. There are also Christian and the children."

"Yes, I know what you mean," I sigh. "But it is going to get worse in a week."

"Oh?"

"When the in-laws come," I say grimly. "I am not too worried about Ray. I think that we will be able to explain things in a way that he will understand and not push too hard to see Ana, if she doesn't want to see him."

"You're worried about Carla?" he asks.

"Aren't you?" I reply sharply. "About the only thing that we know about her reaction is that she will get emotional. I don't blame Ana for not wanting to see her. I don't really want to see her either."

"But she should be able to see her grandchildren," he says reasonably. "She has seen almost nothing of Phoebe."

"That is her own fault," I say. "She only came up for a few days after she was born. Christian would have sent the plane for her anytime that she wanted. And it's not like she or Bob have jobs."

"Well," he says. "All that we have to do is be patient with her. She won't be here long enough to do any damage. If you want, I will be the one to deal with her when she can't see Ana. How is that going to work, anyway?"

"Charlotte and I are going to meet with Ray and Carla separately to explain everything," I reply. "Charlotte wants to question them about Ana's health and mental health background. She thinks that there are things that Ana hasn't told her. And she is interested in Carla's mental health background."

"Really?" he asks.

"Yes, well, don't tell Christian because chances are that he won't know what to make of it," I explain. "But when Ana had her episode the other day, she told Shonda that Carla got migraines. It's only a theory, but Charlotte thinks that Carla may have had mental health issues in the past."

"Wait until she meets her," he mutters. "She may think that she still has them."

"Anyway," I continue. "Sometimes 'migraines' can be code for depression. It is just as good a reason as any if Mommy can't get out of bed or see anyone. Even if Carla is evasive about herself, we think that Ray will give it to us straight. Especially if it means helping Ana."

"The old stigma of mental illness rearing its ugly head again?" he asks.

"We can't escape," I reply simply. "And Carla is not that much younger than us. Things were still pretty dicey back in the nineties."

"But she must have had pretty good health insurance," he comments. "Through the military."

"Well," I say. "You know that that only takes you so far. And the military still isn't very good about covering mental illness. Look at all the PTSD claims from the soldiers returning from Iraq and Afganistan that still are in the queue. Some of these men and women have been waiting years."

"Well, then, I guess I should keep my mouth shut," he says. "Carla just doesn't seem like the depressed type. She just seems to run at two speeds. Wait a minute . . ."

"No, Carrick," I interrupt. "Don't even go there. It is not our job to try and diagnose anyone, especially when we don't know anything yet. There are plenty of kooky people out there who are not mentally ill."

"Okay," he replies. "I guess 'kook' accurately describes her."

I shake my head. He still has a steep learning curve. Granted, Carla has never been my favorite cup of tea either, but she is Ana's mother and deserves our respect as such. If we want to start throwing labels around, it wouldn't be too hard call Mia crazy. We just accept her eccentricities because we love her. I know that Ana feels the same way about her mother.

If we aren't careful, it would be easy to start labeling everyone that we know as mentally ill, just based on some of their personality quirks. Very creative and talented people often struggle with social issues or "different" ways of viewing the world. That is what makes them who they are. We need to be careful not to medicate all of their singular brilliance out of them.

How often am I faced with the dilemma of whether or not to medicate children who are a little on the rambunctious side? Teachers and parents these days are very quick to slap labels like ADHD on children who don't behave has perfect little angels. This is especially true in the case of middle school children, especially boys. Brain studies have shown that children of that age have a lot of pre-frontal lobe development going on and their "executive functioning" is not what it should be.

Sometimes I just want to tell parents that despite the fact that they are driving them crazy, their children are behaving perfectly normally for this stage of their development. It may not be normal by adult standards or very easy to deal with in the classroom, but it is an important part of their growth. In order to learn boundaries, most kids need to test them. Every kid who acts out or rebels in school does not need to be on Adderal, just like every sad person doesn't need Prozac.

We go to bed, but we have not even had a chance to fall asleep before Christian is at my side.

"Mother," he whispers urgently. "Could you please come and see Ana?"

I quickly get out of bed, throw on my robe, and follow him to their bedroom. The light on the nightstand is already on, dimly lighting the room. Phoebe is still sound asleep, but Ana is sitting up wide-awake. Her eyes look around in confusion, as if she does not know where she is. Not wanting to startle her, I sit down on the bed beside her and carefully take her hand. She looks at me.

"Grace?" she says quietly.

"Yes, dear, I'm here," I reply gently.

"Christian?"

"I'm here too," he says calmly. "What do you need?"

"I don't know," she answers uncertainly. "I . . . I guess it was a dream."

"Good dream or bad dream?" I ask softly.

"Bad, I think."

She looks at both of us, as if she is very puzzled. I can feel the tension starting to build in Christian. I decide that it is better if I handle this alone. Someone has to stay with Phoebe anyway.

"Ana, why don't we go downstairs for a cup of tea?" I ask.

Before she answers, she takes a look over at Phoebe. Christian takes the hint.

"I'll stay with Phoebe," he says quietly, even though I know that he wants desperately to be with Ana. "She will be just fine."

"Okay," says Ana and gets out of bed.

Unfortunately, she stands up too quickly and dizzily collapses into my arms. Christian is right behind me, but Ana is so light that I have no problem supporting her. She looks up at me fearfully.

"It's the medication," I say quietly. "You didn't eat much for dinner and now it has made you a little dizzy. It's nothing to worry about. We'll have a little snack with the tea."

She gives me a nod and then regains her balance. As we leave the room, Christian looks anxiously behind us. I tip my head to indicate that he needs to worry about the baby and he settles himself in the rocking chair. Phoebe sighs a little, but is completely unaware of what has just taken place around her.

Ana and I make our way down the stairs slowly. Now that she is upright, she is much steadier, however, she still leans on my arm for support. Her breathing is a little uneven, but I think that this may be a product of the dream. I am not sure it was a nightmare, because she woke up confused rather than terrified. I settle her at the kitchen table and make our tea. I also bring over the plate of Christmas cookies.

"You should try nibbling on one," I suggest.

She looks at them doubtfully, but obediently picks one up and breaks off a tiny piece with her teeth. By the time we are seated with our tea, I can see that she has taken a few more little bites. I set the cup and tea bag before her. As soon as I pour the water into the cup, she plops the bag in and then almost immediately pulls it out. It is a completely automatic response. She has been taking her tea like this for years. Then I sit down.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask softly.

She sighs.

"I don't even know what to talk about," she answers. "It wasn't any kind of a narrative story. It was just weird."

"Weird," I repeat thoughtfully. "In what way?"

She looks like she is concentrating hard in order to remember it. But it looks as though she is not even able to make sense of any of it. Finally she answers.

"It was lights and colors," she says. "And mirrors. Yes, there were mirrors reflecting the lights and colors in odd ways. Sometimes faces appeared."

"Was there any sound?"

"No, no sound," she replies. "I didn't even scream or cry when I woke up. I realize of that I woke up Christian because I was kind of thrashing around. When I came to, he was holding me, you know, cradling me in his arms like I was a baby or something. Then I was just . . . bewildered. How did I get from there to here? Where was there, anyway? When he saw that I wasn't going to have a fit or something, he went to get you."

"Well, I really can't tell you what is going on," I admit. "Obviously something is disturbing your sleep, but it doesn't seem to have enough form and substance to really tell me anything. I'm afraid that dream analysis is not one of my specialties."

She sits thoughtfully sipping her tea. She continues to eat the cookie in miniature bites, but even so, she has eaten about half. I can see that the tea is helping her to relax. I don't think that she realizes that it is decaffeinated tea. Last week, Charlotte had us replace the tea in the Twinings Breakfast Tea box with the decaf version. She thought that even though the tea, as weak as she liked to drink it, might have just enough caffeine to add to her anxiety.

But right now, she does not really seem anxious. It looks like she is ruminating, although it is hard to tell. Finally, I can't stand it anymore.

"Penny for your thoughts?" I ask hopefully.

She gives me a wan smile.

"They're not even worth that much," she replies. "I was trying to recollect what happened today. But it doesn't seem as though much did."

"Well," I say. "From an action point of view, I guess that not much happened. We have Teddy and Phoebe their presents, had breakfast, you all took naps, the Taylors came over, we had dinner, you went to bed."

"Okay," she says. "That's what I thought. I was afraid that I missed something."

"Why did you think that?" I ask.

She shrugs.

"I don't know," she finally says. "I have been dreading this day for weeks. And then, it came and went and nothing happened."

"What did you think would happen?" I ask.

"I guess I thought that I would somehow ruin things for everyone," she explains. "You know, I thought that I might make a scene or upset everyone somehow. But I didn't. Everyone had a nice time. So I guess it wasn't so bad after all."

"That's good," I respond. "But, Ana, didn't you get any pleasure out of the day?"

"I got pleasure out of the fact that I didn't mess it up for everyone else."

I resist the temptation to sigh. Looking at her sipping her tea and nibbling on her cookie, I notice that she is tired, but calm. I feel sad myself. I had hoped that she would have gotten more pleasure out of the day than simply not spoiling it for everyone else. I had hoped that she would have felt some of the joy herself.

When we are done, I return her to her room, where Christian is anxiously waiting. I give him a small nod and he takes her to put her to bed. To give them some privacy, I close the door. When I look up, I see that Sawyer is looking at me. He has been discreetly shadowing us, since Christian got up to get me. I can read the worry in his face, but I have nothing new to tell him.

Once I return to my room and lie down, I begin to wonder about Ana's colorful yet formless dream. I wonder if that could be a product of the medication. I know that some of the antidepressants, under their lengthy lists of side effects, do create sleep disturbances. I am too tired however, to check it out now. I look at the clock and see that it is after midnight. The magic of Christmas is clearly over.