‘I gave birth to my child – then I was sectioned’

When Ele Cushing found out she was pregnant, she couldn’t have been happier. But it triggered a terrifying period of post-partum psychosis that saw her hospitalised and separated from her child

I was ecstatic when I found out I was pregnant. I was 27 years old and more eager to be a mum than climb the ladder in the publishing company where I worked. I couldn’t wait to hold my child in my arms and experience those first few months of bonding. Little did I know, I’d spend them on a psychiatric ward without my son. As my pregnancy progressed, I became increasingly terrified about the birth. My mother had had multiple miscarriages, and an issue with my baby’s umbilical cord meant I would have to be induced. As my due date approached, my anxiety worsened and I referred myself for CBT on the NHS. But there was only time for one session before my scheduled induction in January 2016. The birth was a blur. I reacted unexpectedly quickly to the treatment that triggers the contractions, meaning there wasn’t time for pain relief before I was rushed to the delivery suite. Badly damaged, I was taken to surgery afterwards to be stitched up. By the time our son Joshua was placed in my arms, I felt completely numb. During the first few days of Joshua’s life, my mind went into overdrive. My husband Greg assumed my inability to sleep was just excitement at being a new mum and the physical upheaval of labour. Back home, I wrote a poem about being a new mum and posted it on Facebook. Its uninhibited nature was out of character, which alerted my sister – who’s a GP – to the fact that something was wrong. That first week or so is hazy to me now, but from information I’ve pieced together since from friends and family, I became increasingly distracted and caught up in my thoughts. When the health visitor came round for a routine check-up, I played the piano the whole time; and I’d incessantly tidy the house while Joshua slept. When Joshua was eight days old, Greg woke up to find bible readings outside his bedroom door, erratically scrawled over in red pen. Just hours later, along with my concerned parents, he took me to a mother and baby unit in Hackney, where I was diagnosed with post-partum psychosis. That night, I thought I was fighting for survival in The Hunger Games (a delusion, I later learned). Suspecting my condition wasn’t under control, the nurses took Joshua away from me and I was shut away in a room with a glass wall so doctors could observe me. I remembering banging on it, and before long, I was tranquillised. During the next few weeks, I was moved between psychiatric wards around Greater London and put on antipsychotics and antidepressants. Family visits were painful. I’d try to undress and was deeply suspicious of all men except my husband – even my father and brother. Greg brought Joshua to see me often, and I lived for those visits. I gradually started to get better, and after eight weeks of separation, Joshua was allowed to stay with me again, now in a mother and baby unit in Winchester. There, a doctor told me for the first time, ‘You will get well.’ Those words were life-saving; they got me through the overwhelming period of learning to care for a little human, while trying to care for myself, too. That April, I was discharged, but going home was daunting. My NHS mental health team helped with the transition, offering me therapy and taking me back to some of the wards to help with the process of remembering and healing. Even though there’s much I don’t remember, I’ve bonded well with Joshua now. It still stings to see mums with their babies in those first few months, because I’m aware I missed out on those invaluable moments. But I’m grateful for how close he is to his dad, who has been consistently supportive. Since spring 2016, I’ve had no psychotic relapses, but I have experienced anxiety and depression, as well as elements of obsessive compulsive disorder and self-harm. A childhood habit of biting my nails has returned, severely, and I’ve had to wean myself off by wearing gloves. Last summer, under the advice of a doctor, I came off all my medication successfully. We’ve come a long way since the days when new mothers in my position would have been written off as insane and locked up. Thinking about this makes me feel so grateful that I live now and not then. When I tell people my story, they often give me a funny look. There’s still stigma around psychosis. But I speak out because this can happen to anyone, even if they’ve never had psychological problems before. No one is mentally invincible.