From joy to heartache to joy again, my emotional ride of motherhood: Padmaja Racherla

My journey of motherhood started right from the day I came to India from the US suddenly, as my father-in-law had expired. That day, I had nausea, but my family assumed that it was because of travel fatigue. As I was also not comfortable with the rituals usually performed after a death in the family, we all assumed I was sick because of them.

After the rituals were over, I got myself tested, and a scan confirmed my pregnancy. Everybody in the family rejoiced. However, my parents were feeling bad, as they had booked tickets to go to the US to be with my sister-in-law during childbirth. And by the time they would be back in India, it would be almost time for my delivery. I assured them that I would be okay. Still, they decided to cut short their visit by a few months to be with me during my delivery.

A month after my pregnancy was confirmed, I had some complications and so the doctor advised me complete bed rest. As I am an active person, sitting in one place is really difficult for me. So, the first week of my bed rest, I was feeling really low. Later, I decided to resume my daily chores but at a much slower pace. I love gardening, and I continued tending to plants during my pregnancy.

Also, I was advised to take injections to support my pregnancy. First daily, later alternate days and then biweekly. Before this, I hadn’t visited any doctor other than my father, who is a doctor. So, whenever there was a need, he used to push the injection so softly that I wouldn’t feel any pain. However, in his absence, I had no option but to take those injections from other doctors.

I had nausea throughout my pregnancy, but I felt no aversion to any food items, unlike some expecting moms. So, I could eat anything but in small quantities.

A beautiful daughter is born

My mother-in-law felt responsible to take care of me in my parents’ absence, and we developed a bond during that time. Just 15 days before my delivery, my parents came back to India. After performing the baby shower, they took me to their home. When the time came, doctors suggested a C-section, as my water broke. It was an emergency delivery. And thus my beautiful daughter was born.

For three months I was at my parents’ home. My grandmother was also there. Being a new mom was overwhelming, and I soon had postpartum depression. As I started my breastfeeding journey, my daughter woke up every 30 minutes to one hour for milk in the night.

During the ordeal of pregnancy and surgery, I was very tired. So my grandmother took care of my baby after I fed her. As I was preparing to go back to my home after three months, my mom gave me a small training session to bathe my daughter. It was tricky but I learned. Once I returned, I did everything on my own without much support.

Pregnancy, the second time around

My daughter crossed all the milestones fast and soon we went back to the US when she was 9 months old. Life as a new mom was pretty different and difficult there, as you have no one to share your burden with. But my daughter was a happy child, so everything was a cakewalk. After six months when we came back to India, I was pregnant again. This time there were no pregnancy complications, but I was careful and slowed down my pace again just to be safe. Of course, the nausea was the same.

As my daughter had the habit of holding onto my arm while sleeping, maintaining a suitable sleeping position for both of us was difficult when I was pregnant again.

One day, in the 7th month of my pregnancy, I took my daughter out to a park, where she climbed up a ladder and sat on a platform to a slide connected by a horizontal metal rope ladder. There she entangled her foot in between the metal slabs. As she started crying, I could not wait and climbed the ladder to free her foot. The people there kept staring at me, some even tried to stop me, as it was risky. However, I successfully brought her down.

In due time, I went through another C-section to deliver my second daughter. She was very calm, unlike my first daughter. As suggested by my doctor, I underwent family planning along with the C-section operation.

Once back in my parents’ home, I made my second daughter sleep in a rocker beside me, as my first daughter slept with me and had the habit of scratching my hand till she fell asleep.

My elder daughter had just turned 2 before my delivery, so we decided to send her to a playschool to keep her engaged. As my brother’s son was just three months older than her, they got along well and went to preschool together. Surprisingly, there was no separation anxiety—from the first day itself, she enjoyed her school and to date that independent streak of my daughter has continued.

Things start to go downhill

Things were going well, and then the catastrophe happened. On the 21st day of my delivery, I was shocked to find my younger daughter dead in the rocker when I woke up in the morning. Though my father confirmed her death, we took her to the hospital, hoping for some miracle. But the doctor herself was shocked, as nothing was wrong with the baby. They told me it was a cot death (the unexplained death of a baby in its sleep).

Suddenly everything changed in my life. All my dreams were shattered. Getting on with life was very difficult, as I had to take care of my elder one while still grieving for my younger baby.

I never liked cooking. But that was the period I took up cooking to distract myself from the sorrow and keep myself busy. As I was in a cocoon of grief and became withdrawn, many around me misunderstood me at that time.

I joined a Zumba class as a first step to coming out of that mood. I made many new friends and was kind of okay and distracted during the day. But nights again were like hell. My husband supported me and gave me time to come out of that low, sinking feeling. But he used to work late, so nobody was there to share my sorrow. Though family members grieved the loss initially, they could not possibly understand the turmoil of a mother after an accident like that. After some time, everyone expected me to behave as if nothing had happened and wanted me to be like before. But it was impossible, and those bottled-up emotions were eating me from the inside.

That was also the time when I had to go through a lot of mental torture because of insensitive words by people around me when I needed their support the most. Eventually, I joined a job to get away from home.

I had no support from my family members—neither in sharing my irreparable loss nor in giving me the confidence to come out of the rut. On top of it, misunderstandings and fights were common in our home those days.

Light at the end of the tunnel

In that hostile environment, it was my mother who was my rock—she supported me, not just by sympathizing with me but also by behaving tough whenever I felt weak emotionally.

Now I realize that I was depressed, as I would cry at night and behave like a robot in the morning, doing everything in autopilot mode. It was challenging to deal with my depression, loss and raising my elder daughter, all at the same time. We also considered the option of adoption, as I always wanted two children. But my doctor and counselor suggested that I first become stable to handle the present relations in my life.

That was the time I made a promise to myself that I will never compromise on bringing up my daughter well because of the loss of my younger one. I have seen a relative being lax in raising her firstborn after the death of her second child and how that affected the upbringing of the child.

Years rolled on as I stood my ground and braved those tough years. Slowly but firmly, I taught my daughter to be confident, happy, independent and kind. Now she is 9 years old, and when I look back, I give myself a pat on the back for bringing her up successfully amid all the turmoil I went through. Of course, my husband was there for support, but it was I who lifted the heavy burden of parenting. One thing that kept me going was that I never lost faith in God, which probably helped me tide over those difficult times.

I may not be an ideal or perfect mother, but I am now a happy one. I feel proud to see my daughter grow up with values and mental strength. She is considered the most amicable and confident girl among all her cousins. Throughout my parenting journey, I realized that you could survive such setbacks only if you are mentally strong, and self-help is the best help to get over a difficult situation. I wish that my daughter imbibes the resilience I acquired throughout these years.

by Padmaja Racherla

(As told to Monali Bordoloi)