The
Bridge
By Nancy
Sherwood
August
2015
In August 1984, we moved to Tromsø, Norway, a small town
of 35,000 at the time, north of the Arctic Circle.
As with any of our overseas postings, we looked forward
to learning about a new culture and the exoticness of a new and different
place. That sense of excitement was
usually tempered by the “what am I doing here” feeling that creeps in once the
happy tourist feeling begins to fade.
When we arrived in Tromsø, I was 8 months pregnant with
our third child. My first two births
had been cesareans, but my doctor in the States assured me that there was no
reason for me to have another cesarean.
I felt so optimistic. Norway has
such a wonderful record of normal, low intervention births. Midwives deliver most babies in Norway. And so I would have a midwife-assisted
birth.
It didn’t turn out that way. I had a cesarean forced on me and was left
very angry, sad and depressed. And
lonely for my friends at home. My
husband was depressed as well. I think
that he felt that he had let me down.
But, depressed or not, life goes on. I had three
children who needed me. When we arrived,
they were aged 6 and 3 years old. And
soon after a new baby to care for too.
I made friends pretty quickly which was a godsend. I cannot imagine what I would have done
without the support and companionship of other women who were also
mothers.
We left Tromsø in 1986, when my baby was just shy of
turning two.
This year I went back to visit. I was overjoyed to see the same beautiful
mountains I remembered. The town has
grown, and has traffic lights at every street corner just about. There were none when we lived there. So many of the old wooden buildings are still
there and are completely recognizable.
Ships still come in and out of the harbor at all hours.
There is a bridge that connects the island of Tromsø,
where we lived, to the mainland area called Tromsdalen. When we lived there, I drove across that
bridge quite often. I had friends across
the other side of the fjord. And the
Arctic Cathedral and the Fjellheisen (cable car) is on the mainland side of the
bridge.
I don’t like driving on bridges. Not long, high bridges. But I did drive that one.
When we were in Tromsø recently, we went across
the bridge in a taxi.
Going over that bridge brought back some of my darkest
moments as a mother. So many times, as
I drove over the bridge, I thought of just driving over the edge into the icy
water, with my three precious, innocent babies. I was that depressed and overwhelmed by my
feelings of despair.
As you know, I am here and alive, as are all of my
children. I stayed on the road and did
not drive off the bridge. It took real
strength to keep my head right, and drive across instead of off of that
bridge.
My son will be 31 on August 31 this year. He doesn’t know this story. I have not shared it with anyone. Having those memories come back so swiftly
and so strong made me sad. Sad that I
didn’t realize what gifts I had in my family and the wonderful and truly
beautiful place I was living in.
I am so happy that I went back. I visited my old house. Met with old friends. Felt at home in my former, temporary
hometown. I soaked in the beauty that I
had not been able to appreciate as much before, when I was in such a dark place
within. I used to joke about looking forward to being nostalgic about Tromsø.
That is, to me, what postpartum depression is. A dark place. A place that it is almost impossible to leave
sometimes. It is such a contradictory
condition. The joyful falling in love
with your delicious new baby tempered by thought of making the baby “go away” as
if, irrationally, that will make everything better.
This summer, when I crossed that bridge, I remembered
how I had felt. And I was happy that
those feelings are not there any more.
It’s just a bridge. A beautiful
bridge, but nothing more. ©
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| This was taken around midnight, with the long days, it doesn't get fully dark in the summer |
 |
| I did not take this picture. This is the view of Tromsø and the bridge from the Fjellheisen |
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There is help available if you are suffering from postpartum depression:
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