THE BEGINNING OF LINDA’S TREATMENT
Linda was referred to me (Phyllis Cohen) one month after the birth of her second son, Dan. She was feeling severely “depressed, nervous, scared, dizzy, and lightheaded.” These feelings had begun toward the end of her pregnancy, which was medically normal. She was afraid she had a brain tumor that would not be detected. She did not want to get out of bed. On the day that her sister first contacted me, Linda had called her older sister, weakly crying, “Please help me. I can’t go on any more. Please help me end it all.” Although her husband had been generally supportive of her, recently he had become impatient.
The sister brought Linda to her first session. Linda was in a very regressed state. She needed assistance to walk. She was lethargic and despondent, but she was able to ask, “Can you help me?” In lieu of hospitalization, the sister, Linda, and I together decided to try three-times-per-week individual therapy sessions. A psychiatric consultation yielded diagnoses of panic disorder and severe postpartum depression. Zoloft, Xanax, and Valium were prescribed. An M.R.I. ruled out any physical causes.
Linda began her sessions explaining that she was the youngest of four children. She had been very close to her mother, who had died of colon cancer six years earlier, three years prior to the birth of her first child. I later learned that the day Linda called her sister saying she could not go on had been the anniversary of her mother’s death. Linda explained that she was afraid she had a terminal illness, and she did not trust the medical profession that had failed to cure her mother. She had recently been clashing with her mother-in-law, whom she experienced as intrusive and controlling. She was anticipating a major loss because her older sister planned to move her family sixty miles away. She held onto the fantasy that if she were sick, weak, and incapacitated enough, her older sister would not abandon her the way her mother had. Linda described holding onto her 3-year-old son’s security blanket: “I smell his blanket to comfort myself. But he comes over and pulls it away, and I feel stabbed.” She lamented, “How could I have a baby without my mother here? I want to be the baby. I feel cheated.”
Although her husband worked long hours, several sessions were held together with him, in an effort to help him understand what Linda was going through, and the importance of her treatment. I tried to help him support her capacity for, and interest in, being a mother to her baby and her 3-year-old. It was also important for him to ensure that enough help was in place to keep the family afloat. A full-time baby nurse took care of Dan, which was facilitated by the fact that Linda was not nursing him. A nanny took care of her three-year-old son. Yet she felt there was no one to take care of her.
THE INTRODUCTION OF DAN AT 4½ MONTHS
Not until the second month of her therapy did Linda begin to talk about Dan. In retrospect, she had been preoccupied with her own survival, and I (PC) had also been so involved in her survival that I had failed to ask, “How is your baby?” It was her pediatrician who jolted Linda into a greater awareness of Dan. At a well-baby visit when Dan was 4½ months, the pediatrician noticed that the baby was delayed, not smiling, “inside himself.” When Linda told me about the pediatrician’s concern, for the first time she offered her own concerns: “Dan doesn’t smile without lifting him up in the air and jiggling him, and I’m not strong enough to keep lifting him.”
That very week, I recommended that Linda bring Dan into the next session. I suggested that we videotape the session, and she agreed. She did not “set the stage” to orient the baby toward her; instead, she placed the baby on her lap, oriented away from her. She strained her neck around as she attempted to speak to him. Her repertoire of play was quite limited. Only when she repeatedly lifted him up and down would Dan smile, but she kept saying, “You’re so heavy. I can’t do this.” Then she patted his hands, touched his face, and smelled him while speaking to him in a singsong voice. She explained to me, “He lets me do these things, but he shows no reaction. I guess he has a serious nature.”
Linda then complained, “Dan doesn’t even play with toys; he’s not interested in anything. Other kids his age smile all the time, but not him.” I tried to test out Linda’s statement that her baby was “unable to do anything.” I held a candy dish within Dan’s reach. Dan reached for the candy and then dropped the pieces on the floor. I said to him, “You can do something. You can reach for the candy if you want to.” Linda responded, “You think he wants to? I think he’s just flailing his arms by accident.”
In another attempt to assess the baby’s capacity, I asked Linda if I could play with him. I held him on my lap, face-to-face. I began to talk to him, but only when he looked at me. He, in turn, focused longer and longer. When my voice rose, he became more animated, and we moved higher and higher together, until Dan and I were both smiling and giggling. Through this interaction, I determined that this baby was capable of positive engagement.
Linda was watching our interaction, and she was giggling on the couch next to me, like a baby herself. She did this until she became self-conscious and said, “He never did that with me. He’ll never laugh with me, even if I stand on my head.” I joined her in her feeling that it was so painful to see that Dan laughed with me while he would never laugh with her. I told her that she needs to remember that the stranger, as a new person, usually has an advantage over the mother in interesting a baby at this age. We also discussed how painful it is to let someone else play with your baby, and how natural it is, but how painful, to feel inadequate.
I asked her if she’d like to try to do what I did. For the first time, as I coached her to wait for his cues, Dan responded to her by looking and cooing briefly. Her expectation of rejection seemed to be so strong, and she had been so sure that this could never happen, that as he was responding to her, Linda said, “He just wants to show me up to be a liar.” This assumption of negative intent was a salient aspect of her view of Dan.
At another moment when Dan became fussy, Linda offered him a pacifier. When he took the pacifier out of his mouth, she said she was thinking of cutting off the handle because … he uses it too much to pull it out of his mouth.” She did not understand her infant’s need to be able to regulate his own arousal by putting the pacifier in and out of his own mouth by himself.
In the session following this first joint one, Linda was different. Unlike all her previous sessions, she had little to talk about. I wondered to myself if she might be feeling embarrassed about having exposed herself with her baby to me. I worried that she might be feeling jealous of my interaction with Dan. I felt it was important not to push her to speak about the session with Dan until she was ready. Instead, I needed to be sensitive to her feelings of depression and vulnerability. We spoke about Linda feeling incompetent in many areas of her life, and then she expressed anger at Dan for making her feel so inadequate. I raised with her the possibility that she might be feeling angry with me as well, since it was so painful to see Dan laugh with me when she could not get this response from him. Linda said, “No, you were trying to teach me.” She could not bear to experience any negative feelings toward me at this point in the treatment.
Her depression was so strong at times that she completely relied on her household help to care for her children. She alternated between feeling anxious and totally hopeless. In sessions she often cried about her feelings of abandonment. She felt that no one was there for her, and that her husband, her mother-in-law, and her sister were all critical of her.
We did not focus on her baby again until a few weeks later, when Linda told me she was absolutely convinced that there was something wrong with Dan. She said, “He’s not doing anything. He’s not trying to get anywhere. He doesn’t seem sharp or with it. It feels like he’s somewhere else.” When asked to describe more of what had been going on, she responded, “I’m trying not to be critical. But I think it’s all in the name. He’s named after my father, and he’s serious, just like him.” She added, “My other child was perfect at that age, but Dan has turned into a big fat blob, and I’m not cut out to be his mother. I’m just not strong enough.” I asked her to bring Dan into my office for another joint session that we would videotape. Once again, I attempted to interact with Dan. Unlike the previous session, on this day he was totally uninterested in me. Although it was possible that his bad cold had played a role, at this point I began to be seriously worried about Dan. I told Linda that I knew someone who would be able to help us. With her permission, I asked Dr. Beebe, a psychoanalyst and infant researcher, to see the mother and baby together. I told her that I would come with her to the session with Dr. Beebe. I reassured her that our consulting with Dr. Beebe would not in any way replace our own relationship.
In order to more fully evaluate Dan, an early intervention evaluation was recommended by the pediatrician, and a neurological evaluation was recommended by both the early intervention services and Dr. Beebe. Interestingly, neither of these evaluations emphasized the social difficulty, nor was mother-infant treatment recommended. Instead, both the Early Intervention Services and the neurological evaluations recommended intervention strategies that addressed the infant, rather than the dyad and the potential interactive mismatch in the dyad.