Lauren Dickason and the future that could have been

In another world there is healing.

This post is about Lauren Dickason. You don’t have to read it. It’s OK to just choose not to read about this topic because it’s too close to home or it’s too hard or it just hurts too much. It’s a good thing to recognise when your heart can’t take more awful news. This post does not include any detail about the deaths of Lauren’s children. It is not graphic in any way. It may not be what people wanted from me, but it was where I wanted to put the profound pain I feel for Lauren and her three babies and their loved ones.

I wanted to imagine another world. A world where we understand mental illness, where there is no stigma, where help is truly available.

Arohanui, Emily.

Lauren Dickason stands at the school playground waving her three little ones goodbye. Her youngest daughters Karla and Maya have just joined their big sister Liané at school. They’ve been so excited about big school and they have settled in well.

Lauren is a beloved member of the school community, she’s known for always being willing to help out with fundraisers. She is always volunteering to be parent helper. Always lending a hand. But most of all, she’s known as someone who will help out vulnerable new mums in the community.

She can see, in the eyes of other mothers, the cloak that hangs heavy, darkening everything around them. She has a way of reaching them and connecting with them. She has a way of sharing her story that makes you feel less alone. She has seen the darkness, she has lifted the veil.

Today, as she waves to teachers and other parents, she sees a new mum at the bus stop and she senses that loneliness tinged with terror that she used to know so well. She sits by the new mum and says simply: “It’s so hard isn’t it?”.

The new mum looks up at her and says “It’s so hard”.

“Let’s go get a coffee,” Lauren says. “My shout.” After almost two years in the country, she’s learned the lingo.

Photo by Josephine Baran

This is something Lauren often does. Many in the community know her story. They know what she’s been through. They know how much she wants to help and how selfless she is in helping others.

She lost a precious baby, Sarah. It was an extraordinary, world-breaking loss. It shattered Lauren’s world, made her feel as if there’s no even ground on which to place her feet. She never got to bury Sarah. The pain felt never-ending.

She started to have nightmares about how it happened. About her little body and how quickly she was taken from her. Lauren’s family realised she was not OK. They helped her get help. She immediately got support, a diagnosis, and EMDR therapy. She made her way back to herself.

She continued to have regular counselling throughout repeated rounds of IVF. Those around her fully understood that the toll of so many rounds of IVF can be traumatising, so she had a care team around her. When she had her first baby, post-natal depression came quickly but there was a plan in place and she was given support.

Her husband and mother-in-law had sessions with her therapist and were able to recognise what she was going through, how the depression and anxiety paralysed her, and they knew what they needed to do to help.

When newborn twins followed, everyone was on board with helping Lauren. All supports were in place and when she found herself deep in depression and worried she’d harm her beloved babies - her family and friends were able to immediately get help from a post-natal care team. She recovered.

When the family decided to move to Aotearoa, Lauren was able to be open about her mental health challenges and Immigration New Zealand encouraged her to continue her medication and assured her that her post natal depression and PTSD would not stop her becoming a New Zealander. Her husband talked to his new employers about her health and they worked with her to set up supports and assign a counsellor to see as soon as she arrived. She was connected with a support group in advance of her trip, she got to know them on a group chat where they shared photos of gummy babies held by adoring mothers with tired eyes. Her husband was encouraged to take the first month off from his new job so the family could settle together.

When they had to spend two weeks in lockdown isolation, it was hard - but Lauren had regular phone call support from a social worker and was reminded that she wasn’t alone.

But in that first week, she felt the terror come rushing in. Sudden. Horrifying. She felt the agony, so familiar and so unwelcome, and she was scared. She saw the unwashed baby bottles on the sink and thought “I can’t do one more day of this”.

Then, she turned around and her husband was there. He knew she would need support and he was there. She remembered she was seeing a counsellor the next day - the one that had been organised in advance. She remembered the words of her social worker to take it all ‘one moment at a time’. She reminded herself that her husband’s new employer took mental health seriously and he was not required to be at work until she was doing OK. She repeated her mantra that there is support. She has it. She looked at the cards of welcome on the kitchen table and knew that there was a community around her. She took the medication that had been prescribed to her and told her husband she felt panicked. They sat on the couch and talked and did breathing exercises together.

She was able to do all of this because her long battle with mental illness had not tipped into psychosis and suicidal ideation because she’d had essential, expert and long-term therapy and support. Every time she’d asked for help, she’d had help. People had seen her cries for help and wrapped her up in care.

Over the next year she sometimes had those feelings of not wanting to do even one more day. That first week in the country was uneventful really, she thought. After that week, she had occasionally felt the darkness. Just every now and then. Until one day she realised she was OK. She felt joy when she saw her little ones chase each other at the park, she felt the sun on her face, she laughed and cried and felt it all but she felt no pain. She felt strong. Connected. Loved. Supported. As a family they’d come through together.

Lauren smiled, returning her thoughts to the present. To this new mum.

“I sometimes think of hurting my baby,” the new mum whispers. And Lauren holds her hand gently. “I’ve been there. There is a way through and you’re going to make it, just like I did.”

Lauren explains how wanting to hurt your babies is common when you’re very unwell. It’s a sign you’re very unwell. It’s a sign you need help. And here in Aotearoa, you have help. Here, we take the mental health of mothers seriously. And there’s so much help.

We have maternal mental health supports in place right up until five years old, because we recognise that post-natal mental health disorders can repeat and continue throughout a new mother’s life. We know sleep deprivation can make them worse, make them reoccur, so we don’t stop support after the first year.

We have free counselling and bereavement leave as part of IVF treatments because we recognise the incredible toll it can take on families. And the trying to conceive community has access to affordable counselling on demand, for the same reasons.

When a mother loses a baby in their belly, we have 12 weeks of free counselling available to them, plus bereavement leave, and funeral support.

There is a national screening process for peri and post-natal depression, anxiety, and psychosis. It continues for the first three years of a child’s life, with the ability to extend it to five years. Every birthing parent is screened periodically to ensure they have the support they need.

When a parent is diagnosed with peri or post natal depression and/or anxiety, their partner gets up to eight weeks leave to support them in their recovery. They get weekly sessions with a counsellor but also a fortnightly sessions with a social worker to help them claim any support they need around housing and food insecurity.

Postnatal depression and anxiety support groups are well funded by the government so every region has drop in clinics for new mothers to come for a break and some support. Lauren volunteers at one, making cups of tea and giving chocolate biscuits to tired mums. Sometimes she shares her story.

She says -

“In another world, maybe the worst would have happened,” she sometimes says to these mothers.

“I can’t imagine it. But had I not had any help….I don’t know where I’d be right now.”

Laura Dickason awaits sentencing in the psychiatric unit at Hillmorton Hospital.