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pregnant soon; that he had no doubt about it. That must have been a standard line of
his, but it gave me such great courage and hope. I remember thinking to myself, to his mind no doubt, a healthy 25-year-old girl and 27-year-old fella were sure to get pregnant. But they’re
not, and you read about fertility problems more and more now — but it was not publicly discussed then. We are talking about 1960s Ireland so needless to say, we had to keep this to ourselves:
it was our secret. Enda had to go and give a semen sample in the Mater, where Dr de Valera had a clinic. Looking back now, I think, wasn’t Enda marvellous to do it? Most guys wouldn’t
have done such a thing, especially in those days. I remember how, when Enda got a letter saying that his semen was 100 per cent mobile, he exclaimed, ‘Yippee!’ and was most pleased with
himself.
    Dr de Valera had given us a thermometer so that we could take my temperature, and when it came to mid-month and my temperature rose, we knew we were supposed to make love then. Making love to
order never suited us, however, and Enda used to say ‘Oh God!’ when I would announce to him in the middle of the day that we had to go to bed. It wasn’t as nice because it
wasn’t spontaneous. Within six months, however, I found out that I was pregnant and I was very happy. So that ended that trauma in our lives for the time being — but I always think how
well we managed it together.
    At the start of my pregnancy, we went back to Dr de Valera and followed up on all the advice. I thought my bump would never get bigger: I couldn’t wait for it all to happen, and wanted to
be bigger and bigger and bigger. I had my son Feargal in Dublin’s Hatch Street Maternity Home. Dr de Valera was my gynaecologist for the birth: it was the August Bank Holiday Monday and I can
still remember him coming in, wearing his tennis shorts. Feargal was born on 3 August 1964. I had a very easy birth — I went in at 3 p.m. and I had him at 5 p.m. — but I do recall
screaming during labour and the nurse saying to me, ‘Oh please, you are going to upset the whole nursing home!’ There were no such things as injections or the like: you just had your
baby — not like now. On the other hand, I was kept in for ten days after the birth, as if I was sick, while now you are lucky to be allowed to stay two nights at the most!
    Feargal was a lovely child, but very cross and crying all the time. I breastfed for a short while — maybe two weeks or so. I did my best, but it just didn’t work out. When I first
came home with my beautiful baby, I thought I had it made. I felt I had fulfilled myself. Most women feel the same, I think, because I believe that as a woman, you are programmed to have children
— in my opinion that is the way your hormones operate and your body cycles move.
    Looking back now, it is clear that I suffered from postnatal depression, but didn’t know what it was, as nobody talked about such things in those days. I remember sitting in the living
room with Feargal on my knee and the tears coursing down my face, and Enda coming home and saying, ‘This can’t be right, that you are crying — we have a lovely baby and a nice
home’, and so on. Reading about postnatal depression now, it is obvious I had all the typical symptoms. I had longed for a child and I now had a beautiful son — give me an Irish mother
who doesn’t want a son — I had everything I wanted, a loving husband, a lovely home, a delightful baby, and I was crying about it! I just felt that I would never get on top of it, of
minding him. Gone were our lovely Sundays, and now I had to mind this little baby, who was crying morning, noon and night. I didn’t feel the wealth of love I should have felt for him. But I
got out of it very well, fortunately. Enda spoke to Dr Keane, who came to visit me. He referred me to a psychiatrist in Dublin: a nice, helpful man, who said that I had postnatal depression, and
that I