"It was the end of the world as we knew it, and I felt fine. That’s almost exactly what I told my psychiatrist at my March 16 appointment, a few days after our children’s school district extended spring break because of the coronavirus. I said the same at my April 27 appointment, several weeks after our state’s stay-at-home order.

​Yes, it was exhausting having a kindergartener and fourth grader doing impromptu distance learning while I was barely keeping up with work. And it was frustrating to be stuck home nonstop, scrambling to get in grocery delivery orders before slots filled up, and tracking down toilet paper. But I was still doing well because I thrive in high-stress emergency situations. It’s exhilarating for my ADHD brain. As just one example, when my husband and I were stranded in Peru during an 8.0-magnitude earthquake that killed thousands, we walked around with a first aid kit helping who we could and tracking down water and food. Then I went out with my camera to document the devastation as a photojournalist and interview Peruvians in my broken Spanish for my hometown paper.

Now we were in a pandemic, and I’m a science journalist who has written about infectious disease and medical research for nearly a decade. I was on fire, cranking out stories, explaining epidemiological concepts in my social networks, trying to help everyone around me make sense of the frightening circumstances of a pandemic and the anxiety surrounding the virus.

I knew it wouldn’t last. It never does. But even knowing I would eventually crash, I didn’t appreciate how hard the crash would be, or how long it would last, or how hard it would be to try to get back up over and over again, or what getting up even looked like.

In those early months, I, along with most of the rest of the country, was using “surge capacity” to operate, as Ann Masten, PhD, a psychologist and professor of child development at the University of Minnesota, calls it. Surge capacity is a collection of adaptive systems — mental and physical — that humans draw on for short-term survival in acutely stressful situations, such as natural disasters. But natural disasters occur over a short period, even if recovery is long. Pandemics are different — the disaster itself stretches out indefinitely.

“The pandemic has demonstrated both what we can do with surge capacity and the limits of surge capacity,” says Masten. When it’s depleted, it has to be renewed. But what happens when you struggle to renew it because the emergency phase has now become chronic?"

"What is COVID-19?
COVID-19 is a new illness that affects the lungs and breathing. It is caused by a new coronavirus. Symptoms include fever, cough, and trouble breathing. It also may cause stomach problems, such as nausea and diarrhea, and a loss of your sense of smell or taste. Symptoms may appear 2 to 14 days after you are exposed to the virus. Some people with COVID-19 may have no symptoms or only mild symptoms. 

How does COVID-19 affect pregnant women?
Researchers are still learning how COVID-19 affects pregnant women. A report released in June 2020 looked at whether pregnant women might be at increased risk of getting very sick from COVID-19. This report from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) notes that:

• Pregnant women with COVID-19 may be more likely than nonpregnant women with COVID-19 to need care in an intensive care unit (ICU) or need a ventilator (for breathing support).
• Pregnant women who are Black, Hispanic, or Asian may have a higher risk of severe illness or need ICU care more often than other pregnant women. This is likely caused by social and economic inequity, not biological differences.

Although the risk of needing more care in the hospital and having more severe illness may be increased, the overall risk of these outcomes is still low for pregnant women. Also, it’s important to know that the report suggests the risk of death is not higher for pregnant women with COVID-19 than for nonpregnant women with COVID-19. 

How can COVID-19 affect a fetus?
Remember that researchers are learning more about COVID-19 all the time. Some researchers are looking specifically at COVID-19 and its possible effects on a fetus. Here’s what they know now:

• Some pregnant women with COVID-19 have had preterm births, but it is not clear whether the preterm births were because of COVID-19. 
• Researchers have found a few cases of COVID-19 that may have passed to a fetus during pregnancy, but this seems to be rare.

More research is needed to understand the effects of COVID-19 before birth. After birth, a newborn can get the virus if they are exposed to it. 

 What should pregnant women do to avoid the coronavirus?
Pregnant women should take steps to stay healthy, including:

• keeping your prenatal care visits 
• limiting contact with other people as much as possible
• staying home as much as possible
• staying at least 6 feet away from other people if you need to go out 
• wearing a mask or cloth face covering in public and any other needed protection while at work 
• washing hands often with soap and water for at least 20 seconds
• cleaning hands with a hand sanitizer that contains at least 60 percent alcohol if you can’t wash them (rub until your hands feel dry)
• avoiding touching your eyes, nose, and mouth 
• having a good stock of essential supplies, including at least 30 days of any medications (so you don’t have to go out as often)

Should pregnant women wear a mask or face covering?
As of April 3, the CDC says all people, including pregnant women, can wear a cloth face covering when they are in public to slow the spread of COVID-19. Face coverings are recommended because studies have shown that people can spread the virus before showing any symptoms. See the CDC’s tips on making and wearing a face covering.

Wearing a cloth face covering is most important in places where you may not be able to stay 6 feet away from other people, like a grocery store or pharmacy. It also is important in parts of the country where COVID-19 is spreading quickly. But you should still try to stay at least 6 feet away from others whenever you leave home.

If you have COVID-19 or think you may have it, you should wear a mask while you are around other people. You also should wear a mask if you are taking care of someone who has COVID-19 or has symptoms. You do not need to wear a surgical mask or medical-grade mask (N95 mask). 

How will COVID-19 affect prenatal and postpartum care visits?
It is important to keep your prenatal and postpartum care visits. Call your obstetrician–gynecologist (ob-gyn) or other health care professional to ask how your visits may be changed. Some women may have fewer or more spaced out in-person visits. You also may talk more with your health care team over the phone or through an online video call. This is called telemedicine or telehealth. It is a good way for you to get the care you need while preventing the spread of disease. 
If you have a visit scheduled, your care team’s office may call you ahead of time. They may tell you about telemedicine or make sure you do not have symptoms of COVID-19 if you are going in to the office. You also can call them before your visits if you do not hear from them."

By Cassie Shortsleeve| July 14, 2020

"Six weeks after I gave birth to my first daughter, I found myself in my OB/GYN’s office for my postpartum checkup. After a quick conversation and a physical exam, my doctor told me that I was “cleared.” I could resume all regular pre-pregnancy activity.

I went home, fed my baby and went on a run — and had to stop after a half-mile. My pelvic floor felt like it was going to give out and — although once an avid runner — I felt clumsy. That night, I lay awake, milk-stained and sweaty. Nothing about me felt “cleared.”

Despite the fact that in 2018, the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists recommended that, to optimize women’s health, postpartum care should become more of a rolling process rather than a single encounter, for many new moms, the six-week postpartum appointment remains the only touch point with the health-care system that birthed her baby.

If Latin America has la cuarentena — a 40-day period when women take care of a new mom while she rests — and the ancient Indian medical system of ayurveda teaches us that we must nurture women for 42 days postpartum for the health of her next 42 years, the United States, traditionally, has this: one lone appointment that, in many senses, gives a message of closure to the fragile and monumental postpartum period.

"The four- to six-week time frame has historically been thought to be enough time for women to be able to go back to do more physically demanding jobs, like farming, without having any serious medical issues,” explains Heather Irobunda, a board-certified OB/GYN in New York. Your uterus has usually shrunk back to a pre-pregnancy size, lacerations have healed, soreness from birth has resolved.

But physical changes persist for longer — probably six months or so, says Kecia Gaither, director of perinatal services at NYC Health+Hospitals/Lincoln. Around then, pelvic floor and abdominal musculature tone returns, changes in hair normalize, and the menstrual cycle might become more regular (if it’s returned).

Some research even suggests women wait 12 months to conceive again. But how long does it take for the body to recover? It depends on where you look.

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, for one, says that a “pregnancy-related” death is a death of a woman while pregnant or within one year of the end of pregnancy, but “maternal mortality” is defined by the World Health Organization as the death of a woman while pregnant or within 42 days of the end of pregnancy.

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, often called the “bible” of psychiatric health conditions, defines postpartum depression as depression “with postpartum onset: defined as within four weeks of delivering a child.” But, says Cindy-Lee Dennis, a professor at the University of Toronto who studies the postpartum period, “it’s fairly standard in the research literature to consider postpartum depression up to one year postpartum.” (Take a landmark 2013 study published in JAMA Psychiatry of 10,000 mothers: It found that 1 in 7 women develop PPD within the first year postpartum.)

Birdie Gunyon Meyer, a registered nurse and director of certification for Postpartum Support International, a nonprofit group that lobbied to extend the period following delivery in the definition of PPD, says: “I don’t think anybody really believes that the postpartum period is over at four or so weeks, but we give that impression when you come in for your four- or six-week checkup."
​
The truth is, the adjustment to parenthood takes time. It takes more than a couple of weeks and more than a couple of months. Researchers say Year 1 is critical for children and parents alike. “For the child, the brain is growing rapidly and the experiences that happen and the neurological pathways that are developed stay with the child for a lifetime,” says Dennis."

By Charles Feng| July 22, 2020

"Three years ago, my wife, daughter and I took a photo shivering on a beach amid the howling autumnal wind. Last year, for 11 glorious, anticipatory weeks, while my wife was pregnant, I planned to update the picture at the same location with a new baby in tow.

But that plan was abruptly upended when we had a miscarriage. Now that picture that sits on our mantel would still be just the three of us, squinting into the camera, buttressing one another against the cold.
​
The miscarriage itself lasted only a few hours. But the self-recrimination lingered long afterward because I wasn’t sure how to grieve when my wife’s emotional response seemed more important. When I searched online, women’s perspectives abounded on websites, in YouTube videos and in news articles, but men’s perspectives were scarce. Academic research was little better. A pattern emerged: Although there is a spotlight on Mom’s emotions and well-being during a miscarriage, Dad’s experiences are rarely discussed.
​
The pregnancy for our first daughter went smoothly. So, when my wife found out about our second pregnancy, we told family members and friends immediately after finding out, around the two-month mark. This meant that when the miscarriage occurred, we had to backtrack and explain to everyone what had happened, in painful conversations.

My wife’s friends, mostly women, showered her with messages and flowers. On the other hand, for the few friends, all men, I contacted, the comments ranged from the trite (“Sorry, that sucks”) to the callous (“Gotta try again!”) to, well, silence. My best friend, with the best of intentions, emailed my wife his condolences but excluded me.

Eventually, another friend who had recently experienced two miscarriages carved out some time to chat over dinner.
“How are you feeling, buddy?” he asked.

​“Okay,” I said.

“Tough as it seems right now, it does get better with time.”

“Good to know.” I felt like a sullen teenager.

“You know, while discussing miscarriages is in general taboo, for men it seems especially so,” he said.

He’s right.

The entire arc of the miscarriage, from conception to loss, occurs within the female body. Aside from contributing sperm, I felt like a bystander. I was traveling when my wife watched the double pink lines appear on the pregnancy test. She occasionally saw the obstetrician on her own and started organizing the baby’s room without my input. I had an ancillary role in the pregnancy, so I wasn’t sure I even had a right to feel devastated.

The event itself is permanently etched in my psyche. Throughout the night, my wife had unremitting abdominal pain. I was asleep when she barged through the door from the bathroom.

​“The baby’s gone,” she said through tears.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. I got up and hugged her. “What should we do now?”

“I don’t know.”

My wife went to the obstetrician, while I stayed home with our 2-year-old daughter.

After a sushi lunch — no longer pregnant, my wife could eat raw fish again — we dropped our daughter off at my parents’ house. To distract ourselves, we caught an animated movie. That evening, we drove to a deserted parking lot at the local elementary school. I shut off the car ignition and let the jazz radio buzz in the background. I held my wife’s hand as we stared into the darkness. We talked about the movie but little else.

The next day I was back at work.

The best thing I could do was to just be with her. I felt like I didn’t have a right to express my despair, so I actively suppressed my emotions. My wife needed to lean on me, so I became a stoic, unperturbable oak tree for her. According to a study published this year, after a miscarriage, men have described themselves, in supporting their wives, as “rocks, guards and repair men.” We adhere to traditional notions of masculinity, of being steady and capable, and never, ever succumbing to emotions."

"Nima Bhakta was that college friend who everyone knew would be a great mother.

We met in 2006, and I could see that she was always at ease when she interacted with children.

Kind and confident, she was also the friend who talked about how excited she was to have children of her own.

That's why it was such a devastating loss to her family, friends and to me, when she lost her battle with postpartum depression and died by suicide on July 24. Suicide is one of the leading causes of death in women with postpartum depression.

In a letter to her family before she died, Nima wrote that she tried to tell her loved ones about her struggle with postpartum depression but she hadn't been able to find the words to explain the depth of her suffering. She wrote that she had a loving and supportive husband and that no one was at fault for her pain.

It started, she wrote, after her son was born in 2019. She felt completely changed as an individual, wife, sister, daughter and aunt, and she didn't understand how she couldn't even attempt cooking or other things that she once enjoyed.

Her constant worry about the future and self-blame for any difficulties with her son overwhelmed her. She got to the point that she believed that she was a complete failure as a mother and was scared that she would cause him harm in the future. Throughout her letter was a sense of shame for needing help taking care of her son, and guilt that she wasn't feeling better despite having an incredibly supportive husband, Deven Bhakta, and her sisters and family.

In her text messages to me she expressed she was experiencing postpartum depression. "Everything I do for Keshav just seems like a task for me, it's been hard to have that bond between me and him. Really didn't expect all this since I love kids but with Keshav I've been struggling. I haven't been out of the house either unless it's for a doctor appointment, it's pretty bad. Deven's been such a big help it's ridiculous."

She couldn't see what a wonderful mother she was to her beautiful baby boy. I saw her as a devoted mother diligently attending to all of his daily needs. I could see she loved him so much.

How did a mother who didn't have any of the risk factors for PPD -- factors that include a personal or family history of depression and lack of social support -- still succumb to it? It can be harder for Indian women like us to ask for psychological help because these issues are not always discussed in our community, but there are other reasons women suffer from this misunderstood condition.

​What is postpartum depression?

During pregnancy and in the hours after childbirth, women experience a dramatic drop in their estrogen and progesterone hormone levels, and that fluctuation is thought to contribute to postpartum mental health problems, according to the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists.

In addition to the changes in hormones, emotional factors, fatigue and general life stressors may contribute to PPD, experts say. Postpartum depression may begin in the days or weeks following childbirth, or it may begin months later, and it can last weeks, months or years if untreated.

While the experience of PPD can look different for each woman, common symptoms include a loss of pleasure or interest in doing things she once enjoyed; eating and sleeping much more or much less than usual; experiencing panic attacks or anxiety most or all of the time; feelings of guilt, worthlessness and self-blame; sadness or crying uncontrollably; fear of not being a good mom; fear of being alone with the baby or disinterest in the baby; difficulty making decisions; and thoughts of hurting oneself or the baby.

Postpartum depression is not the so-called "baby blues," which 70% to 80% of all moms experience, according to the American Pregnancy Association.
​
While baby blues may begin soon after birth, its symptoms -- which can include crying for no apparent reason, anxiety, insomnia and mood changes -- should dissipate two weeks after childbirth. If they continue past two weeks, mothers should be examined for postpartum depression."

"Do you ever feel like you’re not doing enough as a parent? Like you might be totally screwing this up and maybe even making things worse for your kids? We’re right there with you. Parenting was already hard, and now we're navigating a pandemic on top of it.

In this webinar, we’ll talk about the self-doubt, anxiety, and uncertainty that has come with pandemic parenting. We’ll also share what the research says about “good enough’ parenting, especially in times of crisis. We’ll be joined by guest, Dr. Sharon Lamb, psychologist and author of The Not Good Enough Mother. Agata Freedle will serve as moderator to guide our conversation and pose questions that you submit.
​
Join us on Zoom at 9 p.m. Eastern Time for this free webinar."

By Josie Cox| July 30, 2020

"As the epicenter of Covid-19 continues to drift around the globe, leaving death and depression in its wake, it’s become increasingly difficult for even the most naive to defend a whimsical assertion favored by the privileged in the early days of the pandemic. Coronavirus is not a great leveller. It never was. 

​Data made available to The New York Times earlier this month shows that Latino and African-American residents of the U.S. are three times as likely to become infected as their white neighbors. Black and Latino people are almost twice as likely to die from it. 

Other figures show that states with the highest level of income inequality have had a larger number of Covid-19-related deaths than states with lower inequality. And the gender divide is marked too.

As the epicenter of Covid-19 continues to drift around the globe, leaving death and depression in its wake, it’s become increasingly difficult for even the most naive to defend a whimsical assertion favored by the privileged in the early days of the pandemic. Coronavirus is not a great leveller. It never was. 

Data made available to The New York Times earlier this month shows that Latino and African-American residents of the U.S. are three times as likely to become infected as their white neighbors. Black and Latino people are almost twice as likely to die from it. 

Other figures show that states with the highest level of income inequality have had a larger number of Covid-19-related deaths than states with lower inequality. And the gender divide is marked too.

​Almost half of all mothers surveyed felt “rushed and pressed for time” more than half of the time during the lockdown, and 46% felt nervous and stressed more than half of the time. Only 15% of mothers said they had managed to set clear boundaries between work and family, largely on account of the closure of schools and childcare facilities. 

“It is clear that parents in particular need more support during school and childcare closures,” says Dr Heejung Chung of Kent’s School of Social Policy, Sociology and Social Research, who led the study.

“There are signs that the increased workload and conflict between work and family has negatively impacted parents’ mental wellbeing, especially mothers,” she adds. “We need a thorough gendered analysis on the economic impact of the lockdown and more resources and policies are needed to support parents especially mothers' labor market attachments.”

Biggest Setback in a Decade 

​This research adds to reams of existing evidence underscoring the extent to which the pandemic has chipped away at hard-earned progress towards both greater gender equality and women’s economic rights, while exacerbating an already terrifying mental health crisis.

Sofia Sprechmann, Secretary-General of humanitarian agency Care International, recently described Covid-19 as the biggest setback to gender equality in a decade. Research conducted by McKinsey has revealed that women’s jobs are 1.8 times more vulnerable to this crisis than men’s. The consultancy concluded that because of Coronavirus’ “regressive effect on gender equality”, global GDP growth could be $1 trillion lower in 2030 than it would be if women’s unemployment simply tracked that of men in each sector."

By: Catherine Pearson| July 14, 2020

"We're facing a year without precedent in modern parenthood. So why do we feel...so detached?"

"When the pandemic first hit New York City in March, abruptly closing my boys’ school and daycare, I was a wreck.

I was terrified of my kids getting sick. I was so anxious sitting in bed at night, listening to sirens scream past my window down the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, I’d lose my breath. Then sometimes, I’d have moments of delirious happiness: My family was safe and hanging out together at, like, 11 a.m. on a Tuesday. We never do that! It was emotional and logistical chaos all day, every day.

Now, months into this mess, I move through my days feeling basically ... nothing. When I see friends and family (from a safe distance, outdoors, usually wearing a mask) and they ask how I’m doing, I say something like: “We’re good! We’ve kept our jobs, and no one’s been sick. Also, I’m dead inside.”

This is only a partial joke.

The everyday stresses parents are facing now are arguably worse than they were when the virus first emerged. Where I live in New York City, public schools recently announced they’ll likely open for in-person learning between one and three days a week — as though those are remotely similar. I have no idea if my husband and I are sending our older son in. I have zero idea what we’re doing for childcare for our younger kiddo, because I do not see a solution that feels relatively safe and is one we can actually afford. I have no idea how we are going to get through the fall or winter or any part of next year.

But I’m not freaking out; I’m numb.

And I’m not alone.

“After being on high alert for so long, it’s entirely understandable that numbness would set in. No one can sustain a state of emergency for any length of time. We weren’t built that way,” said Olivia Bergeron, who runs Mommy Groove Therapy & Parent Coaching in New York City. “Fight or flight is supposed to be a temporary state to ensure survival, not a permanent way of living.”