About the Author

Allison Schleef was born, raised and lives in Mount Gambier

(home of the world famous Blue Lake) in South Australia,

Australia. After twenty-three years of working in the hospitality

industry as a chef, Allison is enjoying her new role of stay at

home mum; which also now gives her time to indulge in her small

hobby business ‘Little Treasures By Allison’. Sharing a mutual

passion for Jack Russell Terriers with her husband, they are active

within the JRTCA and Allison is a state representative for, and a

long serving member of, the JRTCA’s national committee.

This book is dedicated to my Son…

…My Inspiration and reason for Being; and my greatest achievement to date.

Finally, I know the meaning of Life.

XXXX

And to my dad…

My Hero, My Guiding Light XXX

And also my husband…

…For Better, For Worse XX

ALSO,

I would like to share the love with every mumma

Who has gone through a premature birth / neonatal

journey,

As well as those mummas weathering their own

personal storm.

A G I R A F F E C A L L E D N E O

Copyright © Allison Schleef (2015)

The right of Allison Schleef to be identified as author of this work

has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of

the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be

reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any

form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,

recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the

publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this

publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims

for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British

Library.

ISBN 978 1 78455 838 3 (Paperback)

ISBN 978 1 78455 839 0 (Hardback)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2015)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.

25 Canada Square Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LB

Printed and bound in Great Britain

Acknowledgements/Honourable Mentions:

A shout out must go to these people who directly or indirectly had something to do with either helping me through one of the most trying times in my entire life, or had something to do

with my vision and inspiration of A GIRAFFE CALLED NEO…

My husband Paul – for standing by me, even after seeing

me at my worst. To the endless rotation of NICU Nurses and Paediatric

Consultants and Neonatologists at Flinders – without you all,

my Son would not be. All my Neonatal ‘Sisters from another Mister’ – but

especially Natalie, Kirsty, Tashii, Sharni, and Karri Anne; for their ongoing friendship.

Ange – my devoted sister, for all her kindred support.

Jen – my ‘Sanity Saviour’ while we were in Flinders, now my admired advocate for Premature Birth Support.

My mum and dad – for their devoted and unwavering

benevolence when I needed it the most. Marie – who never once doubted my prose and

capabilities. Sarah - my unassuming late night shoulder to cry on. Rob – THE “Legend” of Daddy’s Little Legend, and a true

inspiration to me. And to the Austin Macauley Board of Editors and my

Publishing Consultant – for this incredible opportunity.

Thank you, One and All. XXXX

“The darkest hour is just before

the Dawn” − Thomas Fuller.

(Meaning: There IS Hope, even in the worst circumstances ….)

“IF I SAID TO YOU RIGHT NOW, THAT YOU HAVE POST-NATAL DEPRESSION – HOW DOES THAT MAKE

YOU FEEL?”

This was a question posed to me by my Doctor.

I sat there for a while, thinking about it. I’d heard the

whispers about women with PND. I knew of the stigma attached to it. So being told point blank by my trusted health professional that it was in HER medical opinion that I was

indeed suffering from it – how DID I feel, exactly?

Did I feel like the cliché – dirty and tainted? No.

Did I feel embarrassed or ashamed? No.

There was only one thing I was feeling at that particular moment – and it was overwhelming and suffocating. I felt

BROKEN. Beaten down. But also, oddly, at the same time I felt relieved. Relieved that the helplessness and despair I was feeling actually had a name; that there was a valid reason. That

I WASN’T going insane.

Let me introduce myself.

My name is Allison, and I have medically diagnosed

Postnatal Depression.

There. It’s out.

It does not mean I am a nutter. I am an ordinary woman; a daughter, a sister, a wife, a mother. I don’t feel embarrassed to admit my condition. Nor do I feel ashamed by it. In fact – I

feel COMPELLED to talk about it, discuss it; because from what I have experienced – and are still going through; I hope

to give others comfort and strength, and, through my writing I also hope to better understand it myself, what it IS I am going through; and to hopefully educate mainstream society and

create more public awareness and greater acceptance; and put an end to the ignorance.

This book is in no way a medical journal. And I point out

right here and now – I am no expert on the subject. I have never professed nor pretended that I am, and I didn’t write this

book to be viewed upon as a Guide; however – I DID write it for the edification of others, for the empowerment and personal improvement it may give. I am honestly, openly and

humbly sharing my OWN thoughts, feelings, perceptions and opinions based on my OWN experience and personal battle with PND; with the goal of my voice being heard on behalf of

all women everywhere.

Statistics are that 1 in 7 mums are diagnosed with

medically recognisable Postnatal Depression, and it’s indiscriminate where and who it strikes. There are a range of factors that can trigger PND – Biological, Psychological and

Sociocultural; and sometimes, if you’re lucky, there is a catalyst, a KNOWN reason; but for the majority of the time, there is no known reason. It just IS.

But contrary to popular belief, Postnatal Depression is NOT a dirty word.

There is so much negative and unfounded stigma

associated with PND, and sadly – UNFAIRLY – women are made to feel like it’s some sort of shameful secret and Taboo

subject that should not be spoken about; much less admitted to suffering from it; lest you be shunned by society and labelled.

Most women suffering with PND are, on the outside,

perfectly NORMAL. That is, for the most part, means that we

function quite well in public and even play nicely with others! HOW ABOUT THAT?!

We are women who pay the bills. Do the grocery

shopping. We run errands. Chauffer the kids around town. Yes! We can drive a CAR! We put the daily meals on the

table, and ensure the clothes on our family’s backs are clean.

We vote. We go to work. Yes – some of us even have JOBS!

We can also hold a meaningful and coherent conversation. And that lady flashing the mega-watt smile that seems to have it all? The one you always secretly aspire to BE like? Guess

What? SHE has PND!! Now WHO would have thought it, huh? And yet – she’s still HER; someone that you, and all

those around her, admire.

So you see – having PND, whilst being a medically recognised condition, DOESN’T mean you are a crazy lady.

And, depending on your own personal views of public disclosure; doesn’t mean you have to keep your condition a secret. Agreed, in absolute extreme cases it can be severely

debilitating; but the good news is – it CAN be effectively treated and managed, and the sooner the diagnosis, the earlier

the treatment and faster the recovery.

Postnatal Depression is more prevalent than most would care to realise. And I dare say, There are a lot of women out

there who are undiagnosed as such and struggling from day to day, due largely to not knowing in the first instance how to recognise it; and then not knowing where to go from there,

because they want to keep it to themselves out of fear of perceived repercussions – and from fear of being socially ostracised. I think it’s absolutely abhorrent the way

mainstream society have shaped the way most women are made to feel about Postnatal Depression, all because it falls

into the category of ‘Mental Health’. It is the ignorant and the uneducated that shun such a condition; and human nature that singles out and highlights with ridicule and malice, that of

which we don’t fully understand. This ignorance dates back to