My wife Anna and I have embarked on the long journey towards first-time conception, and like most hopeful parents in the making, we're doing a fair bit of navel-gazing in anticipation. One subject that comes up time and time again is whether I'll pass my troubled mental health on to our children. What if they're born blue, too? With a father whose adult life has been characterised by recurring bouts of anxiety and depression, there's a strong chance that theirs will be, too. And then there's the fact that I'm a recovering alcoholic.
If my genes choose to exercise their will, we could end up with alcoholic children destined to spend their entire lives fighting anxiety and depression. Throw fate into the equation and my worry-o-meter really hots up. Having been taking antidepressants for the past two and a half years, I'm worried about conceiving a child while taking medication. Not that there's an alternative. I like the idea of making a baby while clinically depressed even less. I often say to my wife during these what-are-our-kids-going-to-be-like discussions, what if we're tempting fate by trying while I'm rattling with pills? Her response is always the same: "So what if they're born blue? What's the big deal? They'll just be like you. And I love you just the way you are."
She's right. Even if we knew for certain that I was going to pass my problems on to our children, that wouldn't stop us. After all, there are days when I see my problems as the greatest of gifts, a chance to experience the full spectrum of life from suicidal lows all the way round to ecstatic highs. But there are also times, when I'm not well, that I don't feel so accepting. And this is when I really start worrying. If we had a child who started drinking like a fish from the age of 14, the way I did, I know I'd find it unbearable to watch the same broken record revolving woozily on the stereo.
Of course, teenagers will always experiment with alcohol, sex and drugs because it's what teenagers do. And ours won't be any different. I went to see Thirteen recently, and throughout the entire film, as I watched Holly Hunter play a recovering alcoholic whose 13-year-old daughter spirals into drinking, drug-taking and self-harming, I sat squirming in my seat, my possible future fate on screen. She can't stop her daughter coming home drunk, just as nobody could stop her. Powerless, she has to watch her daughter make the same mistakes. It's the toughest of tests for Holly Hunter's character; it'll be the toughest of tests for me.
So I am preparing myself. One day, fertility willing, I will have to sit our children down and explain to them that daddy's an alcoholic and that there's a possibility that they'll be susceptible to this illness too. Fifty per cent of alcoholics have at least one family member who suffers from alcoholism. The other 50%, like me, come to alcoholism with no family precedent.
In trying to determine whether they'll inherit the anxiety and depression, the picture is even less clear. There are just questions. Exactly what percentage of my problems with anxiety and depression are genetic? Did childhood conditioning play any part in all this? Do I have a chemical imbalance in my brain? Did I simply get a marked card? To try and answer these questions is to go round and round in a perfect, infuriating circle. Since the age of 18, when my problems first led me to seek medical help, I've seen psychiatrists, counsellors, psychotherapists, hypnotherapists, reiki healers, palm readers and Chinese doctors and none have been able to give me an answer. I'm increasingly certain there isn't one.
Sometimes, when I'm having a bad day and feel weighed down by this stuff, I hope that my wife's genes override mine and that our children are born as perfect genetic photocopies of her. Other times, I like to elevate the idea of conception to a spiritual plane and daydream - for instance, believing what the Jewish Kabbalists teach, which is that our souls choose our parents, because only they can pass on to us what it is that we must learn in this lifetime. But mostly, though, I pray they're a medley of the two of us. A little bit of her, a little bit of me. The bottom line is this: we want children. More than anything. So we keep talking. And keep trying. And if we ever have a child, we'll love him or her however they come to us, whatever they're like, whoever they are.
