The other night I had a
break down. My heart split open all over again. My grief was so
heavy, it felt like the source of my grief happened yesterday, not months
ago. In my attempts to be strong and return to normalcy I had bottled up
everything for a while. Not only did the top blow off, but the entire
bottle exploded into a thousand pieces. I wept big, fat, ugly tears until
I couldn’t breathe, and then blew my nose and cried some more. This went
on for many hours all while screaming at God in my head. As I finally
began to calm down the screaming turned into bargaining… “Ok you can have them
for most of the time, as long as you send them to visit every once in a while”…
“What if you just let me see them in my dreams?”... “Just let me hold them one
time…just once.”
I’m still waiting for an
answer to those requests.
The past 9 months have
been the hardest days of my life. Living through these days has opened my
eyes to an all too often hidden and lonely reality of millions. I’ve
developed an awareness of and a heart for those in the same and similar situations.
It is not wanted sympathy or attention that leads me to tell my story today,
but a love and support for these hurting and lonely people. If I can
bring even the smallest sliver of community to those trudging through the day
to day of this particular nightmare, it is worth the uncomfortableness and
vulnerability I will experience.
In writing this, I do
not claim to speak for everyone in this situation. I do feel though, that
in my somewhat pitiful attempt to describe what this is like, I am probably
speaking for many, if not most. In my own journey to find healing, I have
done a fair amount of reading. Those that have bravely gone before me to
deny certain aspects of our culture and share their pain, have written the most
beautiful books, blogs, articles and testimonials. Those that write
comments and responses to these seem to share the same sentiments. In
reading their words, many of us in this community have seen the words written
on our hearts.
We are a community of
women who have experienced pregnancy loss. Our children were born into
heaven.
Several months ago, I
decided that I hated the term ‘miscarriage.’ I can hardly bear to say it
and hearing it almost makes me sick to my stomach. It’s probably because
when you experience this type of loss the ‘M’ word gets thought, spoken, and
read thousands of times and every time you think, speak, or read it, that ugly
word reminds us of the ugliness of what’s happened. I also don’t feel
like the ‘M’ word acknowledges the loss of life as well as the term ‘pregnancy
loss;’ and if there is one thing heaven born moms are adamant about, is that
there has been a loss of life. Of course there are so many
other lovely phrasings one occasionally hears like “Spontaneous Abortion”
(which will appear in my medical history for the rest of my life,) or
“Terminated Pregnancy” (which I was thrilled to see as well.) Those make
me just as nauseous. Please don’t use them.
Our culture doesn’t like
to talk much about pregnancy loss and that is something I believe we need to
change. We are choosing to not talk about something that happens much
more often than most people realize, even multiple times to the same
woman. A loss occurs in somewhere between 20-25% of all pregnancies no
matter what. And for some reason it has become ingrained in us as a
society to brush this particular pain under the rug. To address it
publicly is taboo. To admit to pregnancy loss is to admit to weakness or
failure.
This is ridiculous to me
because there are way too many of us out there right now who feel so incredibly
alone, frightened, and horribly sad. Because of the way our culture has
traditionally chosen to handle the issue, we feel like we have no one to turn
to or if we do try to confide, we fear that our tragedy will not be understood
or acknowledged. We feel like we don’t know anyone else who has gone
through this, even though chances are we know several people who just decided
to keep quiet about their suffering. We resort to seeking
comfort largely from the internet. Sharing, being authentic, and finding
support is much easier online than in the real world which is not
conducive to our conversations.
Though retreating to the
internet for community is helpful for many of us, other avenues (like social
media) can make things much worse. For women in my generation, it seems
like every time we turn around someone is announcing their pregnancy, or the
arrival of a baby who got to live, or posting photos of their baby bumps…we try
not to hate these women. We are not always successful. Of course we
know that their good fortune and our bad luck is not their fault and they
should not be expected to not post these things for the sake of our feelings,
but it’s still really painful for us to see. “Why does she get to have 2,
3, 4, 5 healthy babies and I...?”
That first question is
like a poison. After we allow ourselves to think one 'why,' many others
follow. If we are not careful we start drowning in the 'whys'. "Why
does the teenager who had sex one time get a healthy baby? Why does the addict get a healthy baby? Why does someone who doesn't even want one
get one? Why do all the children of characters in TV shows, movies, and books live? Why...why...?"
These types of thoughts
run rampant in our heads. And we don't talk about it.
It’s often not better
out in the real world. We feel like we see way more pregnant women
everywhere we go than we did before and we see the happiest looking families
with the most beautiful kids, and…did the baby section at Target get
bigger? How am I supposed to avoid it now? We also get angry and
have to try and refrain from giving a lecture every time we hear some random
parent complaining about their kid. Don't they get how lucky they are?
We try to remind ourselves that we occasionally take things for granted too...that we have things that other people might desperately want, but in the thickness of the negative thoughts in our heads, the positive ones sometimes don't get through.
If most of our friends
are parents, we also probably feel pretty left out. As much as we wish we could still
relate to them and their conversations about diapers and daycare, we don't. The center of their existence has shifted. And we love our own mothers, but we have to accept to a new meaning for and a new perspective on Mother's Day. On that day, for self-preservation, we avoid church like the plague, not to forget the greeting card aisles at the
grocery store and let's see...every dang commercial on TV. And we don't
talk about it.
It also doesn’t help
that we get mail from our insurance companies trying to explain health benefits
during the next nine months and a constant bombardment of emails from every
pregnancy and family website under the sun, no matter how many times we click
‘unsubscribe.’ While the loss is still happening, we have to face a scary
and sometimes risky surgery to remove the contents of our wombs or we endure a seriously painful and heartbreaking time of labor. This is followed by several appointments and ultrasound after
ultrasound to either check on the progress of our child being torn apart and
flushed out of our bodies or to stare at an empty womb that not long ago held
precious life. We also have blood test after blood test to ensure that
our hormones are returning to normal levels; all while probably still
experiencing morning sickness (Yes, you still have morning sickness for a
little while after you’ve have lost a baby.) And we don’t talk about
it.
We hide the onesies,
congratulations cards, and sonogram pictures away in a closet to protect
ourselves from the constant threat of tears. We hide in our houses to
avoid running into someone and having to un-tell the good news or to avoid the
looks of pity, or worse, the people who don’t even try to say anything.
If we did not announce the pregnancy, we feel an enormous pressure to act like
everything is going great because we don't want to burden others. This eats away at us. It makes us feel horribly
dishonest and like our behavior is not acknowledging or honoring the little
life we lost. We are tired of feeling every emotion under the sun, or
tired of feeling numb, or tired of not feeling like ourselves, or tired of
feeling like we should be over it by now, or tired of having to pretend that
everything is ok. And we still don’t talk about it.
Well I‘m going to talk
about it.
I want to take a step
towards changing how we handle pregnancy loss and I hope that you will support
and encourage women and families to choose to do the same. Here is my
personal story:
I learned that I was
pregnant with E in mid-September of last year. I think the first
couple of days we were in shock and didn’t quite believe it. After all,
that second pink line was pretty faint. But as the nausea and other
symptoms emerged, reality set in and our excitement grew and grew. We
couldn’t wait for our first appointment when we’d get that first glimpse, which
would happen at 8 weeks. That appointment never arrived.
At about the 6 ½ week
mark I went to the restroom at work and noticed a small amount of blood.
As soon as I saw it I felt like I had been punched in the gut. I managed to talk myself down from outright panic though, because I'd read that some bleeding can be considered
normal. I didn’t call the doctor until the next morning when the same
thing happened again. I ran back to my classroom, locked the door and tried
to hold it together while talking to the nurses at the triage desk. They
placed me on pelvic rest and told me to try not to worry about it.
I did alright following their instructions; it was pretty easy not to worry too much when
the bleeding was so light and would disappear for a day or two each time.
But by the next Tuesday, there was a lot more. I called my doctor again
and this time they told me to go to the emergency room.
After a long evening in
the ER and lots and lots of tests, the doctors informed me that my poor baby
was way too small (they even thought it could be a blighted ovum) and there was
no heartbeat to be found. They sent me home unable to officially confirm
anything because they needed proof of ‘no growth’. But I knew the truth…I
knew in my heart that it was over.
We spent the next couple
of days learning to navigate the grieving process. I had what was
supposed to be my happy 8 week doctor’s appointment on that Friday, but it
turned into a ‘let’s check on the abnormal baby appointment.’ During the
ultrasound everything seemed to look the same, but was told that it was still
too early to confirm 'no growth.' I made an appointment to come back the
next week, but later that afternoon I started cramping.
It started off
tolerable but got worse and worse over the next hour. The pain eventually
became so excruciating that Kyle carried me to the car and took me to the ER
again. I was given morphine while they evaluated my sonograms from that morning. For some reason my HCG levels were still increasing, so the doctors refused to confirm what we
knew to be true despite what was happening to me. As the pain finally seemed to be easing up they were getting ready to
send me home, but then decided to go ahead and do a pelvic exam first.
This was when the
doctor informed me that everything was currently being ‘evacuated’ (lovely term) and looked
to still be in one piece…my poor dead baby was being born.
He pulled her out,
put her in a specimen cup to be sent off for testing and wouldn’t let me
see. I should have fought harder. I wanted to see.
A few weeks later I
accidentally deleted the only pictures we had taken while I was pregnant and I
had already thrown away the positive pregnancy tests in my anger. We also
didn’t have any ultrasound pictures to remember her by because no one offers
you pictures when your baby is dead. We felt like the most precious thing
in the world to us had just vanished without a trace.
We were so devastated.
We found out that I was
pregnant with T in early February. I woke up at 3 am and couldn’t go back
to sleep, so I decided to go ahead and take a test. I ran to wake up Kyle
and I just cried. I was so happy. I just knew that this was going
to be our rainbow baby.
Over the next few weeks,
I worried a lot but was hopeful that everything would be ok. I was
starting to feel more and more confident because I was supposed to be about 7.5
weeks and there had been no sign of blood. But one Sunday evening I went
to the restroom and there it was. At first I felt like I had the wind
knocked out of me and then I screamed and cried and hit my fists against the
ground.
We couldn’t sleep most
of that night, anticipating what we would find out during our emergency
appointment the next morning. Fully expecting to get bad news, we
actually saw and heard our baby’s heart beating. It was probably the most
amazing and relieving 3-4 seconds of my life. We were also told that I
was only 6 weeks along, not 7.5. That concerned me a bit, but I just
tried to trust the doctor when she said that everything looked good.
That little heartbeat
changed everything for me. I just knew that this one would live, that
everything would go our way this time. But about a week and a half later,
everything changed.
On Wednesday evening I
found out that school was going to be cancelled the next day for bad weather so
I turned off my alarm, took a Unisom, and planned to sleep in. I woke up
late Thursday morning feeling rested but with blood all over my legs.
I’m not sure how I made
it through that day, especially without Kyle being home. I felt almost
catatonic. I just remember laying on the couch staring at the
ceiling. Seconds felt like hours and hours felt like seconds. I
knew it was over.
When Kyle got home, I
could barely speak to him. He insisted on calling the doctor and they
told us the same crap I knew they would tell us. “Everything could be
fine. Try not to worry.” I wanted to scream at them and throw the
phone against the wall. Why didn’t they listen to what I was telling
them?
By some miracle I made
it to work on Friday, but left a little early to go to another emergency appointment. After waiting for what felt like an eternity, my
doctor confirmed what I already knew. There was no more heartbeat.
He had probably stopped growing only few days after my last visit.
The last image of him I saw on that
screen all curled up and lifeless is burned in my brain forever. I see it
every time I close my eyes.
Kyle’s mom arrived that
night to help us. But it was only a couple days until the labor pains
started. I tried to stay home and manage the pain with my medication as
long as possible, but they were not giving me any relief at all…so late Sunday
night we went back to the hospital.
As soon as I was put in a room I was stripped of all of my clothes in front of 4 or 5 strangers while doubled over screaming in pain. I remember that night in flashes. Poking, prodding, machines beeping, tubes and cords, morphine, and ultrasounds..."baby has detached"...holding onto the bed rails for dear life...walking to the restroom...a trail of blood and tears followed me everywhere I went.
I was still cramping
some when they sent us home in the middle of the night. And as I was
going to the restroom before bed, T was born…into the toilet.
I remember standing
there looking into the toilet knowing that he was there and for some reason
(maybe I was too tired or drugged up to fully realize what I was doing) I
flushed it.
Looking back, that
single moment was the worst moment of my entire life. I regret nothing
more than that. I should have pulled him out. I should have held
him. I should have taken his little body and buried him. Something,
anything more dignified than a burial in the sewers. He was our flesh and
blood. I am horrified every day to have done that to him.
Months later I am still
grieving. Some days I am stronger than others but I feel like I have a
long road to travel still. I, to this day, still do not know how I was
able to go back to work after this. But if God hadn’t given me the
strength, I might still be laying on the couch staring at the ceiling; the
seconds feeling like hours and the hours feeling like seconds.
My supply of hope for
future children is very low. My desire to try again is hugely crippled by
fear. My supply of anger is overflowing. My supply of sadness has
exponentially multiplied. My supply of loneliness for my kids is crushing.
Two big pieces of my
heart are now in heaven. Because of this, heaven has never been more
appealing to me. I can’t wait until the day I will finally be with them
again.
Because I want people to
be better educated on pregnancy loss, I have made a list of 'Do’s' and 'Don’ts'
for when someone you love is going through it. Knowing what to do or say
when someone is grieving is hard, I’ve never known what to do myself. But
what I’ve learned through this is just that we so appreciate it when you
try. Hopefully your words are the right thing to say, but it’s ok if
they’re not, we understand.
Again, my ‘Do’s’ and
‘Don’ts’ may not apply to everyone in this situation and I have definitely not
thought of everything. Nor has everything on the ‘Don’t’ list happened to
me personally, though a couple have. In fact, many of the wonderful people
in my life have given me the ideas for the ‘Do’s’ through their actions.
I am eternally grateful to those people.
1.
Don’t: Let it go very
long without them hearing from you.
Pregnancy loss, like all
grief, is desperately lonely. Please do not just assume that they need
space…they may not want to talk to you on the phone or be up for a visit, but
they do need a text…an email…a voicemail…something. Keep them coming! And don’t forget about your friend weeks and even months after
the initial loss, they will still be hurting, I promise.
2.
Don’t: Say, “If you just
relax, it will happen.”
I’ve heard this
statement used when people are struggling to get pregnant (not even sure if
it’s true in that instance), but the same principle does not apply to pregnancy
loss. Even high levels of stress have not been proven to affect a growing
baby. Please don’t tell people this, it makes us feel like the loss was
our fault (which we already fear enough.)
3.
Don’t: Assume that
something is wrong with them.
I’ve been told that typically
doctors will not do serious testing on a couple under the age of 35 until
they’ve lost 3 babies in a row. So 2 losses and 1 surviving child and
then another loss doesn’t count. And half or more of the women who are
tested after 3 losses in a row, end up with inconclusive results, meaning they can’t find anything specifically or obviously wrong. Imagine the low
percentage of women who experience 3 losses in a row and then only half of that
group being able to get answers. Chances are very small that something is
wrong with them.
4.
Don’t: Say “At least it
happened early on.”
Why have we decided that
the less amount of time a baby has the lived, the less human they are? If
my babies had lived another 2, 10, or 30 weeks there would still be a baby that
died. The ‘rule’ of not sharing the news until you are 12 weeks along
only contributes to this notion and contributes to the problem of not talking about pregnancy loss. Of course everyone has the right to choose when
they announce their pregnancy, but I personally believe that it should be based
on when you feel comfortable doing so, not when your doctor says to.
Maybe those two dates align, maybe not. Every baby deserves to be
acknowledged and celebrated no matter how young. And when necessary, every
baby deserves to be grieved.
5.
Don’t: Say “Just keep
trying.”
We may very well get
pregnant again and go on to have a hoard of children, but those children will
never replace the ones we’ve lost. We may decide to not try again because
the fear of another loss is too great. We will always have babies with
Jesus. “Just keep trying” to me implies that we just want to have a
child. When in fact, what we want is the children we already have.
6.
Do: Pray for them
No human is equipped to
do this alone. We may not be able to form the words ourselves or we might
be too angry at God to try. Pray for them that they get the time they
need to grieve. Pray that they would be given the strength to
continue. Pray that the hate and anger that clouds their thoughts would
be replaced by hope and peace. And pray that they receive the clarity of
mind to know what to do moving forward.
7.
Do: Acknowledge the loss
of life.
Whether the baby lived 1
week or 40, someone has died…someone that was created by God. Try to
remember too that pregnancy loss is often also the loss of hope and dreams. Not only do we mourn the life lost, but we also mourn what could have been.
8.
Do: Support them in
their attempts to memorialize and celebrate their child.
If they want to hold a
funeral, go! If they want to spend their money on something extravagant,
let them! If they don’t feel the need to do anything physical and only want to remember their baby in their heart, remember their baby in your heart
too. After E, I felt the urge to memorialize her every way
possible. That urge got stronger after T. We named them, we planted
a tree (my dog then ate it, but that’s another story), I got some jewelry, and
am having pillows made with their names. On E’s due date we celebrated
and remembered her as a family. I’m sure we will do the same thing in
October.
9.
Do: Understand if they
are different from now on.
I don’t think you can go
through the horrors of pregnancy loss and come out the same on the other
side. The things you see, the fear, the stress, the physical pain, and the ways you
are examined and poked and prodded over and over…it’s all very real. Developing PTSD, depression, or anxiety afterwards is very common.
10.
Do: Understand if they
do not want to talk about it.
I could talk about it a
little bit after the first, but I haven’t spoken about the second until
today. I’ve kept so much on a need-to-know basis, it’s just easier.
If I, or someone you love experiencing pregnancy loss, has hurt your feelings
by not communicating, we are sorry. Words just never feel like enough to
express what we feel, and sometimes opening our mouths releases the floodgates,
so we choose to shut down and not talk about the hard stuff.
600,000 U.S. women
experience pregnancy loss each year.
1 in every 50 U.S.
couples trying to have children experience multiple losses.
As many as 120,000 U.S.
couples suffer their third consecutive loss each year.
If you have or are
experiencing pregnancy loss and need someone to talk to, please get in touch
with me or someone you would feel comfortable talking with. It doesn’t
matter whether I know you or not, I would love to support you on this
journey. You do not deserve to feel as lonely as you feel. You do
not deserve to have to suffer silently.
I encourage women
everywhere to share their stories. Let’s bring awareness to our culture
and end this silent suffering once and for all.
What
Makes a Mother
I
thought of you and closed my eyes
And
prayed to God today.
I
asked what makes a Mother
And
I know I heard him say.
A
Mother has a baby
This
we know is true.
But
God, can you be a Mother
When
your baby's not with you?
Yes,
you can, He replied
With
confidence in His voice
I
give many women babies
When
they leave is not their choice.
Some
I send for a lifetime
And
others for a day.
And
some I send to feel your womb
But
there's no need to stay
I
just don't understand this, God
I
want my baby here
He
took a breath and cleared His throat
And
then I saw a tear.
I
wish I could show you
What
your child is doing today.
If
you could see your child smile
With
other children and say:
"We
go to earth to learn our lessons
Of
love and life and fear.
My
Mommy loved me oh so much
I
got to come straight here.
I
feel so lucky to have a Mom
Who
had so much love for me
I
learned my lesson very quickly
My
Mommy set me free.
I
miss my Mommy oh so much
But
I visit her each day.
When
she goes to sleep
On
her pillow's where I lay.
I
stroke her hair and kiss her cheek
And
whisper in her ear.
"Mommy
don't be sad today
I'm
your baby and I'm here."
So
you see my dear sweet one
Your
children are ok
Your
babies are here in My home
And
this is where they'll stay.
They'll
wait for you with Me
Until
your lesson is through.
And
on the day that you come home
They'll
be at the gates for you.
So
now you see what makes a Mother
It's
the feeling in your heart.
It's
the love you had so much of
Right
from the very start.
Though
some on earth may not realize
You
are a Mother until their time is done.
They'll
be up here with Me one day
And
you know you're the best one!
Unknown
