One of the hard things about losing a baby that no one else felt, or saw, or touched is that everyone wants you to get over it quickly. They don’t have the same emotional investment. Pregnancy, with its sleepiness and dream-like quality, encourages the visions of the baby to come, the moments ahead. It’s how you get through the hard stuff—throwing up, bone-tiredness, caution and fear. So we’re wired to already see and experience this baby well beyond the sensations in our belly.
In her book Virgin Blue (which has lots of miscarriage and pregnancy trauma within it), author Tracy Chavalier’s characters, both midwives, talk about how the pregnant mother is always ”listening” inside her. She’s distracted, taken out of the outside world, and focused on what is happening within.
It really doesn’t matter when the conversation stops, the day after the positive pregnancy test or during the birth, when some tragedy takes the baby during its final journey to the outside. It’s still a cutting off, a silencing of a relationship that had become the focus of your life.
Fourteen years ago today, I didn’t realize my connection had been cut. I suspected—but then every pregnant mother seems to always have some fear—but until the Doppler was silent, until the doctor was rushed in and the sonogram machine powered up, until he moved and moved and moved the paddle, trying to find an elusive heartbeat for a 20-week baby who should have filled the screen with movement and sound, but didn’t. Until I had proof; I hadn’t known.
April 28 taught me how to listen, how to hear, how to know when the conversation ceased. My next two losses were no surprise. I had learned the difference between the hum that reverberates between a mother and an unborn child and the silence that means the child is gone.
And this year, at 42, I am getting married again and, next month, taking that journey one more time. I don’t even know if the conversation will start. I may not be able to get pregnant at all. The chromosomes in my eggs may be too sticky to divide properly and get the baby on its journey. But I will listen, and I will hear. And whatever conversation I might get, however many days or weeks or months I may get to feel that hum, I will take them.
One thing I’ve learned in 14 years—I am not afraid. I hope, for all of you, who may be finding this page for the first time or the fourth, that you find that courage too.
In the February 2012 issue of Good Housekeeping, the magazine printed this pop quiz written by Peggy Post, now the head of Emily Post’s etiquette institute:
Your coworker shared her good news that she was pregnant. Later, you learn that she has miscarried, so you:
A. Say nothing, some things are private
B. Leave flowers on her desk with a note
C. Tell her you are there if she wants to talk.
As Baby Loss Moms, we are confused by this quiz. Can we pick B and C? How thoughtful for someone to acknowledge the real pain of returning to work after something so devastating with the offer to talk. And what a keepsake to treasure in the baby’s memory box, a note and perhaps some flowers to dry out and save.
I myself couldn’t decide which answer was better. “A” was obviously the throw away option.
But then I read Peggy Post’s answer:
A. With a good friend you would be more personal, but saying nothing is the best approach–until she shares the news with you. Then, offer your support.
What?
So, I’m picturing this scenario. Your coworker, coming in after a few days off, all she was allowed in many cases because there isn’t a funeral, sits at her desk. She knows everyone knows she was pregnant. (According to the quizlet, she “shared her good news.”) She’s got a staff meeting in a few hours, and she’s barely holding it together. Last time she sat at her desk, she was expecting a baby.
How does she “untell” her pregnancy? How will she even keep from falling apart? So far the only person who knows is her boss and one friend she had handling her phone calls and mail.
She walks down the line of cubes to get her mail from the friend and notices no one looks her way, as though she is train wreck it isn’t polite to stare at. She turns back around, rattled. Everyone must know. Should she send an email out? Ask her boss to? Will this make it worse?
Peggy Post, supported by Good Housekeeping, thinks that because this coworker doesn’t stand by the break room door and announce, “I’m not pregnant anymore! Be nice to me!” that she doesn’t want or need anyone’s cards, flowers, or even kind words. According to this magazine, you are to say nothing.
This is not common sense, and surely not common decency. If this woman’s mother had died, or her husband, you would hug her or offer condolences. Peggy Post, and by extension, Good Housekeeping, has just told thousands of subscribers that unborn babies are different. It’s best not to talk about it.
Baby Loss leaders have worked hard to make miscarriage less of a silent pain, something we are allowed to feel, to be upset about, to mourn. Good Housekeeping has just set us back immensely. Imagine the outcry if Peggy Post had told readers never to bring up breast cancer, or divorce, topics that once were taboo but now can be openly discussed.
Many Baby Loss Moms have written Letters to the Editor, which may or may not see print, and even if so, will be long after the damage is done to the casual reader who might remember this advice for years. Still, we can try. Write Good Housekeeping at ghletters@goodhousekeeping.com
Many Baby Loss Moms have expressed their outrage on the magazine’s Facebook page. Feel free to continue to remind them that we are here, and we are not going to say nothing.
When the Facebook comments hit a zenith thanks to the work of Nikki on her blog, Good Housekeeping did respond within the thread. The answer was hard to find and even though I knew it was there, I had to read for 20 minutes to locate their response:
We talked to Peggy Post about your comments and here is what she wanted us to share with you: “Thank you for your feedback – a powerful reminder of the power of emotions and the importance of empathy. You, our readers, are so correct; I totally agree with you that reaching out to this grieving mother – regardless of a concern to respect her privacy – is truly the correct answer. Even if her miscarriage had not yet been general knowledge among her co-workers, a one-on-one heartfelt “I’m so sorry” would have been better than waiting to express condolences. This Pop Quiz is misleading and caused hurt and concern for our readers. For this, I sincerely apologize.” — Peggy Post
I can respect an apology, even though it has a jab in it (“regardless of a concern”).
Now let’s help Good Housekeeping correct its error. They need to write something longer, something their subscribers will actually read and learn from, to erase this terrible error from the minds of the readers, and impart good and useful information for a tragedy that is so common, 1 out of every 4 women will experience it.
So to suggest a full-length article on helping friends, family, and coworkers after a miscarriage, write ghletters@goodhousekeeping.com
You can also write Peggy Post, who wrote the quizlet, directly at peggypost@goodhousekeeping.com
[NOTE: Peggy's email is bouncing for some reason--but this is the one Good Housekeeping lists. There are some addresses when you go to the Emily Post Etiquette web site, but I doubt any of those will go to Peggy.]
But please, whatever you do, don’t say nothing. This misinformation must end now.
Mother’s Day is a really tough day for a lot of people. I blog about the holidays all the time (read some here).
I know many of you this year were expecting a baby, but tragedy struck, and this Mother’s Day will be spent in grief rather than celebration.
Other Moms will be celebrating with their children, but lost their own moms or grandmothers this last year, making this the first Mother’s Day without them. I lost two grandmothers last fall myself.
I’m asking everyone I know to reach out fellow grieving moms on Mother’s Day in a very simple way.
I have designed several digital cards that recognize that Mother’s Day often comes with mixed feelings. These cards emphasize peace and love for those who may not feel joyous on the holiday this year.
So choose the one that you think fits that person in your life who may be having a bittersweet Mother’s Day. Then right click to Save As and email it this weekend.
Feel free to upload them to Facebook if that’s where your friends are.
They are also already uploaded on Facebook if you just want to use the “share” feature. Find them on one of these pages
My Personal Facebook Page (You don’t have to be my “friend” to see them, but feel free to friend me!)
And bloggers, feel free to post them in your own blog posts to help them spread. They are free to use for personal use.
Even if you aren’t close to some of your Facebook friends, take note if you saw things happening to them this year. Do something. Remember. Reach out. It’s amazing what a difference such a simple thing can make.
Yesterday at a support group meeting by the fabulous Face2Face Austin, one of the local groups started by Faces of Loss, Faces of Hope, we talked about how our parents handled the loss of their grandbabies. Especially sensitive is the discussion of “first” grandbabies and of other family members having babies during this difficult time.
Certainly among us, the grandparents handled things differently, running the gamut from overwhelming grief that impacted their lives significantly, to trying to pass off the loss as unimportant, sometimes with those horrid phrases we hate to hear, “It was God’s Will” or “It will happen when it’s meant to be.”
We wondered what resources were out there for grandparents. I did a fairly exhaustive search this morning, trying to come up with things.
Probably the most direct was at Mothers in Sympathy and Support, a long-standing organization dedicated to helping families recover after a loss. They have a page and a forum dedicated to grandparents:
I’ll take some time to consider what I might could add to the resources available. It does seem rather thin. If you have ideas, let me know–send your parents over here to give me ideas, and we’ll make them happen.
Last year I was delighted to discover Faces of Loss. What an amazing web site and crew of women behind it.
Today I found another amazing woman out to get miscarriage and stillbirth out in the open — Debbie Howard. She is directing an independent film called Peekaboo in the UK. They are most of the way through raising the $10K needed to start production, have cast the lead roles, and well, listen to her tell it:
You still have time to contribute to the cause. Filming should begin at the end of February. If you’re looking for something to support in the name of your baby, this might be it. Go do it: http://www.indiegogo.com/Peeka-boo
At this site you will find information and a place to come in your dark and frightened hours. The special features of the site are listed in the next column, as well as topics ranging from causes of miscarriage, to prevention, to when to try again for a new pregnancy.
A Reminder:
The only person who can really tell you what is happening to you is your own doctor, who peers into you with a light and a speculum, who samples your blood or urine, or who presses a sonogram paddle into your belly. If you are in trouble, bleeding, scared, or more depressed than you think you can handle on your own, you must find help. Read and research all you can, but remember that the one-on-one assistance of a real doctor is the only thing that will give you answers that count. If you don't like or trust your doctor, then find one you can.
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Cradle, Broken Heart
