Archive for Miscarriage
July 21, 2007 at 8:41 am · Filed under Miscarriage
About a year ago, I redesigned this site. I wanted to create the most beautiful ever image of an infant lying on a cloud as an angel, but I didn’t have just the right baby yet–one small and fragile and gently sleeping–to represent our lost babies.
In March, some dear friends of mine gave birth to twins after many many years of trying to conceive. We were all so thrilled for them.
They came for images when the babies were still only a few weeks old, and baby Corey was so tiny (born at 5 pounds) and curled up that I knew she would make the perfect angel image. I gently asked my friends if I could use her, and they agreed.
The little girls grew over the months and on the Fourth of July, they sent out the cutest little patriotic shots of the twins in their holiday duds.
On July 5, about the time many of us were looking at those images of the girls, the twins’ wonderful and caring in-home babysitter laid them down for their nap.
Baby Corey never woke up. After an autopsy and toxicology report, they could find no cause of death, so she was ruled as one of the 2200 SIDS deaths that happen each year in the US.
Her parents have lovingly agreed all the more that she is just the baby to serve as our ambassador, our sweet respresentative, here to guide our lost babies from this world into the next. I will be incorporating her into the Facts about Miscarriage Site as I make changes.
Rest well, sweet Corey.
March-July, 2007
May 10, 2007 at 4:47 pm · Filed under Grief, Holidays, Miscarriage, Mothers
I know it can be a hard day. Every marquee at every restaurant touts it. Sentimental commercials broadcast emotion. Your inbox swells with gift suggestions. The grocery store explodes with floral arrangements.
And here you are. Your baby isn’t here. You expected a swelling belly, or maybe even the bundle to be here. Or like me, maybe yours should have been scrawling crayoned rainbows on handmade cards by now.
But, you feel you have nothing.
Think of this way:
- Did you feel joy when you learned you were pregnant?
- Did you plan and hope and dream about the day your baby would arrive?
- Did you want nothing more than a happy, healthy little one?
How is this different than every other mother? Are mothers whose children die full grown any less mothers because their children are no longer here? Of course not.
You are a mother. You were the bearer of that baby’s future. You brought this baby into the world, however it happened, at four weeks gestation, or full term, in a gush of blood and pain just like every mother does.
Don’t believe for a moment that everything out there isn’t talking about you. It is. And even more so, because you have born a grief that could destroy a mother’s hope–the loss of her child–and you have survived.
It’s your day. Take it to remember your baby. And send up a quiet word of thanks to your own mother, wherever she may be.
April 24, 2007 at 11:10 am · Filed under Deanna\'s Story, Miscarriage, Ob/Gyn, Pregnancy, Related Movies-Songs, Twins
Sometimes amazing things happen to remind us that we really don’t understand the machinations of our world. I often think of the line to Josh Groban’s song “To Where You Are” that says:
Isn’t faith believing all powers can’t be seen?
Yesterday my almost-five-year-old (countdown to the big day–seven sleeps!) and I attended a baby shower for her preschool teacher.
One of the games involved each of the kids suggesting what Ms. Lindsay should name her baby boy.
The children mainly chose names of male classmates or dads or brothers. A few provided gigglers–Star, Sunshine, Happy Feet. One future class clown offered up “Poo.”
Elizabeth’s turn arrived. She seemed confused about this, and the teacher asked her if she needed more time. She shook her head, stood up, and said, “Matthew.”
My heart seized. She knew no Matthews. No cousins or classmates or friends. The only time she could have heard the name in her brief existence would be in Sunday School, where it would compete with the likes of Mark, Luke, and John.
But Matthew is a very important name to us. When we were told Emily was a boy at her sonogram, we chose Ryan Matthew as her name. Naturally she became Emily later when the high risk doctor told us–that’s an odd name for a girl!
When we got pregnant with Elizabeth, we decided we still liked Ryan Matthew but would prefer it flipped. So we called the baby Matthew early on when we referred to her in the womb, until her sonogram revealed she was also a girl.
But of course, Elizabeth was a twin. Her little sibling died and my water broke when I was only ten weeks pregnant. Elizabeth survived, although we had a week or two of uncertainty that the pregnancy would pull through.
We’ve named her twin Emma Hope, but after this baby shower, maybe we were wrong. Perhaps Elizabeth knows more than we do, and maybe, just maybe, some little presence whispered in her ear that morning, and for the first time, without even knowing it, she uttered a name she’d never before heard–her brother’s.
March 26, 2007 at 1:00 pm · Filed under Family, Grief, Miscarriage
How many of you have heard these phrases?
- It probably would have been deformed.
- Thank goodness you were only in your first trimester.
- It’s not like it was a real baby.
- Just get pregnant again and you’ll feel better.
- It was just a miscarriage.
When friends, family, acquaintances, and coworkers learn of your loss, they are going to feel the need to say something. They feel awkward and unsure. They definitely don’t want to make you cry.
So they try to come up with something to make you feel better. Somehow, they really do believe that downplaying the loss (only first trimester, not a real baby, just a miscarriage) will help you downplay it too. Or, that they can show you a “bright” side (deformed, nature’s way, not the right time.) Or give you advice (get pregnant again, don’t dwell on it, you’re only making yourself depressed.)
I’m not happy with these people. I wish I could be your personal guardian, walking around with duct tape and sealing their mouths. But usually they aren’t really trying to upset you. They want to say something. They don’t know that “I’m so sorry for the loss of your baby. Please let me know if I can do anything,” is plenty.
Ignore them when you can. Just nod and walk away. And when you’re feeling up for it–tell them. And explain to them what to say next time, before they repeat these things to someone else.
March 15, 2007 at 4:16 pm · Filed under Miscarriage, Pregnancy
This is a touchy subject, but one I can address more easily in general rather than with someone specific in an email or post. Hopefully some of you out there googling miscarriage and emotional recovery will hit upon this.
Those wonderful female hormones that govern our cycle and turn us into emotional swingers right before a period, in early pregnancy, and in post partum have an extra special role right after a miscarriage–they often get completely out of whack and make our lives hell.
Often when someone writes me in the first two weeks after a loss, upset and angry, wanting to leave her husband, afraid she’s not doing well with the children, and sure that every one of her friends is trying to make her feel worse, I know her body has made life less easy to cope with.
We already are saddled with a lot after a loss: grief, frustration, fear, despair. It’s a terrible kick in the gut that in addition, our confused reproductive system often sends out so many mixed hormone signals that we can’t manage our emotions. In this state, a casual “How are you doing?” becomes a cold-hearted slam. A husband asking, “What’s for dinner?” is grounds for divorce. Can’t they see life is horrible, our baby lost, nothing will ever be the same, and can’t he make his own freaking dinner just once?
What is happening is partly the people around us–most don’t really know what to do or say to a greiving mother–and part of it our inability to process outside stimulus. These hormones literally become a jumbled filter and so much of what we would ordinarily handle perfectly well–a mess on the floor, an abrupt end to a phone call, a comment about our appearance–will become huge issues.
It’s not really our fault. And hopefully everyone will give us the space and understanding we need. We will get better, not because we’ve forgotten the baby or the sadness of our loss, but because our bodies have filtered out these conflicting hormones and now we can think more clearly and organize our feelings into those that bear getting upset over and those we can wave away.
If you’re here, and everything seems upside down and everyone in your life is upsetting you, just take a deep breath, get as much time to yourself as possible, and when the going gets rough, break some small piece of inconsequential dinnerware. You’ll get better. I promise.
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