Miscarriage. Stillbirth. Please, Don't Shy Away.
Women love to talk about and dissect almost any topic you throw at them. I love that about my gender. We are open and interested and willing to spread our collective knowledge around to help each other.
Yet, there are still a few topics that even we shy away from discussing: Miscarriage and, harder yet, stillbirth.
Lawsy. My heart is pounding and my eyes are wet, but I suggest we tackle the beast and prove to ourselves that this painful vulnerability is worthy of our words.
Who among you knows of a woman who has suffered a miscarriage? If I asked for a show of hands, many of you would offer yours. Maybe you're the woman you know. I know I am.
My story is simple. A year or so before I married I was told by a doc that it would be statistically impossible for me to conceive. Most likely, I would never carry a baby. The news was devastating.
Cut to a week post-honeymoon, sitting in my doctor's office, positive I had picked up a tropical stomach bug, yet being told my pregnancy test came back positive! (I see you counting...)
I was angry and upset; in my jumble of confused emotions, I thought they were teasing me.
Um, yeah, no, you're PREGNANT!
Simply writing the words causes the raw emotion of that pinpointed moment, the unbelievability, the SURPRISE!, the giddy Scoobey-Doo head fake, to come barreling back as a tsunami of gratitude.
I was pregnant! We were having a baby!
We were scared and excited and truly dumbfounded for a few weeks.
Boy was born and we were blessed beyond measure.
Docs can be wrong. For me, my faith told me that if God wanted me to have a child, there was no diagnosis that would stand in the way.
With Boy's birth, we thought we were done. We had our miracle. We were OK with the idea that one was the magic number.
14 years later we were surprised with another pregnancy. WHAT?!
This time, when I was told, I actually came close to passing out at the nurse's station. The pregnancy test that was standard when you're a young woman seeing your gynecologist, the positive results of such a routine don't-think-about-it-just-pee-in-the-cup test, surprised us all in that little room.
I remember blinking hard, my brain trying to process the impossible words spoken, then the room going dark. The nurses sprang into action. Once I could think again...could talk again...I cried and they laughed in joy (and probably in response to my response) .
I WAS PREGNANT... AGAIN!
I can't begin to articulate what I felt. TWO KIDS! A mom of two kiddos. Omgosh, that's gonna be me!
Then, on Thanksgiving day, 14 weeks into the pregnancy, I started spotting. I immediately stopped baking pies and called my doctor. I was told to get off my feet and to keep an eye on things. I had experienced some bleeding and cramping during my first pregnancy, so it wasn't completely worrisome.
I sent my family off to the family feast, reminded them to bring me a plate and laid in bed praying for my sweet baby girl. It was too early to know for sure, but in my heart I felt certain I was carrying a girl, just as I had felt certain Boy was a boy.
As the day progressed, my spotting became more pronounced to actual bleeding. I checked back in with my doctor and from what I relayed, he believed I was miscarrying. He advised me to continue to rest.
Rest? My baby was in peril and I was supposed to rest? For the first time since becoming a mother, there was nothing I could do, but wait. It's a twisted kind of agony to know that the life within you is passing from this world to the next and there is nothing you can do but wait.
I knew the moment my pregnancy ended, and even now, at this very moment, the deep emotion has the power to bend me to almost breaking. My baby girl was gone.
Only days before, we had announced to our family and friends that we were expecting (much to everyone's surprise!) and now we'd have to tell them that I had miscarried, except in language that was less blunt and less painful for them.
But not for me.
For months I grieved silently. I wanted to talk about it, to talk about what I experienced, but I didn't want to make those around me uncomfortable. Life was moving on, but I wasn't, until two amazing things happened. One: a dear friend suggested we name the baby, acknowledging that she was a part of our lives and always would be. Two: another friend suggested a ceremony of letting go, with drums and chants and tearing of cloth (if need be). She suggested we could write down our pain, then burn it in a fire pit and watch as the healing smoke rise to Heaven.
We didn't do either one of these things, but I was so grateful to both of those friends for taking the risk to talk to me about the miscarriage. As I had found out after my miscarriage, everyone was loving and concerned, but no one dared mention it again. I'm sure they didn't want to hurt me by reminding me of my pain,or maybe they didn't know what to say, but I never stopped thinking about it.
Miscarriage is devastating. A death. Who wants to talk about death over coffee and cake? I'll tell you who: every woman who has suffered through one.
As miracles go, we thought we were done with pregnancies. Matter of fact, we had two more, and then two more miscarriages.
Look at these stats:
- An increase in maternal age affects the chances of miscarriage
- Women under the age of 35 yrs old have about a 15% chance of miscarriage
- Women who are 35-45 yrs old have a 20-35% chance of miscarriage
- Women over the age of 45 can have up to a 50% chance of miscarriage
- A woman who has had a previous miscarriage has a 25% chance of having another (only a slightly elevated risk than for someone who has not had a previous miscarriage)
That's a lot of women. A lot of suffering. A lot of love waiting to be expressed.
My prayer, my hope, is simple: Let us not shy away from each other when the subject is miscarriage or stillbirth. Let us embrace our love, our gift, of talking about and sharing our pain, even in the face of extreme discomfort. Hell, especially in the face of that which scares the holy hell out of us and makes our heart ache.
Talking of stillbirth seems even harder to me. I don't know anyone who has experienced it, so I defer to those who have.
Please watch this video I found posted at Sugar and Dots discussing miscarriage and stillbirth. It is heart-wrenching and beautiful.
Someone once said to me: Miracles come from death. Watch, and you'll bear witness.
She was right. My miracles arrived as two friends who pushed past their fear and gave me more than they intended. Their lesson became my action; reach out to those who suffer this silent loss.
Are these tough topics to discuss? A million times, yes. But, we are women; we are warriors. We bring life forward and shape the future.
Whatever you do, please, don't shy away.
"Don't shy away." Truly words to live by. Sometimes we avoid situations because they make us feel uncomfortable or sad or we don't know what to say. You remind us that these are exactly the times we need to step up to support our friends and daughters. Beautifully written.
Thanks, Mo. Showing up for each other is an underestimated gift, especially in a tough situation.
i had three miscarriages. two still births… twins. I will NEVER forget… but I was able to move on and try again because of the love I received.
great post.
What a heartache. I am profoundly sorry that you had to endure such a painful experience. I just told a young woman this evening that if we had experienced miscarriages before our son had been born, we would have still continued to try. Thank you for sharing your story and for pointing out that you could move forward because of love received.
I am sorry for your heartache from your loss and all losses. Suffering through a total of three miscarriages, two of which were in the second trimester, I did find that it was helpful to discuss what happened with some people. However, others would have been better keeping their mouths shut. Phrases like "it was for the best' or "you should just get over it" were particularly irritating. The "you should just get over it" was probably the worse since it came from someone that thought I should get over it but who still mourned the passing of various people (husband, mother, grandmother) over 25 years after their deaths. Gee, thanks mom, you sure know how to help your grieving daughter. Nine and ten years later I still can't talk about it with her.
When folks don't understand how women can grieve deeply over miscarrying, I always point them to the losses they have suffered through death. A friend offered this observation to the conversation yesterday: It's the loss of a dream. The loss of possibilities. To which I added: ...the loss of a part of you.
I'm sorry your mom couldn't understand that; I'm sorry for your compounded pain.
Every one of my close friends have suffered a miscarriage, some more than one. As a mother I cannot phathom such a deep loss. I'm sorry for your loss and I hope to be a more sensitive friend and lend comfort where I can. Thank you for sharing your stories.
You're welcome and it gives me comfort to know that you'll pass along the love.
I know quite a few women who have miscarried and lost a baby shortly after arrival. My pain in my heart is unbearable when I hear these tragic stories of real women.
I also had a miscarriage. At about three months. I spotted. Just a bit. My doctor told me to rest and stay off my feet. The spotting continued so my Doctor had me go in for an ultrasound. The technician didn't have to say anything. We could tell by the look on her face. She wouldn't let us look at the screen.
I had to wait a week before the hospital could get me in for a DNC. (Not sure if that's what it's called.) A whole week. I was horrified. My still baby inside of me.
That's for giving us a means to share our stories.
Wishing you a wonderful week.
Thank you for sharing your story with us. I think I can speak for all of us in saying I am so sorry that you had to go through that trauma.
I'm sorry she wouldn't let you look at the screen. Like you, I had an embryonic demise that wouldn't miscarry on its own, at 7 weeks. I had a routine "to date the pregnancy" ultrasound where they told me it was exactly the right length for the gestational age I had estimated, but at that age its heartbeat should be visible and it wasn't. I waited 12 days to be sure, as there's about a 10% chance of them being wrong about that--sometimes the heartbeat can't be seen until later. I had not a drop of bleeding, not a bit of reduction in pregnancy symptoms, so I was hopeful. But at the next ultrasound, I could see immediately that the embryo was dead yet I had kept growing the cord and sac for it. I will never forget seeing that umbilical cord as a long, curly line of bright dots representing my faith and hard work as that sad little dead thing moved farther away from me. I'm so glad they let me see it.
The operation is called D&C, which stands for dilation and curettage. It's the only thing to do when a pregnancy isn't miscarrying naturally (because if you leave it there, it can cause blood poisoning) but it causes a horribly sudden end to the hormonal state of pregnancy. I wasn't right for about 4 months.
Mrs. Tucker, thanks for writing about this! I feel very lucky to be part of a very supportive church, where several families have had miscarriages and were so emphatically THERE for me and saying all the right things.
I'm pregnant again now--17 weeks--and everything seems to be going fine, but it is so hard not to worry!!
Becca, you are welcome and I will pray for your pregnancy. I have a prayer book that gets prayed over daily that I will enter you in. Thank you for sharing with us and supporting Darlene.
Your honest words have opened a cathartic floodgate. Thank you for addressing this topic and changing my own reaction to past - and future - incidents from uncomfortable silence to a gentle offer of being there to listen.
Years ago, when my sister miscarried, my mother, who meant well, advised me to not contact her because the fact that I had a newborn might cause her pain. Mother had miscarried after three daughters and didn't want to be around someone who'd just had her own.
To this day, (we're grandmothers now) my sister feels the pain of my silence at that time and there is nothing I can do to relieve it.
I am happy that your own circumstances did result in a wonderful son - and an adorable grand baby!
Joyce, thank you for sharing this. It highlights the absolute need for us to show-up in times of pain, even if it is only to offer silent support through listening. I'm sorry that your mom's advice wasn't what your sister needed from you. I know the pain of silence is tough, but I'm hoping that your sister can come to a place of understanding about it.
When I think back over my experiences, it makes having a son, and now a grandbaby, even more incredible. Thanks for joining this difficult conversation.
I'm so sorry for your loss. People don't know what to say. They can't ease the pain and they are deeply sympathetic to your loss. Thanks for sharing what does help - just being a friend, accepting where you are.
It's so true that folks are rendered into silence because they don't know what to say, but no words that are necessary other than "I'm sorry" to ease the sorrow of another. Thanks for joining us.
Thank you for speaking up on a tough topic. Our son and DIL suffered a miscarriage with their first pregnancy (they have since had three successful pregnancies) and besides not knowing what to say, I seriously underestimated how devastating it really was for them. Some years later, my son referred to it as the worst day of their life and after reading your article, I understand better what he meant. Being a man, I will never know what it was like to go through this terrible thing, but I do have a better sense of it now.
Thank you. I know it's tougher for guys to understand this subject, at times. I love that you've come to a fuller understanding of what your kids went through. Those who have experienced either a miscarriage or still birth never forget the pain, but it's always nice to know that others are in their corner, no matter how much time has passed. I appreciate that you not only read the post, but stepped forward to join the conversation. Thank you.
I'm sorry to read of your loss and thank you for sharing and sharing so poignantly. You are right - we tend to shy away from situations that make us uncomfortable or where we don't know what to say.
My sister lost a baby girl moments after birth and she said the same thing - no one wanted to talk about it or said things that were insensitive like, "well, you can always have another." Oh my. I don't even know that it's that important to say anything - but just to be there and listen.
You hit the nail on the head: it's not as important to say anything as it is to just be there and listen. We have all been in the uncomfortable position of not knowing what to say or how to comfort, but when in doubt, a warm body to sit by, someone to listen, is better than pretty much anything else. Thank you for the great thought.
I'm so sorry for your loss, and thank you for posting this. You have me boo-hooing over here, remembering my two nephews that were born stillborn. One was revived after almost an hour and by the time he started breathing again, he had no brain activity. That was harder than the one that was born stillborn and never took a breath, because we had to hear twice that he stopped breathing. Looking back, God gave my sisters so much grace to get through it, I felt like I was having a harder time with the loss then them. Both sisters have been blessed with more kids, and the ones they lost are still talked about and still thought of often. I don't think I talked of it often in the beginning in case it hurt them to think about it, but a couple days after the second nephew passed away, my brother got us all together as a family and him and his wife talked to us about how they were feeling, that they didn't want this to discourage us from having kids, and that they were okay with what God's decision was, and that it was going to be hard for a while, and they needed us to be there for them as much as we could.
Your brother and his wife...what they did for you in the midst of their grieving...I'm blown away. What grace and strength. I too am sorry for their loss and yours.
The experience never leaves you. To this day, I think of that baby often, especially when I see a child about the age she'd be now. It's OK. I'm OK. But, know for your brother and his wife, it will always be a part of them. Thank you for sharing this with us.