I have posts that hit my facebook wall that question the silence in society around stillbirth.
Right after my baby Steve died all I could think about was him, the pregnancy, my loss, over and over. For almost a year I would process the loss in my head. It took a very very very long time to stop the cycle. I would wake up in the morning and start the grieving process. I would often have to write my feelings down, or cry, or talk to an understanding person before I could move on with the day. Then there were triggers - everywhere!
Babies born alive, boy babies, casual things said in everyday conversation. It was ridiculous how sensitive grief makes a person. Not BAD just so crazy sensitive. I would say that grief changes mental health. Anyway -
Eventually there were less triggers. Eventually I felt less of a need to talk about him and grief and stillbirth. I felt the desire to be happy and to be normal again. I worked through my grief. My blog is a testament to that work. The grief work was hard but worth it. I feel mostly normal now (21 months later).
SO back to the initial question. "WHY does no one talk about stillbirth?"
Well strictly based on my own experience- BECAUSE it hurts.
It hurts like nothing else.
I can mention it (stillbirth, baby steve) or answer questions but I will pay for the conversation later. I would say it (grief/sadness for baby steve) is like a crippling scab. It never fully heals. When I say I will pay for it later I mean that I will have to grieve my baby again. Its like picking at a scab a little to much and it starts to bleed or exposes the sensitive skin underneath (or in my case the overwhelming sadness). Inevitably I will carry the sadness with me after a conversation about baby Steve and have to process it.
Processing it now looks like asking myself the questions:
- what would my baby Steve look like now?
- how would he fit in our family
- would I have Spencer?
- what milestones would he be at?
- what would I be like as a mom had he lived?
- how would my relationship with my husband be different?
- would I have done anything different had I been prepared for his dealth?
- would it have hurt any more had he lived for a little while longer then died?
And millions of other little questions that will never be answered.
There are other reasons that are not as important to me for not to talk about stillbirth.
- I feel like bad luck around pregnant moms
- I don't like making others feel like they have to other some "helpful" advice
- I hate "at least" statements ie. "at least it was not your first," "at least you know that you will be able to raise him after you die" etc. etc.
So I guess I should break the silence around stillbirth for the sake of those who are still in their heavy grief. I guess I can manage a little bit of pain so others in the first months of excruciating pain will have their loads lightened slightley.
My only advice is that when talking to bereaved parents of stillborn babies is let them lead. Take their cues. Everyone is different. Maybe in 20 years it won't hurt at all. Maybe then I can break the silence around stillbirth and not suffer the consequence of resurfacing pain each time I speak my dead baby's name.
Tuesday, 19 March 2013
Wednesday, 5 December 2012
Finding myself again
I went to a meeting this morning with four other amazing ladies. We were talking about different things and one of the ladies sons has gone off to find himself. I said "I think I found myself last year." Another lady teased me and asked if I liked what I had found. I said, returning her light manner "some days more than others."
I started thinking.
In the past few days I have found myself feeling normal - my old normal, my pre-stillborn baby normal. I have felt happier and lighter than I have for a long time. I think it is a combination of different things. One more sleep. Spencer is only waking 1 or 2 times in the night to eat, instead of every 2 hours. Two is the season. It is Christmas at my house. The music is playing, the tree is up and I am feeling the spirit. Three is my children are happier. I am not sure if that is a reflection on my mood lift or if it is Spencer's age... Four Steve (daddy) is around more, he can come home for lunch a few times a week. He had a crazy October and November making up for his parental leave in September.
All of those factors aside, my pain that sits in the bottom of my heart for my baby Steve seems a little less sharp. Maybe I am just so used to it that my heart has grown around it - like a tree growing around a barb stuck in its side. Eventually an on looker won't be able to see the barb at all because the tree will have swallowed it up.
I am writing this to give some hope to those who are not as far along their grief journey. Today I feel good. I have found bits of myself again. Bits of my old happy self. I am different though. Maybe not to an onlooker but I feel older, more aware of sad things, more cautious and more grateful.
The title of my blog is trying to be grateful. I think I have finally achieved that.
I am grateful for everything I have today. I am grateful that I am feeling happy again in spite of a sadness that I will carry always.
I started thinking.
In the past few days I have found myself feeling normal - my old normal, my pre-stillborn baby normal. I have felt happier and lighter than I have for a long time. I think it is a combination of different things. One more sleep. Spencer is only waking 1 or 2 times in the night to eat, instead of every 2 hours. Two is the season. It is Christmas at my house. The music is playing, the tree is up and I am feeling the spirit. Three is my children are happier. I am not sure if that is a reflection on my mood lift or if it is Spencer's age... Four Steve (daddy) is around more, he can come home for lunch a few times a week. He had a crazy October and November making up for his parental leave in September.
All of those factors aside, my pain that sits in the bottom of my heart for my baby Steve seems a little less sharp. Maybe I am just so used to it that my heart has grown around it - like a tree growing around a barb stuck in its side. Eventually an on looker won't be able to see the barb at all because the tree will have swallowed it up.
I am writing this to give some hope to those who are not as far along their grief journey. Today I feel good. I have found bits of myself again. Bits of my old happy self. I am different though. Maybe not to an onlooker but I feel older, more aware of sad things, more cautious and more grateful.
The title of my blog is trying to be grateful. I think I have finally achieved that.
I am grateful for everything I have today. I am grateful that I am feeling happy again in spite of a sadness that I will carry always.
Saturday, 1 December 2012
STUGs
I am sitting in Spencer's bed room listening him sleep. He snores. I think he snores so I can know he is still breathing when I wake up in the middle of the night to be sure he is alive still.
When I was in a grief group for bereaved parents there was a mom who just had her rainbow baby a few months before. She said that she was scared of losing her living baby and would continually visualize different ways he could die. For example she was walking over a bridge with him in the stroller, she thought if he falls in he might drowned. She hurried over the bridge. I think I do this too. Last month I bought an escape ladder for Anne's bedroom because its the only one with no roof below the window. What if there is a fire? I also bought 2 carbon monoxide detectors for the bedrooms and by the fireplace. I try not to drive my car when the hwy is bad. I have a death grip on Anne in parking lots or I put her in a cart in the parking lot. Anyway, I can live with all these "precautions."
When I have too much alone time I think about why I worry so much and I have a tangible slamming feeling in my chest. My breath gets caught and my legs go numb. I picture my dead son. I remember the horror of labouring a stillborn baby into the world. I remember how he went from being so close to me inside and then wrenched away bc he was dead and he had to be buried. And then I think about my friend who died in an avalanche. My husband was there digging him out. He tried CPR for 45 minutes. Our friend had died on impact. There was nothing to do to save him. Death is so quick. It's like going up the stairs and missing the top step. It's done before you can catch your breath.
And then somehow you have to keep going. You have to get up. Move forward. Reorganize. Try to let go of where you thought you were going and visualize a different path.
My therapist spoke of something called STUGs. Sudden times of unexpected grief.
Most of the time I am fine, but some times they get me.
When I was in a grief group for bereaved parents there was a mom who just had her rainbow baby a few months before. She said that she was scared of losing her living baby and would continually visualize different ways he could die. For example she was walking over a bridge with him in the stroller, she thought if he falls in he might drowned. She hurried over the bridge. I think I do this too. Last month I bought an escape ladder for Anne's bedroom because its the only one with no roof below the window. What if there is a fire? I also bought 2 carbon monoxide detectors for the bedrooms and by the fireplace. I try not to drive my car when the hwy is bad. I have a death grip on Anne in parking lots or I put her in a cart in the parking lot. Anyway, I can live with all these "precautions."
When I have too much alone time I think about why I worry so much and I have a tangible slamming feeling in my chest. My breath gets caught and my legs go numb. I picture my dead son. I remember the horror of labouring a stillborn baby into the world. I remember how he went from being so close to me inside and then wrenched away bc he was dead and he had to be buried. And then I think about my friend who died in an avalanche. My husband was there digging him out. He tried CPR for 45 minutes. Our friend had died on impact. There was nothing to do to save him. Death is so quick. It's like going up the stairs and missing the top step. It's done before you can catch your breath.
And then somehow you have to keep going. You have to get up. Move forward. Reorganize. Try to let go of where you thought you were going and visualize a different path.
My therapist spoke of something called STUGs. Sudden times of unexpected grief.
Most of the time I am fine, but some times they get me.
Sunday, 9 September 2012
baby Spencer
If I could have made a wish list for this new baby, he is everything I would have asked for. He is perfect.
I know that every parent knows that their baby is the most beautiful thing they have ever seen; and I am no exception. Spencer Thomas has black hair and dark eyes. He was 7lbs 1ounce and almost three weeks early. He is very easy going, a good eater and a good sleeper.
If there is such a thing as compensation from God for loss I believe that Spencer being so wonderful may be part of that compensation. There will never be enough compensation in this life for the loss of my first born son but Spencer has carved out his own little part of my heart.
Right after he was born I was extremely angry. Labour hurts like crazy and I did not have any drugs with this labour or baby Steve's labour. They say that smell is the strongest sense tide to memory but I think pain comes in a close second. As my labour with Spencer progressed I felt as though I was sent back in time to my previous labour. As each of the milestone of labour passed and I could hear Spencer's heart pounding away over the monitor. I cried. My husband and nurses asked if I was in too much pain and I said no. My husband understood that I was sad about baby Steve and that reliving labour pain brought back a lot of grief and fear.
Then suddenly there he was. He cried. My husband held my hand and said "he is alive." I cuddled him tight and cried. I was so relieved to see Spencer breathing but so angry that baby Steve never cried for me. I felt guilty for allowing Steve's loss to affect my emotions around Spencer's first few hours with me.
Without intending to I caught myself comparing Steve and Spencer. I was not expecting them to look the same but I was hoping they would look enough alike that I might have some idea of what Steve would have been like as he grew up.
Over the last 9 days I have become attached to Spencer in a way that I did not get to be with Steve. Its extremely bittersweet.
I love Spencer so much.
I miss Steve.
I wish I was given the opportunity to love Steve like I get to love Spencer and Anne.
I know that every parent knows that their baby is the most beautiful thing they have ever seen; and I am no exception. Spencer Thomas has black hair and dark eyes. He was 7lbs 1ounce and almost three weeks early. He is very easy going, a good eater and a good sleeper.
If there is such a thing as compensation from God for loss I believe that Spencer being so wonderful may be part of that compensation. There will never be enough compensation in this life for the loss of my first born son but Spencer has carved out his own little part of my heart.
Right after he was born I was extremely angry. Labour hurts like crazy and I did not have any drugs with this labour or baby Steve's labour. They say that smell is the strongest sense tide to memory but I think pain comes in a close second. As my labour with Spencer progressed I felt as though I was sent back in time to my previous labour. As each of the milestone of labour passed and I could hear Spencer's heart pounding away over the monitor. I cried. My husband and nurses asked if I was in too much pain and I said no. My husband understood that I was sad about baby Steve and that reliving labour pain brought back a lot of grief and fear.
Then suddenly there he was. He cried. My husband held my hand and said "he is alive." I cuddled him tight and cried. I was so relieved to see Spencer breathing but so angry that baby Steve never cried for me. I felt guilty for allowing Steve's loss to affect my emotions around Spencer's first few hours with me.
Without intending to I caught myself comparing Steve and Spencer. I was not expecting them to look the same but I was hoping they would look enough alike that I might have some idea of what Steve would have been like as he grew up.
Over the last 9 days I have become attached to Spencer in a way that I did not get to be with Steve. Its extremely bittersweet.
I love Spencer so much.
I miss Steve.
I wish I was given the opportunity to love Steve like I get to love Spencer and Anne.
Friday, 24 August 2012
11 more sleeps
11 more sleeps.
Today I took my husband (who happens to be a doctor) out for lunch. He has delivered 3 babies this week. All good results.
He says to me "you know it must be hard eh?"
I say "what?"
He says "when you are a first time mom and you go into labour you have no idea how much it is going to hurt."
I say "ya so?"
He says "well you have 11 more days until you are induced and you know what the pain of labour feels like with an epidural and without one."
I say "ya so?"
Anyway the conversation continues about the merits of epidural vs no epidural. Whatever, I'll figure it out in 11 days.
The physical pain is something I can say that I am dreading a little. BUT the bigger fear is the potential emotional pain. Ya second time moms dread the labour pain but dead-baby-mommas dread something that will never go away. A type of pain that never completely heals.
My third baby will probably live. However having had my second die I have become aware of a type of pain that feels like emotional drowning. Like a meat tenderizer has your heart and smashes it.
Right now talking about labour, imagining having a new baby, people asking "you are so close are you getting excited?" Hurts like HELL.
I just did this.
Guess what? I was 39.5 weeks when my son died. I went through a whole effing pregnancy and labour for nothing. All I gained from that 9 months was a lifetime of regret, pain and fear for future pregnancies.
SO for those who care. NO i am not excited. I am scared. Those who have lost a baby will understand. If you haven't I hope you never do, because it is the worst kind of hell that I have ever experienced.
Today I took my husband (who happens to be a doctor) out for lunch. He has delivered 3 babies this week. All good results.
He says to me "you know it must be hard eh?"
I say "what?"
He says "when you are a first time mom and you go into labour you have no idea how much it is going to hurt."
I say "ya so?"
He says "well you have 11 more days until you are induced and you know what the pain of labour feels like with an epidural and without one."
I say "ya so?"
Anyway the conversation continues about the merits of epidural vs no epidural. Whatever, I'll figure it out in 11 days.
The physical pain is something I can say that I am dreading a little. BUT the bigger fear is the potential emotional pain. Ya second time moms dread the labour pain but dead-baby-mommas dread something that will never go away. A type of pain that never completely heals.
My third baby will probably live. However having had my second die I have become aware of a type of pain that feels like emotional drowning. Like a meat tenderizer has your heart and smashes it.
Right now talking about labour, imagining having a new baby, people asking "you are so close are you getting excited?" Hurts like HELL.
I just did this.
Guess what? I was 39.5 weeks when my son died. I went through a whole effing pregnancy and labour for nothing. All I gained from that 9 months was a lifetime of regret, pain and fear for future pregnancies.
SO for those who care. NO i am not excited. I am scared. Those who have lost a baby will understand. If you haven't I hope you never do, because it is the worst kind of hell that I have ever experienced.
Sunday, 5 August 2012
emotional hailstorm
Today I feel as unsettled as the weather of late. We seem to be have nice a run of hot days and then evening thunder storms.
I am excited because each day that goes by brings me closer to meeting this little baby. I have so many hopes for him and I am feeling very maternal. However I can feel building pressure and anxiety that is harder and harder to keep in check. We seem to be having a "run" of babies in our church community. There were two in the last couple of weeks and my husband has a lady in labour as I write this. He has two more before I am to be induced in 4 weeks. I was also told about someone very close to me who has just found out that she is expecting.
I am very scared right now that I am going have to go through the compounding grief and agony of losing this baby after having already lost a baby. I am sick with fear that I am going to watch other women I am close to continue to have healthy living babies for the rest of my life and I am going to feel only pain.
I have no faith that things are going to work out just because they should.
I am excited because each day that goes by brings me closer to meeting this little baby. I have so many hopes for him and I am feeling very maternal. However I can feel building pressure and anxiety that is harder and harder to keep in check. We seem to be having a "run" of babies in our church community. There were two in the last couple of weeks and my husband has a lady in labour as I write this. He has two more before I am to be induced in 4 weeks. I was also told about someone very close to me who has just found out that she is expecting.
I am very scared right now that I am going have to go through the compounding grief and agony of losing this baby after having already lost a baby. I am sick with fear that I am going to watch other women I am close to continue to have healthy living babies for the rest of my life and I am going to feel only pain.
I have no faith that things are going to work out just because they should.
Friday, 3 August 2012
Today
This morning I had my fourth ultrasound for this baby. I have one more at 36 weeks and then if everything looks okay, I will be induced at 38 weeks.
The tech was very happy with this baby today. He scored very well on the bio-phyiscal ratings and according to her, he weighs about 4.5 pounds.
I feel a little bit like a child waiting for Christmas morning. But this child is not sure what will be found under the tree.
At my 20 week ultrasound I was told that my son has a echogenic focus (bright spot) on his heart. This is considered a soft sign for Downs Syndrome or Trysomy 21. But my doctor said not to worry because it was an isolated sign.
At my 28 week ultrasound I was told that my son was not showing "breathing movements." My doctor said not to worry because he is still pretty small to be showing these type of movements.
Today it seems like everything was as it should be but I will wait until my doctors appointment on August 13 for the full report.
Clothes...
I try hard not to think about the future. I have hopes for the future but instead of seeing it with the clarity that I possessed a year and a half ago it's pretty fuzzy. I was putting away some baby boy clothes that I bought from a friend and it struck me that at this time in my last pregnancy I was doing the same thing. The feelings around the task had changed. I was giddy last time and I bubbled over with excitement about how cute the clothes were. This time I felt numb. The clothes are cute but they are just clothes and will be completely meaningless unless there is a little boy to fill them up and wear them out. I was showing my husband some of the clothes because he was giving me a hard time about getting second hand stuff. He wants to buy this baby some new cute clothes of his own. The hand-me-downs from his older brother who died are from a different season and many will not be worn. Baby Steve was a spring/summer baby, this baby will be born in the early fall. I will save them anyway. Somebody will wear them eventually.
Putting Baby Steve's Stuff Away...
I have two children's bedrooms upstairs. One is pink and one is green. Baby Steve was going to sleep in the green room. My husband and I have been referring to the "green room" as baby Steve's room until about a week ago when I said that we have to stop that. On the dresser was a scrapbook of baby Steve's short time with us. It is filled with pictures of Baby Steve, my husband and I at the hospital, funeral stuff, cards and all of baby Steve's ultrasound photos. There was a orange giraffe and a blue bunny that I knitted for him. There were three jellyfish that were part of a mobile for his crib and there was a candle given to us at his funeral. There was the white fluffy teddy bear that we were given at the hospital. On Wednesday I carefully picked up all of those things and set them in the bottom drawer of the six drawer dresser in the green room. As I closed the drawer I felt like someone had punched me in the chest as hard as they could. It was the raw aching pain that is ever present in the first few months after loss. I was floored by how powerful it was. I cried.
How many times throughout the rest of my life am I going to be saying good bye to Baby Steve? Goodbye is all I ever got to say to him.
This morning I had my fourth ultrasound for this baby. I have one more at 36 weeks and then if everything looks okay, I will be induced at 38 weeks.
The tech was very happy with this baby today. He scored very well on the bio-phyiscal ratings and according to her, he weighs about 4.5 pounds.
I feel a little bit like a child waiting for Christmas morning. But this child is not sure what will be found under the tree.
At my 20 week ultrasound I was told that my son has a echogenic focus (bright spot) on his heart. This is considered a soft sign for Downs Syndrome or Trysomy 21. But my doctor said not to worry because it was an isolated sign.
At my 28 week ultrasound I was told that my son was not showing "breathing movements." My doctor said not to worry because he is still pretty small to be showing these type of movements.
Today it seems like everything was as it should be but I will wait until my doctors appointment on August 13 for the full report.
Clothes...
I try hard not to think about the future. I have hopes for the future but instead of seeing it with the clarity that I possessed a year and a half ago it's pretty fuzzy. I was putting away some baby boy clothes that I bought from a friend and it struck me that at this time in my last pregnancy I was doing the same thing. The feelings around the task had changed. I was giddy last time and I bubbled over with excitement about how cute the clothes were. This time I felt numb. The clothes are cute but they are just clothes and will be completely meaningless unless there is a little boy to fill them up and wear them out. I was showing my husband some of the clothes because he was giving me a hard time about getting second hand stuff. He wants to buy this baby some new cute clothes of his own. The hand-me-downs from his older brother who died are from a different season and many will not be worn. Baby Steve was a spring/summer baby, this baby will be born in the early fall. I will save them anyway. Somebody will wear them eventually.
Putting Baby Steve's Stuff Away...
I have two children's bedrooms upstairs. One is pink and one is green. Baby Steve was going to sleep in the green room. My husband and I have been referring to the "green room" as baby Steve's room until about a week ago when I said that we have to stop that. On the dresser was a scrapbook of baby Steve's short time with us. It is filled with pictures of Baby Steve, my husband and I at the hospital, funeral stuff, cards and all of baby Steve's ultrasound photos. There was a orange giraffe and a blue bunny that I knitted for him. There were three jellyfish that were part of a mobile for his crib and there was a candle given to us at his funeral. There was the white fluffy teddy bear that we were given at the hospital. On Wednesday I carefully picked up all of those things and set them in the bottom drawer of the six drawer dresser in the green room. As I closed the drawer I felt like someone had punched me in the chest as hard as they could. It was the raw aching pain that is ever present in the first few months after loss. I was floored by how powerful it was. I cried.
How many times throughout the rest of my life am I going to be saying good bye to Baby Steve? Goodbye is all I ever got to say to him.
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