I told Taylor today is baby Boy Larson's birthday and he replied, has it really only been a year?
Miscarriage, pregnancy loss or child loss can be so indescribably painful to talk about that we just don't. It can be so unfathomably difficult to live through that you can't explain it fully to someone who hasn't experienced it closely, even though many people can sympathise.
I wish I could banish any sense of shame a woman may feel when the worst happens. It's just pure pain, straight down to the soul. Miscarriage and child loss is not a desirable topic of conversation and NEVER 'small talk'. I wrote down a few DO's and DON'T's from my experience at the end of our story, so scroll ahead or props for reading the whole thing!
Our story is our own personal sadness and frustration. There are so many women and couples with their own version. None are exactly alike. I find it impossible to say 'I KNOW what you're feeling'. I can only say that I'm so sorry, I'm with you, I love you and my heart breaks with you.
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In April 2015, we got pregnant and in complete honesty, I was terrified. I couldn't believe it was so fast after stopping birth control. We were in the tiniest London apartment and not expecting this step quite so soon. But we quickly got excited after the freak out moment was over. We told our families early on and it was lovely to share in the joy.
In my 10th week, I started having sharp, painful cramps and bleeding. I went to the A&E (Emergency Room) and waited for several hours for them to understand what was happening. I was obviously losing this pregnancy but they couldn't understand the sonogram. Test results from that day and 48 hours later pointed to a complete molar pregnancy. (I've linked to a website if you've never heard of that before. I hadn't before it happened to me.)
Short version, it is a rare abnormal pregnancy in which several things can happen but main point is that the tissue growing inside me, while NOT cancer, had cancer-like qualities. A placenta but no baby in which the placenta grows abnormally fast and the tissue can spread rapidly to other organs if every bit of this molar tissue is not removed.
The oncology department at a specialist hospital in London monitored me for six months following a procedure to evacuate all the tissue. I had blood and urine tests every month to ensure that further chemical treatment was unnecessary. I was fortunate enough not to need further treatment.
It was a traumatic reminder every month that this moment of joy had turned all wrong. It took almost a year before just thinking about it didn't choke me with tears. Talking it through is not for everyone. No one knew so no one could ask me about it or share good-intention but wholly unnecessary anecdotes about miscarriage being common and that I would be OK. (one of my DON'Ts at the bottom of this post)
In June 2016, we found out we were pregnant again. We were both a lot more cautious with our excitement this time but hearing the heartbeat at an early scan and again at a 12-week scan made our hearts soar! We told our families again and announced our excitement on social media after waiting 17 weeks.
We were so hopeful that I went solo to a regular midwife check up at 18 weeks where I mentioned there had been some spotting the day before. To reassure me everything was alright, the midwife determined to find baby's heartbeat. She said couldn't manage it on a Doppler so I was sent to the Fetal Medicine Unit down the hall where they pulled out the big machinery. She seemed like a young, not-quite-as-experienced midwife so I wasn't worried.
I leaned back on the paper covered hospital bed and tried to remain calm.
I heard the worst words.
Baby's heart had stopped beating.
They couldn't tell exactly when it had happened. I was inconsolable. And totally numb.
I leaned back on the paper covered hospital bed and tried to remain calm.
I heard the worst words.
Baby's heart had stopped beating.
They couldn't tell exactly when it had happened. I was inconsolable. And totally numb.
Taylor rushed away from work to be with me. The recommended course of treatment was to ensure that my body would go through the most natural process without intervention. I would be induced within 48 hours. There are no words for what it feels like to walk into the Labor and Delivery wing of the hospital knowing you won't be walking out with a baby in your arms.
I remember every moment of the 36 hours spent in the hospital too vividly. The numbness of the previous two days had worn off. I felt everything all at once. Baby Larson, a tiny little boy, was delivered at 1:38am after just over 4 hours of labor.
We wouldn't find out until much later that he died from Amniotic Band Syndrome. It is less a syndrome than a kind of fluke that can happen to the birth sac. Bands that wrapped around him and his umbilical cord and stopped all growth.
To make matters all the worse, my sweet sister, Ruth, found out her baby boy had a congenital heart defect called Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome the same day our little one's heart had stopped beating. Ansel was due a few weeks before our baby boy. Ruth carried Ansel full term and he lived for 44 precious hours. Harrowing is the best word I can find to describe the months surrounding our losses. Dealing with so much loss, so close together could have made us very bitter. We got through the worst of it together, just by the skin of our teeth but we're still here.
Now we are both expecting baby girls within a month of each other. They are a joy and our happy thoughts in a time of healing. Ansel and Baby Larson will never be forgotten. Big brothers who will watch over and care for their little sisters from heaven. I am so grateful that both of us have been healthy and strong in these pregnancies. I am 32 weeks today and my sister is almost 29 weeks with healthy, squirmy babies. These baby girls will not replace the babies we've lost but that doesn't make them any less miraculous and wonderful.
- say I'm sorry, my heart is broken for you, I'm with you, I'm praying for you.
- invite them to events, outings or gatherings like normal. Leave it up to him/her to decide if they will participate. They might even let you know when invitations are too much.
- ask if there's anything you can do to help. The answer might be no, but she/he will know you care and will reach out when/if something comes to mind
- drop an email, text, note to let them know you love them
- remember to read the room when sharing negative stories about your children, sleeplessness or other parenting struggles. Those are some experiences that your loved one would give up all material possessions to have.
- Let them take the lead in how they move forward. Talking about their child or not, having a memorial or not, etc.
DON'T:
- Ask them 'how are you?' Or 'how are you feeling?' It's common instinct when you see someone you care for but honestly, especially in the first weeks and months, I hated that question. They are feeling awful, devestated, lonely and broken. Just assume they are not well for a while and moved straight on to other topics.
- say 'you can try again'/'you'll have a healthy baby someday'. You may have that hope but you don't actually know it's true. These words were not comforting to me.
- Leave them out. (similar to the DO listed above) Let him or her decide if they want to attend that baby shower or birthday party. It can be more hurtful to find out after the fact that they were excluded, no matter the reasoning.
-Tell a baby/birth story that was 'similar ' but had a happy ending. While there is a time and place for those happy stories, someone who is hurting might hear 'you shouldn't be sad because it can/will get better'. Let them feel what they're feeling.
- Press for details. 'So what happened?' is a severely insensitive question. Maybe you have a relationship where you can ask a question but do not expect it to be answered. Your loved one will not always know how to express themselves and there is a line between trying to understand and prying into deep feelings that are still fresh and sharp.
- give in to the feeling/need to say something encouraging, inspirational, spiritual. What you're thinking might not sound as kind out loud as it does in your head. Unfortunately I've heard some incredibly thoughtless remarks that I couldn't believe would occur to someone to say as a form of comfort. When in doubt, don't speak. Just be with your loved one and let your presence or acts of kindness be enough.
*I decided to share our story because there are so many people who have loved and supported us from afar and wonderfully asked no questions before we were ready to talk about it. A recent, all too similar loss close to my family brought all these feelings back. It'll hurt forever but none of the pain compares to the faith I have that I will have all babies together one day.
I remember every moment of the 36 hours spent in the hospital too vividly. The numbness of the previous two days had worn off. I felt everything all at once. Baby Larson, a tiny little boy, was delivered at 1:38am after just over 4 hours of labor.
We wouldn't find out until much later that he died from Amniotic Band Syndrome. It is less a syndrome than a kind of fluke that can happen to the birth sac. Bands that wrapped around him and his umbilical cord and stopped all growth.
To make matters all the worse, my sweet sister, Ruth, found out her baby boy had a congenital heart defect called Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome the same day our little one's heart had stopped beating. Ansel was due a few weeks before our baby boy. Ruth carried Ansel full term and he lived for 44 precious hours. Harrowing is the best word I can find to describe the months surrounding our losses. Dealing with so much loss, so close together could have made us very bitter. We got through the worst of it together, just by the skin of our teeth but we're still here.
Now we are both expecting baby girls within a month of each other. They are a joy and our happy thoughts in a time of healing. Ansel and Baby Larson will never be forgotten. Big brothers who will watch over and care for their little sisters from heaven. I am so grateful that both of us have been healthy and strong in these pregnancies. I am 32 weeks today and my sister is almost 29 weeks with healthy, squirmy babies. These baby girls will not replace the babies we've lost but that doesn't make them any less miraculous and wonderful.
When you have a friend/loved one/neighbour who has lost a pregnancy or baby:
DO:- say I'm sorry, my heart is broken for you, I'm with you, I'm praying for you.
- invite them to events, outings or gatherings like normal. Leave it up to him/her to decide if they will participate. They might even let you know when invitations are too much.
- ask if there's anything you can do to help. The answer might be no, but she/he will know you care and will reach out when/if something comes to mind
- drop an email, text, note to let them know you love them
- remember to read the room when sharing negative stories about your children, sleeplessness or other parenting struggles. Those are some experiences that your loved one would give up all material possessions to have.
- Let them take the lead in how they move forward. Talking about their child or not, having a memorial or not, etc.
DON'T:
- Ask them 'how are you?' Or 'how are you feeling?' It's common instinct when you see someone you care for but honestly, especially in the first weeks and months, I hated that question. They are feeling awful, devestated, lonely and broken. Just assume they are not well for a while and moved straight on to other topics.
- say 'you can try again'/'you'll have a healthy baby someday'. You may have that hope but you don't actually know it's true. These words were not comforting to me.
- Leave them out. (similar to the DO listed above) Let him or her decide if they want to attend that baby shower or birthday party. It can be more hurtful to find out after the fact that they were excluded, no matter the reasoning.
-Tell a baby/birth story that was 'similar ' but had a happy ending. While there is a time and place for those happy stories, someone who is hurting might hear 'you shouldn't be sad because it can/will get better'. Let them feel what they're feeling.
- Press for details. 'So what happened?' is a severely insensitive question. Maybe you have a relationship where you can ask a question but do not expect it to be answered. Your loved one will not always know how to express themselves and there is a line between trying to understand and prying into deep feelings that are still fresh and sharp.
- give in to the feeling/need to say something encouraging, inspirational, spiritual. What you're thinking might not sound as kind out loud as it does in your head. Unfortunately I've heard some incredibly thoughtless remarks that I couldn't believe would occur to someone to say as a form of comfort. When in doubt, don't speak. Just be with your loved one and let your presence or acts of kindness be enough.
*I decided to share our story because there are so many people who have loved and supported us from afar and wonderfully asked no questions before we were ready to talk about it. A recent, all too similar loss close to my family brought all these feelings back. It'll hurt forever but none of the pain compares to the faith I have that I will have all babies together one day.
