October 15th...

October 15th was Pregnancy Loss and Stillbirth Remembrance Day.

I remember you every day, not just OCtober 15th. Each day I wish I had all of you in my arms. This is just one more day out of the year that I think of you and miss you. I lit a candle for you last night, and although it wasn't at 7pm nor was it lit for an hour, I lit it and prayed for you with every ounce of love in me. I love you.

Here is our story. I also posted it on our family blog:

I sit here, praying. I pray that God speaks through me, that I may convey our story in a way that brings Him glory. How do I do that? How can I possibly type out words that appear on a screen and expect people to read those words and feel what I feel?

I will give it my best try. I apologize because it is very long.

***WARNING - I SPEAK GRAPHICALLY ABOUT MISCARRIAGE IN THIS STORY. NOT RECOMMENDED FOR CHILDREN OR THOSE WHO ARE OFFENDED EASILY***


When Tom and I started trying to conceive, we started out as a newly married couple, ready to start our family. We were blissfully unaware of the journey we were about to embark on.

We did everything right. Or, so we thought. From the very start of our relationship we knew we would one day have children, and about a year before we were married we started seriously planning for a baby. We knew we would start trying soon after we were married, so we started going over finances, work schedules and everything else in between. I started my prenatal vitamins to ensure they would be in my system when it came time to "try".

Looking back now, "trying" to us meant the month we would throw out any fears about becoming parents. "Trying" meant we would get pregnant on purpose. Little did we know what "trying" truly meant. We had no reason to believe we wouldn't get pregnant immediately and bring a bouncing baby home 9 months later. Afterall, we had spent the better part of our adult lives trying to prevent pregnancy.

Much to our excitement, we started trying in November of 2006, just two months after saying "I do". I had a heightened sense of awareness now that we were officially on the baby bandwagon. Every twinge, every pinch, every symptom I had was so new and I knew I had to be pregnant.

I awkwardly purchased my first home pregnancy test, embarrassed to take it up to the cash register at the store. Purposely buying items I didn't need, just to cover it up on the counter so other shoppers wouldn't see it. I made my purchase and headed home.

I was excited to take the test, this was it! This was the moment I would find out I was a mommy!

I scoured over the directions, I held my pee for hours, I skipped my morning water so my urine would be "stronger". I fumbled with the test package, trying to open it carefully as not to harm it in any way. I peed on this stick for the recommended time frame and decided I better add a few seconds, just to be sure.

I eagerly watched every second ticking away while the test developed. The test brands vary, most will have results within a few minutes but this test says it can take up to 10 minutes.

Well, something had to be wrong with this test. Over ten minutes later and no second line. I grabbed another test from the box (I wouldn't have purchased anything less than a 3 pack, come on now!). Lather, rinse, repeat.

Still only one line. My heart sank a little.

"Well, it's still early", I reminded myself. The pregnancy tests they have now are accurate as early as 5 days prior to your missed period, although they recommend taking them at least the day of your missed period. "Take the other one tomorrow", I convinced myself.

And I did. It was also negative.

I was disappointed but decided December would be our month! I kept taking those Prenatal Vitamins and began to do more research online. I found a support group web forum for women who are trying to conceive and joined.

December rolled around and the symptoms hit big time. I felt sick. My head hurt. My period was late! My period was never late. This had to be it! I ordered some early pregnancy tests online, these were advertised to detect pregnancy even earlier. I went through the same process as the month before, but this time there was a small nagging fear in the back of my mind. What if there was only one line? What if I have that disappointment again? I put those thoughts aside and peed on the stick.

And?

Two lines came up.

The test line was faint but it was there, and that meant only one thing. I was pregnant!

I never came up with a clever way to tell Tom, I was too excited. I think I called him or showed him the test or something incredibly boring.

I was in disbelief. "Wow, this is it, we're going to be parents!". The next day I took another test, because you know, a woman has to be sure and all.

The test was negative. "What?!". How could this be?

"Well, that one must be defective", I assured myself. After a few more tests, it was still negative.

It didn't take much research to learn that this was a chemical pregnancy. A chemical pregnancy, by definition, is a biochemical pregnancy. This means the sperm and egg have met and have not implanted into the uterus properly. This is the earliest form of miscarriage and is extremely common. Most often a woman's period arrives on time or a few days late so in reality most women have no idea they've had an early miscarriage.

Most women, that is, except those like me who are fueled by the excitement of trying for a baby who have no willpower to wait to take a test.

3 days after my period was due, it came with a vengeance. Clots, heavy bleeding and all that you would expect from a very early miscarriage.

Now, this is where personal opinion meets science. I believe in science. I believe in God. Combining those two elements together gives me an opinion on when human life starts. I believe when the sperm and egg combine, it is a human (if not, what other species could it be?). Do you know that the moment the sperm and egg combine the gender is determined? That little tiny human is a unique individual with it's own unique DNA.

I believe that tiny human, no matter what stage of development, was my child. I was in love with him or her before they were made. Some people may find it odd that I grieve for a child I never really knew. It has taken much time and much therapy to be able to say one thing to those people: "How dare you?". Yes, how dare you. How dare you tell me how to grieve, When to grieve, Why to grieve and most importantly, Who to grieve.

I lost more than an embryo or a clump of cells. I lost my child.

With that being said, this chemical pregnancy, did not truly sink in. We justified it as a fluke. At the time it didn't hit us that we'd experienced an early miscarriage. "Chemical pregnancy" just sounded so cold.

We picked ourselves back up and tried again.

In January it was safe to say by now I felt I was a pregnancy test connoisseur. I strolled up to the register and proudly purchased my pee sticks, for all the shopping world to see.

I ripped open the package, threw the directions away -- unread. I peed on the stick and...

After ripping the test apart and holding the test innards up to the direct sunlight, there were two lines.

Two lines are that are seemingly invisible to the male eye, because Tom couldn't identify that pink line I could so clearly see.

"It's right there!" I pointed, with an almost frustrated excitement. "I... just don't see it". Hmph. It was there and I have proof because a literal dozen tests later and the lines got darker and darker.

I was pregnant and thus far it wasn't a chemical pregnancy.

Could this be... the real thing?

Being the anal retentive pre-mamma I am, I had already selected the Obstetrician we would be seeing once, you know, we became pregnant. I called their office, they were so wonderful! They scheduled my first appointment for me, for when I would be 10 weeks along.

10 weeks? Seeing as though I was only about 4 or 5 weeks along, waiting another month for an appointment was not going to be easy.

Lucky me, I was office manager at an Urgent Care clinic and was able to have the doctors there draw my blood to run the quantitative beta hCG test. My favorite test. The results give you the exact level of pregnancy hormone in your blood. Being a child-obsessed woman, this was good information to have.

All of the boring facts about the beta hCG test you never wanted to know? You know I wouldn't leave them out. As far as the results go, anything above 5 is pregnant but anything above 25 is a viable pregnancy. The level, according to the American Pregnancy Association, is supposed to double every 48-72 hours in 85% of normal pregnancies. Some doctors do just one test to confirm pregnancy but most do at least one subsequent test. While it's not as accurate as an ultrasound, it can provide an indication that the pregnancy is threatened if the numbers aren't doubling as they should or it can point to a healthy pregnancy if the levels are rising at a normal rate.

My first hCG level was just over 12. Okay. Not exactly as high as I had hoped, but, I was very early and this was in the "normal" spectrum. We decided not to do another test since I was confirmed pregnant and I would eventually see my OB for care.

It was now February and I had virtually no pregnancy symptoms. Go figure, right? What I did have, instead, was a horrible feeling something was wrong. I couldn't shake it. I pushed those feelings aside, telling myself those fears are normal.

Until one night I had a dream. A male voice spoke to me and said: "You will lose the baby next week". I woke up and I knew something was wrong.

The following week I took another pregnancy test and it was lighter than the rest.

I went to my urgent care clinic for another blood test. It was a Sunday. I drove my blood to the hospital myself to get it there faster than the hospital courier could, but it was too late in the day to get my results. I had to wait until the next day.

On Monday morning I woke up to get ready for work. I woke up and I was bleeding.

No.

Anything but this.

No.

I composed myself and had to do the hardest thing I could imagine. I had to wake Tom up from his peaceful sleep and ask him to take me to the ER. I had to tell him my biggest fear was now a reality.

I had previously read that bleeding during the first trimester is actually quite common and it doesn't necessarily mean one is miscarrying. I clung to that thought. I held onto that as my last shred of hope.

This was my first time going through anything like this. I chose to go to the ER because it was the only thing I could think of. What if there is something wrong that can be fixed? What if all I need is some medical care and everything will be just fine?

We sat in the waiting room. I was sick of waiting. Apparently a threatened miscarriage is last on the scale of ER triage importance, because we were waiting for, what seemed like, days. While waiting in the ER I called my OB's office to tell them what was going on, and even though they were an hour away, asked if they could they see me in sooner than the ER doc could. The doctor was in surgery. No appointments until late afternoon. Damn. (On a side note: This office is more than compassionate and understanding, there was just nothing that they could do while doctor was in surgery.)

Meanwhile, the urgent care clinic opened and I called for my blood test results. These results, I told Tom, would tell us everything. They should be in the ten-thousands at this point. If they weren't, well, then things didn't look good.

The medical assistant at the urgent care clinic told me the results over the phone. They were in the low hundreds. "Thank you", I said, with a lump in my throat, and hung up.

Low hundreds.

There is no hope. I clung to Tom, crying.

This is it. I am having a miscarriage.

I am called back to ER triage. They wouldn't let Tom back with me, got to love the HIPAA laws. The triage nurse has no idea why I am sobbing, even after I managed to tell her I am pregnant and bleeding in between gasps for air. I could almost see the look in her eyes as if she were thinking "Oh, is that all? My goodness girl, get yourself together".

She took my vitals and escorted me back to my room. And by "room" I mean a space that consists of 40 square feet, a curtain on tracks and a bed. In the middle of the "ER". Not exactly private.

The doctor comes in and asks me questions, I sob and sob, and he asks more questions. He orders some tests and a lab tech comes in. He was a very nice man, trying his best to make me feel better by saying "You know, it's not very often we get a pretty girl like you here in our ER". He takes vile after large vile of blood. When I feel as though I have no more blood left to give, he wheels his cart out and looks at me with sad eyes and tells me he is sorry. I believe him.

A woman comes in, I assume a nurse, and she hugs me. She tells me she is currently pregnant, which is not what I want to hear and makes me sob even more out of jealousy, "but", she said, "I had a miscarriage a few months ago and I understand what you're going through". Someone understood what I was going through. I felt guilty for being glad she knew what I was going through.

I was taken back to a room that had 4 real walls. The doctor came in and told me my blood tests concluded I was miscarrying. The hCG levels were even lower than the previous day's levels I had drawn at the urgent care clinic. He performed a pelvic exam, printed off the informational sheet for "spontaneous abortion", gave me some pills and sent me on my way.

The first thing I did when we got home was lay down in bed. Tom brought me something to eat but all I could think about was my poor little baby who never had a chance. Why couldn't my body just carry a child?

The dream I had a week prior was no longer a dream. It was a nightmare. It was real. Who was the man in my dream? Why did he come to me to tell me my child would die? Was it God? Was it a family member who had passed? Was it my sub-conscious, aware somehow that my body was failing my child? I don't know if I will ever know the answer, but I do know it brought sort of an eery comfort.

Going through the emotional pain of miscarrying is devastating. The physical pain is also traumatic. I was cramping a lot, and bleeding heavily. I had Tom and my Mother to lean on but it was still the loneliest moments of my life.

The moment of truth finally came. I stood up and felt what felt like a large clot coming out. I locked myself in the bathroom, and passed the baby. Now, I will never know if there was a placenta and a fully formed baby, but what I do know is that I had to flush my dead child down the toilet. That in and of itself was the worst moment of my life. I instantly regretted it. My Mother and I salvaged a piece of what we believe to be the baby, in hopes of burying him or her.

After this miscarriage I had another dream.

In this dream a child's voice said ...

"I see everything, Mommy".

I woke up with an overwhelming sense of peace. My child was letting me know he or she was okay.

As a mother, all I wanted was to know they were okay.

Before we knew it a couple of months had passed by and it was April. We had another chemical pregnancy in April. I had a positive pregnancy test, then nothing. For those of you questioning whether or not these were false positives, I can assure you they were not. I used First Response Early Result tests. They have an extremely rare pretty much non-existant false positive rate. The test line was pink and visible. Also, my period was 3 days late each time.

Because these chemical pregnancies happened before I could even have a blood test or ultrasound I never went to my doctor about them. I briefly mentioned them during appointments but I didn't want to delve into my pee-stick obsession and have to explain why I was testing so early. Because of this, according to my chart, we had exactly one miscarriage.

For those of you who have had one first trimester miscarriage you will know that most doctors won't do any testing, apart from standard lab tests, to determine the cause. The most common cause of miscarriage is chromosomal abnormalities. It's usually a fluke and we are encouraged to take time to heal, then start trying again.

I got pregnant again in May. My blood tests were fantastic. The levels were more than doubling. My mom and I were even suspecting twins because of the doubling time of my levels. This was fantastic!

Because of my history I was now privileged to an early ultrasound. We went in very early, I believe we were just shy of 6 weeks. We saw a gestational sac! Everything looked on target for where we were in our pregnancy.

We were on edge, but decided to let ourselves get excited.

We shouldn't have.

Two weeks later we went back in for our next ultrasound. This is when we were going to see a heartbeat! The doctor positioned the ultrasound wand just right and....

Nothing.

Just an empty sac. Doctor hadn't said anything yet but I don't need a medical degree to see...

Nothing but a sac.

I was quiet at first. I didn't want to panic.

Then Doctor said "I'm so sorry. Nobody's home".

I put my hands over my face and sobbed.

No. Not again. No.

We can't take this again.

Tom held me.

I can pinpoint when things stopped growing. I had one bout of morning sickness, and then nothing.

I was given 3 options with this miscarriage: 1) Go naturally. 2) Have a D&C procedure. 3) Take a medication to induce a miscarriage.

We chose to go naturally again. Except this time things were different. My hCG levels kept going up. I did much research and found that mis-diagnosed miscarriages were more common than one would think. I had hope.

That hope was short-lived.

I was spotting at this point but the bleeding was not progressing. I didn't want to use all of my vacation time from work to spot and then have to go to work during the actual miscarriage, so I chose to have a D&C.

My wonderful doctor humored me and performed one more ultrasound to make sure our little one was not growing away happily. The ultrasound showed a collapsing sac.

I went to the hospital and was taken to a room to prep me for surgery. The D&C procedure is where they dilate you and go in with a curette and scrape everything out of the uterus. My doctor was going to use a machine that uses suction.

The anesthesiologist, a very nice man, was telling us of how his wife -- an obstetrician -- lost their baby at 8 months. He was comforting to us. He understood. He also lived in deadbabyland.

My mother and Tom were with me, they were my rocks.

I was wheeled into the OR and put under. I woke up during the procedure and could hear the suction machine and I could feel a lot of pain and cramping but I couldn't say anything or move. It took me a long time but I was finally able to start whimpering. What happened after that is blurry but I think they put me back under.

The next thing I know I wake up. I felt fine physically, a little crampy, but what hurt the most was my heart. How do you walk into the hospital pregnant and leave un-pregnant? Without a baby.

I was forever changed from this moment on.

I was given pamphlets on multiple losses and reoccurring miscarriage. I had test after test performed. I didn't have any sickness or disease. I had no known medical issues. But, I did have a broken heart.

Our baby was sent to the lab for testing and it concluded another chromosomal abnormality. The placenta formed perfectly, was attached and was functioning -- which is why my hCG levels were raising. The baby, on the other hand, never developed properly.

It was another fluke, we were told. Try again after taking some time to heal, we were told.

I remember just laying on the bathroom floor, sobbing. During these times, this was the only time in my life I ever remember asking God "why?". Why? Why can just about any irresponsible person become a parent almost instantly but "good" people who so desperately want a child struggle? Why why why?

That "why" turned into to "how". How can my stupid body fail me so many times? How could I let this happen to my children? How do I go on?

"How" turned into "what". What is wrong with me? What will I do if I can't ever carry a child?

We decided to take a break from trying and I sought out grief counseling. I needed it, oh how I needed it. My world had come crashing down around me while everyone else's lives were continuing. I was angry, sad, frustrated, resentful and just about every emotion one can think of. Grief counseling helped me tremendously. My fabulous counselor taught me that grief is an angry sea of emotions. It comes in waves and we have to let those waves come. If we don't, it builds up into a tsunami. This is also where I learned how healthy it is for me to talk about everything we went through.

While we were on a break we somehow, and I feel so awkward typing this, but we somehow accidentally got pregnant tha September and that pregnancy also ended in an early miscarriage.

I prayed to God to give me a sign when it was time to try again. And I felt at peace.

Come October I felt a strong nudging from God to try. I mentioned this to Tom and he was in agreement to try. We got pregnant that month. If you want to get technical, we conceived on October 20th 2007.

I took a test just days after ovulation and, after prying it apart and looking at it up to the bathroom light, it was positive. I took more tests, they were negative.

I called my doctor for a blood test, then changed my mind and call him back saying "Screw it. I don't want to know". I didn't. I didn't want to face it again.

On Halloween 2007, being the pee-on-a-stick addict that I am, I decided to take a digital test.

"Pregnant" came up right away.

I called Tom. Our conversation went something like:

Me: "The test is positive."
Tom: "Oh."
Me: "So what should we have for dinner?"

Now that's not verbatum but you get the point.

I was excited, don't get me wrong, but I was also scared out of my mind. Having a miscarriage takes away the innocense and joy. Fear and doubt soon replace any happy thoughts when that pregnancy test has two lines.

My first hCG level was 21.4. To quote the doctor, I was "barely" pregnant. Not exactly what I wanted to hear.

My repeat level, one week later, was an amazing 907.4. Yes! Great numbers! Still cautious though, as the numbers were good last time too. And we all know what happened last time. But at least this was not another chemical pregnancy.

We went in for our first ultrasound and we saw not only a gestational sac but a yolk sac. This is the earliest and most primitive form of life visible via ultrasound. The yolk sac is essentially what nourishes and feeds the baby until the placenta takes over.

Each day I took a pregnancy test and each day the lines got darker and darker until one day the line was fainter than the previous day's.

Oh no. Not again. No.

I stopped taking tests that day. I knew I had to leave it in God's hands.

We went in for our second ultrasound, now two weeks after the first.

And...

A heartbeat.

We saw and heard a heartbeat.

A heartbeat.

I bawled. We gleemed. We were in awe. In shock.

Our little bean looked like a shrimp and there was the little heart... thumping away like a horse trotting.

Apart from disabling all day, all night morning sickness until about week 19 and some mild blood pressure/swelling issues in the 3rd tri, this pregnancy had no abnormal complications whatsoever.

Our little baby grew and grew. We found out we were having a little boy in February 2008.

On July 23rd 2008, beating every odd against us, we welcomed Liam Thomas Baker into our lives.

He is our life. He is our world. He is our miracle.

Nearly 2 years after we started trying, 5 miscarriages, several hundred ovulation predictor kits and home pregnancy tests, blood tests, medical procedures, fertility aids, herbs, medication, prayers and hopes.... we have our son.

And do you know what?

Every moment was worth it.

Mother's Day...

Mother's Day... this year was the best one yet. Nothing can change how much I miss you but I know you paved the way for Liam, my sweet little ones, and that brings mommy peace. Mommy loves you and remembers you always. I felt you with me yesterday, stronger than usual. Kisses to you and I can't wait to hold you one day.

Love,
Mommy

We will not forget...

Most everyone knows by now, that Tom and I experienced 5 losses while we were trying for a baby. It's something I want to talk about frequently. With the exception of a few women in the "no baby" or "dead baby" club (real terminology in infertile/miscarriage land), a lot of people in my life don't ask me about it or talk to me about it much. I expect it's because they don't want to upset me or bring up "bad" memories. It could also be that they expect me to be over it by now.

I can tell people are uncomfortable when I mention our lost babies. I love to talk about them. I don't ever want them forgotten. I want them to be a part of our lives forever. Yes, some memories are sad yet others are so wonderful. I treasure the short amount of time I shared with our little ones. I want to speak of them and let the world know that, even though they were not meant for this world, I was their mother and I loved them with every ounce of my entire being.

I lost them in December 2006, February, April, June and September of 2007. Most slipped away before any medical appointment had taken place, one we lost after having fantastic beta hCG results and an ultrasound where "everything looked good".

We were able to get pregnant, but I couldn't stay pregnant. For that reason, we were diagnosed with infertility and that, in and of itself, is a very lonely and heartbreaking place to be at in life. You question yourself - "What is wrong with me?", "Why would God not want me to be a parent?" "Why can't my stupid body just carry a child?". I became sad, angry, frustrated. Every emotion was magnified.

Meanwhile, family and friends around me were getting pregnant and having babies. I was heartbroken. Having to endure baby showers and people gushing about the baby on the way, while I was bleeding. They were finding out the gender of their babies while I was receiving news that mine had died. Listening to new mothers give advice and pretending to be excited over a newly decorated nursery while I was chosing which method of loss to endure; medication to induce, D&C or natural. The birth annoucements, birthday party invitations - they were all too much to take. I was lost in my world, my world that had come crashing down around me. My world stopped, yet everyone else went on living. I wanted to shout "Hey you, how dare you live your life! Don't you know my baby is dead?".

It's not easy to put into words how I felt. I wanted to curl into a ball and stay away from the world. When I had my 5th and final loss, I saught out a grief counselor, it helped heal me more than I ever thought possible. I can now get through the day without sobbing, although I learned that it is okay for me to curl into a ball on the bathroom floor and cry. I learned that I must talk about this in order to heal. I learned that I can't candycoat my words; I have to speak what my heart is feeling.

Through God's mercy, I can look back and see why all of that happened. I am grateful for what we went through. Those babies gave themselves to pave the way for our precious Liam. He will never know what we went through for him, but he will know how much we wanted him, how very much we love him and how we will always be thankful to God for answering our prayers for a healthy child.

The loss of a child is devastating. No one should have to endure that pain. Unfortunately, miscarriage is a very common occurence. According to the American Pregnancy Association, "studies reveal that anywhere from 10-25% of all clinically recognized pregnancies will end in miscarriage. Chemical pregnancies may account for 50-75% of all miscarriages".
To those who have never lost a child, those numbers may mean nothing. Once you have become one of those statistics, the pain is mind-numbing.

One one of the most heartbreaking part of losing a child during pregnancy, is that often times their little life is discounted because they were in the womb when they passed. We all know that once the egg and sperm combine, a little human -- with their own unique DNA sequence and blood type -- is made. Their gender determined. These are our children. Be them here for 1 week, 7 weeks, 11 weeks or full term, they are our babies. Sometimes, I think, people think we shouldn't be so upset or we should "get over it". To those who think that, we pray that they never have to walk a moment in our shoes.

I have been told directly that my losses are supposed to be less painful because they were first trimester. I beg to differ. These little people who were never born were my reason for living. They were so wanted. So loved. They were God's children. How dare someone tell me that because of their age they were less significant or that I should experience less heartache. I cannot help how I feel. I can't even describe to you how it physically hurts some days. My heart physically hurts. I had to flush my baby down the toilet. I was cramping so badly and bleeding so much and I passed my baby and had to flush him or her down the toilet. My mother and I did save one piece of him or her though.

I also had the experience of going into a hospital carrying a dead baby in me and leaving empty. That was traumatic, to say the least. I wanted to "go naturally" for this one too but things wouldn't progress fast enough. I asked for one more ultrasound to confirm my child really wasn't alive, and my wonderful Dr. did one. It confirmed our sweet angel was not there, all we saw was a collapsing gestational sac. So, I had a D&C. I was put under and taken to an OR. They dilate the cervix and use a curette (hence "D&C") to scrape everything out of the uterus. Our baby was then taken to the lab for testing. It was determined that the placenta developed and performed beautifully, which is why my hCG levels were good, but the baby did not develop as it should have. Chromosomal abnormalities strike again.

People who are blessed with the ability to get pregnant quickly and carry to term have absolutely no idea of the obsession, the horror, the pain, the constant remidners of infertility. It becomes your life. There is nothing else that you want and it is such a lonely place.

In time, we will be able to get through our days without tears.

We may, in time, be able to look back with understanding.

But, we will not get over it.

And, we will never, ever forget.

What not to say...

Some people can be so hurtful, even though they are trying to be helpful. I want people who have never lost a child to have empathy, compassion. I want them to think twice before speaking.

I was going to write a post about what not to say to me or any other woman who has experienced a loss but I found this online and it is exactly what I would have written myself.

---

What we wish you knew about pregnancy loss:

A letter from women to their friends and family
by Elizabeth Soutter Schwarzer
I assert no copyright for the material. Please use it as you see fit to help women who have endured this terrible grief. Thank you.


Date: Sat, 23 Mar 2002

When women experience the loss of a child, one of the first things they discover they have in common is a list of things they wish no one had ever said to them. The lists tend to be remarkably similar. The comments are rarely malicious - just misguided attempts to soothe.

This list was compiled as a way of helping other people understand pregnancy loss. While generated by mothers for mothers, it may also apply similarly to the fathers who have endured this loss.
When trying to help a woman who has lost a baby, the best rule of thumb is a matter of manners: don't offer your personal opinion of her life, her choices, her prospects for children. No woman is looking to poll her acquaintances for their opinions on why it happened or how she should cope.

-Don't say, "It's God's Will." Even if we are members of the same congregation, unless you are a cleric and I am seeking your spiritual counseling, please don't presume to tell me what God wants for me. Besides, many terrible things are God's Will, that doesn't make them less terrible.

-Don't say, "It was for the best - there was probably something wrong with your baby." The fact that something was wrong with the baby is what is making me so sad. My poor baby never had a chance. Please don't try to comfort me by pointing that out.

-Don't say, "You can always have another one." This baby was never disposable. If had been given the choice between losing this child or stabbing my eye out with a fork, I would have said, "Where's the fork?" I would have died for this baby, just as you would die for your children.

-Don't say, "Be grateful for the children you have." If your mother died in a terrible wreck and you grieved, would that make you less grateful to have your father?

-Don't say, "Thank God you lost the baby before you really loved it." I loved my son or daughter. Whether I lost the baby after two weeks of pregnancy or just after birth, I loved him or her.

-Don't say, "Isn't it time you got over this and moved on?" It's not something I enjoy, being grief-stricken. I wish it had never happened. But it did and it's a part of me forever. The grief will ease on its own timeline, not mine - or yours.

-Don't say, "Now you have an angel watching over you." I didn't want her to be my angel. I wanted her to bury me in my old age.

-Don't say, "I understand how you feel." Unless you've lost a child, you really don't understand how I feel. And even if you have lost a child, everyone experiences grief differently.

-Don't tell me horror stories of your neighbor or cousin or mother who had it worse. The last thing I need to hear right now is that it is possible to have this happen six times, or that I could carry until two days before my due-date and labor 20 hours for a dead baby. These stories frighten and horrify me and leave me up at night weeping in despair. Even if they have a happy ending, do not share these stories with me.

-Don't pretend it didn't happen and don't change the subject when I bring it up. If I say, "Before the baby died..." or "when I was pregnant..." don't get scared. If I'm talking about it, it means I want to. Let me. Pretending it didn't happen will only make me feel utterly alone.

- Don't say, "It's not your fault." It may not have been my fault, but it was my responsibility and I failed. The fact that I never stood a chance of succeeding only makes me feel worse. This tiny little being depended upon me to bring him safely into the world and I couldn't do it. I was supposed to care for him for a lifetime, but I couldn't even give him a childhood. I am so angry at my body you just can't imagine.

-Don't say, "Well, you weren't too sure about this baby, anyway." I already feel so guilty about ever having complained about morning sickness, or a child I wasn't prepared for, or another mouth to feed that we couldn't afford. I already fear that this baby died because I didn't take the vitamins, or drank too much coffee, or had alcohol in the first few weeks when I didn't know I was pregnant. I hate myself for any minute that I had reservations about this baby. Being unsure of my pregnancy isn't the same as wanting my child to die - I never would have chosen for this to happen.

-Do say, "I am so sorry." That's enough. You don't need to be eloquent. Say it and mean it and it will matter.

-Do say, "You're going to be wonderful parents some day," or "You're wonderful parents and that baby was lucky to have you." We both need to hear that.

-Do say, "I have lighted a candle for your baby," or "I have said a prayer for your baby."

-Do send flowers or a kind note - every one I receive makes me feel as though my baby was loved. Don't resent it if I don't respond.

-Don't call more than once and don't be angry if the machine is on and I don't return your call. If we're close friends and I am not responding to your attempts to help me, please don't resent that, either. Help me by not needing anything from me for a while. "

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The only thing this list does not contain is the "you're still young, you have plenty of time" comment. Wow, that hurts. A lot. Our babies we no less wanted simply because I am considered young (25/26 at the time of my losses) to some people.

I think this pretty much sums it up. I feel better now! Maybe the stupid comments will stop? Maybe? We'll see...

Bible Verses of Comfort

The Lord called me before my birth; from within the womb He called my name.
Isaiah 49:1

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Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted
Matthew 5:4

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So it is not the will of your Father in heaven that one of these little ones should be lost.
Matthew 18:14

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For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
Luke 12:13

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Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.
1 Corinthians 13:7-8

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I am going to send an angel in front of you, to guard you on the way and to bring you to the place that I have prepared.
Exodus 23:20

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Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs.
Matthew 19:14

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He will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more.
Revelation 21:4

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I will be very glad to spend whatever I have. I'll even give myself for you. Do you love me less because I love you so much?
2 Corinthians 12:15

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Your eyes saw me when I was only a fetus. Every day of my life was recorded in your book before one of them had taken place.
Psalm 139:16

I am a Wonderful Mother (poem)

There are women who become mothers without effort,
without thought,
without patience or loss,
and though they are good mothers and love their children,
I know that I will be better.

I will be better not because of genetics or money
or because I have read more books,
but because I have struggled and toiled for this child.

I have longed and waited.
I have cried and prayed.
I have endured and planned over and over again.

Like most things in life,
the people who truly have appreciation are those
who have struggled to attain their dreams.
I will notice everything about my child.
I will take time to watch my child sleep,
explore,
and discover.
I will marvel at this miracle every day for the rest of my life.

I will be happy when I wake in the middle of the night
to the sound of my child,
knowing that I can comfort, hold, and feed him
and that I am not waking to take another temperature,
pop another pill, take another shot
or cry tears of a broken dream.
My dream will be crying for me.

I count myself lucky in this sense;
that God has given me this insight,
this special vision with which I will look upon my child.

Whether I parent a child I actually give birth to
or a child that God leads me to,
I will not be careless with my love.

I will be a better mother for all that I have endured.
I am a better wife, a better aunt, a better daughter,
neighbor, friend, and sister because I have known pain.

I know disillusionment, as I have been betrayed by my own body.
I have been tried by fire and hell that many never face,
yet given time,
I stood tall.

I have prevailed.
I have succeeded.
I have won.

So now, when others hurt around me,
I do not run from their pain in order to save myself discomfort.
I see it, mourn it, and join them in theirs.
I listen.
And even though I cannot make it better,
I can make it less lonely.

I have learned the immense power of
another hand holding tight to mine,
of other eyes that moisten as they learn to
accept the harsh truth when life is beyond hard.

I have learned a compassion that only comes by walking in those shoes.
I have learned to appreciate life.

Yes, I will be a wonderful mother.

My Butterfly (poem)

My Butterfly

I long to feel the soft weight of you
to welcome you home, with kisses
on silky round cheeks.
Instead my arms ache with the
weight of your absence,
the empty places that were meant for you
to grow into.
My love for you will last an eternity
My hopes and dreams now carried
on the fragile wings of each butterfly passing
compelling me to pause,
to savour each moment,
each flutter in my heart-
your wings.

©2005 Kimberly de Montbrun
all rights reserved