5 things never to say to a woman whose baby has died

Tonight, I went to our local chapter of M.E.N.D -- a pregnancy loss support meeting. And you know what? People are saying the same old ignorant, hurtful things to women having a pregnancy loss as they did when I first had mine -- and probably have said since the dawn of time.

I know I can't prevent every single woman out there from having to hear these hurtful comments. But I sure can do my part to spread awareness.

So if you come across any woman who has lost a baby at ANY stage in pregnancy or following birth -- please do the universe a massive favor, and steer clear of saying any of these 5 things. (Or anything that even closely resembles them.)


#5 -- At least you were early.

Maybe you truly feel that you are doing this woman a favor to remind her that her body was unable to carry a baby past 12 weeks, or past her second trimester, or even to term.

But can I let you in on a little secret?

First, there is no "at least" with loss. None. So, umm. Stop saying that.

Second, from the moment that second line appeared, that mom had feelings about that baby. She not only had feelings, but something -- a very big something -- has changed in her life. Forever. No going back. No going back even with a loss. That baby changed everything for her. From the moment she knew it existed.

And losing that baby changed her forever too.

Life and death? It happened. So stop making it sound like it's no big deal.

And third -- sometimes an earlier loss is even HARDER to process. In part because of a lack of support due to their loss being so "early."


#4 -- I know exactly how you feel.

Actually, you don't.  Because I don't even know exactly how I feel.

One moment I think I'm OK. The next moment I'm balling my eyes out because of some silly little thing triggered my grief -- walking past the baby aisle, driving by the hospitals, eating something I last ate the day we lost the baby. And then 10 minutes later, something makes me smile. A sunset. A flower. A text from a friend.

I feel like a kaleidoscope of emotions -- always changing with each turn.

I really don't care if our losses were the same. So you had a miscarriage too? OK. Chances are, the way I felt about my baby differed from you. The way I feel about pregnancy probably differs. And the way I feel about our loss differs.

If you want to relate, if you want to empathize -- by all means do. Just don't tell me that you know exactly how I feel. Unless, you know -- you are God. (And God, if you are reading this, then please chime in.)


#3 -- You could always try again.

*sigh*

I get that if you have a flat tire on your car, it makes sense to go get another one. You lost your coat? Then go shopping for a new one. Outgrow your house? Hit up Zillow or Redfin.

But PEOPLE? People are not replaceable.

And last time I checked, a baby is a people.

So just don't. Ever.

If you ever do say this to a woman, chances are she is screaming in her head at you that she doesn't want another one -- she wants THIS ONE. And could you blame her? Chances are -- you want each of your children too.

(PS -- In saying she should try again, you are making some pretty big assumptions about her fertility. First, that she is capable of trying again. Second, that she wants to. Generally speaking, those are private topics that she should bring up with you if she wants to discuss them.)



#2 -- They are in a better place.

This is something you could probably legitimately say to someone who's had a grandparent die whose life at the end was one of excruciating pain. (Even then, maybe not the MOST supportive.)

But to a mom who has had a baby die?

Last I checked, a baby being born in this world were something to be celebrated. It is the natural order to be born, to live, and then a long long long time after a full life, to die and go to heaven. We all want babies to be born here first, before they die.

Maybe it's just selfish. But I don't want my babies in heaven. Not yet anyway. I want them here, with me, with their cute smiles, and their little piggy toes and their coos and yawns and cuteness. I want them to go through life -- the good and bad -- and fulfill a purpose. I want to meet their children and their children.

I want to live with my children before they die. I want to die first.

Maybe it's selfish. But it's true. I don't want them in a better place. I want them with me.

(PS. This is phrase is also cousin to "It's God's will." If you're curious, I'd steer clear of this one too.)



#1 -- Just be grateful for your living kids.

Can I ask a question? If your parents were in a car accident, and only your mom survived -- how would you feel about people who ignored the fact that your dad just died -- instead focused on how 'grateful' you should be feeling about your mom's survival?

I'm guessing you might feel a little invalidated -- a little miffed. I'm sure you ARE grateful your mom is alive. Maybe even more than you were before. But you just had a parent die. You also deserve to grieve.

In a pregnancy or infant loss, a family has gone through a tragedy. There were survivors. There were others who did not make it.

Moms, dads and kids -- they all deserve the right to grieve the ones that didn't make it.



In case you know have no idea what to say to someone who has lost a baby at any stage of life, I have a really easy suggestion.

A simple "I'm sorry for your loss" would suffice.

And then be available to listen, to grieve with them, and to offer any support you can by way of chocolate, food, time away, or clean dishes, or childcare. I promise a million times over, those acts of service will provide more comfort than any cliché ever could.

Maria's Story: When hello means good-bye

Maria, I'm so sorry for your loss. Your words say it perfectly: "I almost told her: 'You got it wrong, this is the picture of my heart, dark, empty and broken.' But no, it was my uterus." Thanks for sharing your story, Rachel

May 16, 2010, I got a positive pregnancy test. June 23, I said good bye. 

I lost my baby at 9 weeks, but the embryo was only 6 weeks. I had dreams that I was losing the baby, but I thought it was just my natural fears.  I think it was God, trying to prepare me for the worst ... that was already happening.

June 21, I was driving and felt a little cramping. I went home, and noticed that I was having a slight bleeding. I drove to the hospital. My husband is in the Army and he was at the shooting range, so I couldn't reach him.

From 11 am until 2 pm, I waited for blood tests. Finally they got me in the ultrasound room. The nurse and the doctor just communicated with their eyes and whispering to each other. He finally decided to tell me that "there is no heartbeat."

My own heart, stopped beating. I needed to confirm so I asked: "What do you mean? I lost my baby? Is it gone? Dead?"

"Yes" was the answer.

I don't remember how loud I cried, screamed, and prayed for a miracle. I asked them to check again. I was alone. I wanted my baby back. My husband got to the hospital later. The doctor told us it could just be too early. Gave us some hope to take home. In my heart, I knew something was wrong, but I still believed there was a chance, maybe a miracle. 

I rested for 2 days, grasping for that little miracle to come and change everything.
Tuesday, June 22, I went to bed early, feeling some cramps. I prayed for hours until I finally fell asleep. I may have slept for a couple of hours before I woke up again, with strong cramps, only this time followed by blood. 

I didn't want to wake up my husband, but around 2 o'clock, the cramps got worse. I gently touched his arms, he turned to me, and I said: "Baby, don't go to work, I need you. It's over." I started to bleed. He kissed and we cried in silence. 

He called his Sergeant, and told them them it has started, our biggest fear. I was losing the baby. 

My second pre-natal visit was schedule for that Wednesday morning, June 23 at 8:45 am. We spent the rest of the night holding each other and praying. In the morning, I took a shower and he took me to my appointment. 

As I sat in the waiting room, I kept my sunglasses on. Behind them, tears were rolling down my cheeks. I was looking at all those women, so pregnant, so happy, knowing that the baby I had inside of me was dead, and so was I. I was questioning God, "why me? Why didn't you pick her, or her..." No answer. 

There, at the doctor's office, she read the lab results. This time, my husband was with me, holding my hands, but we already knew that it was over. She asked me if I needed another ultrasound to confirm. On the screen, I saw this dark, empty and broken space (my water). I almost told her: "You got it wrong, this is the picture of my heart, dark, empty and broken." But no, it was my uterus. 
Before we left the hospital, I was given Cytotec to finish with the process of miscarriage. When I got home, I laid in bed and waited. My husband sat beside me. We tried to watch a movie together, but the contractions started and I asked him to leave the bedroom, he didn't need to watch that.

I remember crying in silence, biting the pillows and rolling on the bed. Not sure if the pain was from the contractions or from my heart. I had taken strong pain killers and some sleeping pills. I passed out for about an hour. My husband woke me up, and I went to the bathroom. God was good to me, it was all over. I passed the baby and everything else at once.

Long time ago, in San Francisco, I used to shop at Claire's a lot. One day they offer me a little ceramic jewelery box for a $1, it was cute so I bought it. I never used it for anything, except for decoration. It now holds the most precious jewel I ever had, the remains of my unborn baby.

It may sound sick but I could not just flush it. No matter how small, it was my baby. 

I read articles, books, heard other woman stories of how they lost their babies at 7, 8 or 9 months of pregnancy. I know it could have been a lot worse, but I am hurting too. 

This is my loss. I am getting over this, little by little and keeping my hopes and dreams that someday, I will be a mother. 

Today, I have a 9 month old baby boy, the most wonderful thing in my life. But I still grieve and wonder about the baby I lost, was it a boy, a girl? He or she would be 3 years old now.

Jocelyn's Story: An L&D nurse on the loss of her son Sam

Jocelyn, thank you so very much for sharing your story with us. I'm sorry it took me so long to post it. I hope your story of your son Sam can reach out and encourage someone who understands all too well. Thanks for the beautiful Bible verses you included. Sending love, Rachel



July 30th was probably the hardest day of my life. Writing down what happened that day and leading up to losing our baby, I believe, will be therapeutic for me. I feel that this topic is taboo, and although I understand why (because I really don't like to talk aloud about my loss), I also wish that it was more spoken about because up to 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage. Many women go through this alone, feeling like they have no one to talk to. I was lucky to have some very close friends and my sister-in-law for support, since they themselves had experienced pregnancy loss and were willing to help me through the process by sharing their personal stories.

On Friday, July 26, I found out, while performing sonogram on myself at work, that our baby no longer had a heartbeat. I was crushed. My midwife came and confirmed my fears. My baby had died. I called my husband and could barely get out the news to tell him why I could be home late from work. My midwife held me, cried with me and let me take the lead on the plans. I wanted to go home, talk with my husband, celebrate my oldest birthday as scheduled the next day, and come back to see her at what would have been my next regular appointment. Of course unless I started to have signs or symptoms of miscarriage. 

During my follow up appointment on Monday we saw that our baby was still without life and I was still without symptoms of impending delivery. We considered our options; surgical removal in a hospital of our baby by d&c, taking cytotec to induce delivery either at home or in hospital, or waiting up to 2-4 more weeks for the baby to be born naturally. My husband and I knew immediately that for us having surgery to remove our baby was not an option. I did not feel that waiting was the best decision for our family, especially because I would not be able to be a fully functional mom for our two young sons. So, we decided to use the induction medication at home.

My mom took the boys to stay at her house for 2 nights and my husband took off work to stay home with me. Bright and early Tuesday morning I started taking my medication and our sweet perfect baby was born at 11:30 am. I experienced little pain or bleeding those first few hours and we were able to spend time together. It was a huge blessing for me to be able to hold and see my precious baby. 

We were surprised to see that our baby was obviously another perfect little boy. I had been sick the first 11 weeks of the pregnancy, and we were convinced baby was a girl. But here he was, all 10 fingers, all 10 toes and an angelic little face. He even looked like he was calmly resting with a slight smile on his face. 

During the morning before his birth my husband and I had been considering Bible verses to use in memory of our baby. There were a few I had written down that really spoke to us. Once he was born the verse for our son was clear to us. 1 Samuel 1:27-28. Therefore it also seemed obvious that we name him Sam.

Sam - July 30, 2013
"I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted me
what I asked of him. So now I give him to the Lord.
For his whole life he will be given over to the Lord."I had a little bit of a harder time delivering the placenta. It took about 6 hours and I lost more blood than we had hoped. I had a few hours where I was very light headed and spent my time lying in bed drinking poweraid and eating whatever little bites I could hold down. When I was up I was very weak and ended up fainting a couple times. 

My husband took excellent care of me and was so strong. I think it was very good for him to feel involved and have something he could do. He was such a blessing to me and I am so thankful we could go through this trial together. Once I delivered the placenta the bleeding immediately and dramatically slowed, and I began feeling much better. After a warm lavendar salt bath and a little more resting we decided it was time to have our memorial service for Sam.

My husband had purchased a small pine box, a jasmine plant and some wood for a trellis. I wrote Sam's name, birthday and the Bible verse on the box, and we buried him in our back yard, planting the flowering vine (one of my husband's favorites) over our son. We then took some time to pray and cry together. It was such a special time for us, and I am so glad we chose to have Sam at home so that we could give him and his life the respect it deserved. For us, this was the absolute best way we could go through this awful day.I am heartbroken. This is the most sorrow and grief I have ever felt. Yet, I know I will survive. God has been with us so much throughout this trial from the moment I found out on that Friday evening until now. He has surrounded us with loving support. 

My mom and sister cooked delicious meals without being asked, and took excellent care of my boys while I was unable. So many people prayed for us, offered help and support, and we were overwhelmed by the peace that gave us. My midwife went above and beyond to check in on me and help us do what we felt was right for our family. She cried with me and prayed with me.  I will never forget that.

Sam will always hold a special place in our hearts, and I know we will never forget him. We wish we could have gotten to know him and see him play with his brothers. However, even in his very short life, he has changed us so much.

I thank God for the blessing of his life knowing it has made me stronger, given me the opportunity to be a support to someone else in the future, and helped my husband and I see the beauty and importance in every day. 

Thank you Lord for Sam. We can't wait to meet him and You one day in Heaven.

I'd like to share a few special Bible verses that have helped me through these last few months. Some were shared by friends, others I found on my own, all given by God to provide us comfort:Romans 8:26 - "In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans."

Hebrews 13:8 - "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever."

2 Corinthians 12: 9-10 - "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong."

Psalm 34:18 - "The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."

2 Corinthians 1:3-4 - "Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort,who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God."

I hope that one day with God's help I am able to help a friend who is suffering through a miscarriage. My friends who were honest and open with me about their experiences with miscarriage have been a huge help and comfort. One particular friend acted as God's hands and voice to me as she shared her experiences losing her baby at 12 weeks less than a year ago. Her support and advice about how she and her husband made the same decisions we did, and how her experience was as she lost her baby were immeasurably helpful to me. I hope I can be that for someone one day. Perhaps, through this sharing of the story of Sam, someone will find comfort knowing they are not alone. Moms need to stick together and break the silence. 

Theresa's Story: Finding out years later that her abnormal periods were actually miscarriages

Thank you so much Theresa for sharing your story with us. I can't imagine how difficult it must be to hear your news, and then have all that grief fresh again. Sending love, Rachel

Thank you so much for your story. I have always been pro-life and have always been against abortion. I realize that so many women in this world believe that abortion is an option, but in my personal world it is not an option and never will be. There are so many women in this world that would love to have children and are unable to have them.

I come from a large family. I am the sixth child out of seven and the first girl. I always assumed that I would be able to have children quite easily even though I had very horrible periods. I was never regular and would pass very large clots so at around age 17, I was put on the pill to try to establish regularity and in hopes that it would help me conceive easily once married. 

I did everything the way I thought I should. I saved myself for my husband. I naturally assumed I would be very fertile like my mother, however this did not seem to be the case. I married the man of my dreams at the age of 27 and turned 28 later that year. We decided since I was a bit older that we would wait 2 years before trying to get pregnant. 

We began trying and within about 6 months I was late and just knew I was pregnant. I felt it in my soul, but at about 10 weeks I passed what was a huge clot and then my period began. I knew then I was wrong; I wasn’t pregnant. What I felt had all been in my mind. 

My husband and I were completely devastated. This happened 2 more times and then we began the normal testing processes to see if either of us had a fertility problem. I naturally assumed I was the reason we weren't pregnant, but come to find it was neither one of us. This happened again 2 more times within the next 3 years and by that time my periods were just getting worse and worse. We made the decision that I start the pill once again so that I could tolerate my periods. 

In my mid 30’s I began having more health issues. My husband and I decided that it was up to GOD if I were to have children.  It got to the point that I was facing a hysterectomy, but my doctor suggested I try the depo shot first. I knew if I had the surgery there would be NO way to physically ever have a baby. I was still holding on to hope. 

It was not meant to be. I had to have major back surgery and was told at that point that with my age and the work that would be done on my back, getting pregnant would not be ideal.  I would have to be on bed rest. But, inevitably, we knew it was not meant to be.

One month ago I started seeing a new doctor for Rheumatoid Arthritis. In some routine blood work my doctor noticed that one of the tests came back abnormal. The problem with the test is it can be done wrong quite often so she needed to repeat the test, but I had to wait 12 weeks for the redo. She asked me if I had ever been pregnant. I told her no but that I thought I had been 5 times yet it was a false alarm each time. She asked me why I thought they were false alarms so I explained to her that each time I was late, I really felt different, even sick (morning sickness), with 3 of the 5 episodes, but at about 10 to 16 weeks I would pass big clots followed by a very horrible period. 

She told me that the blood test that had been performed was for a clotting disorder. The disorder causes spontaneous abortions (miscarriages) and those 5 times I had probably lost my babies. 

I am 48 years old and was hearing this for the first time. I had no idea. Each of those 5 incidents broke my heart years ago. I believe my soul knew that I had conceived a baby and I grieved each of those times.  I felt I had to grieve privately because no one would have understood what I was feeling. 

When she explained the clotting disorder to me, I felt like I had been slammed into a brick wall. If only I would have known. When she explained everything to me it brought back all of the old hurt and sadness. I am grieving all over again.

This is my story. I apologize for the wordiness of it, but I just thought the situation needed to be explained. I have heard my whole married life that it just wasn’t meant to be, it wasn’t God’s will, and all those things people say. But I have begun telling them, "Well, that may be, but that is not what I want to hear from you." 

When people try to say things meant to be encouraging, it does not make it better; it makes it worse. I tell them to just listen, tell me they feel my pain, or that they are sorry. Every woman who has lost a child or who has ever wanted a child does not want to hear "it just wasn’t meant to be" or "it was God’s will." Or Heaven forbid when they tell a woman who has miscarried that "It was a blessing because something might have been wrong with IT!!!" I always stop them and say don’t say IT!!! IT was a BABY not an IT!!!

I am so sorry for the pain you have suffered from the loss of your babies and I am sorry for the pain and hurt that you still carry with you. I now know I have always been affected by my inability to conceive but now I grieve again because I believe that I was right all along. I lost 5 precious babies.

One couple's story: Miscarriage after IVF, and knowing you can never go back

 

Dear anonymous, 

I'm so sorry for your loss and your pain. I wish I could sit with you and cry with you. Sending some love and hugs your way.

Rachel


After aggressively trying to have baby number 2 for over a year, we went to a fertility clinic. After all, it took almost 2 years to have our first, and something had to be wrong. Something, hopefully, that could be fixed with a pill and we could be on our way to continue growing our family. Let me say that several months before, my regular OB did a laparoscopy and found lots of endometriosis. So after getting "cleaned out," he said we should be pregnant right away. 

Fast forward 6 months and still no pregnancy.

So we went to the best fertility doctor in town and we were so excited to get some answers. Simple ones, we hoped. After all of the tests came back on my husband and I, we sat down with the doc and he laid it out for us....we would need to go through IVF. My husband's motility was low and we just recently learned that my eggs suck for a 32-year-old healthy woman. We were shocked. Floored. Scared. Saddened. 

What happened to taking a little drug to make me ovulate and that be it?  How were we going to take on this enormous financial burden? Were we ready for this?

Well, the answer was yes. Without even figuring out logistics, we wanted to start right away. And we did. That first appointment was on October 23, 3 days after my 32nd birthday. We paid the money, attended the IVF education class and received an absurd amount of drugs in the mail. We were set.

I began taking all of the medications and hormone injections and we were trucking along. Then 2 days before egg retrieval, I got a phone call from the clinic ... my estrogen levels had plummeted overnight and they were canceling my cycle. Devastation.

I cried, my husband comforted me, I cried some more. But then I put my mind on the next cycle and was sure it would work this time. And so on we went. Making it to egg retrieval this time felt like a feat in itself. The following day the embryologist posted the results on my portal ...4 eggs retrieved; 2 did not fertilize, 1 fertilized abnormally.....and then there was 1.

Not great news. 

We had to wait 3  days before the transfer and we were on pins and needles. What if all of this was for nothing? If baby Embry doesn't make it, we have to start all over again. $16,000 over again for that small chance.

Well my baby Embry grew like a champ and was graded a 4 (the highest) the day of transfer. It had already divided into an 8-cell. It was looking hopeful. And so our little embryo was put in as I watched it travel at the speed of light across the screen. It. Was. Amazing.

Then the 2WW occurred. (That's IVF lingo for the 2- week wait.) The longest part of this process. And let me tell you, it is all a waiting game when you're in it. And so we waited. I held off on buying pregnancy tests because he warned me that they would probably show up negative until my scheduled blood test on Monday, February 11. I held off that is, until a few days before that.

I took 3 pregnancy tests on Friday and positive, positive, positive. Elation. Shock. Elation again. We did it! We really did it! 

We had the odds stacked against us and we did it. Meant to be. This baby was our miracle. I mean, only 1 embryo and it took!!! Life was utter perfection. I went in that Monday to hear that yes, it was true and my numbers were at a high of 128. That was great! Anything over 60 was good for them. So, technically, our miracle baby was ahead of the game!  I even called a friend and asked her to make a Big Brother shirt for our 3-year-old.

Then Friday, Valentine’s day I might add, I had to go back to get my hCG levels checked. Standard procedure. No question anything could go wrong. But, I got a call that afternoon from the nurse saying my numbers were a measly 267. They usually double every 2 days; and it had been 4. Panic. Defeat. Tears. And more tears. 

I called my husband and could barely get anything out. They wanted me back on Monday, to see if my levels were rising. It didn't mean it wasn't possible. I mean, I could be in the 10-15% of women who have slow rising hCG levels and go on to have a healthy pregnancy. It was possible. But I was heartbroken. I felt it. It didn't feel right to me. My husband kept saying everything would be fine...

And so, after that horrific weekend wait, wondering if our baby was going to survive, I got more blood taken. My numbers were a wimpy 504. They hadn't even doubled. But she said the only way to tell would be by ultrasound on Wednesday. I asked her if it seemed like a normal pregnancy and she said it didn't, but it didn't mean it wouldn't be. So again we waited. 2 excruciatingly long days.

As I lay on the table and the ultrasound began, you could've heard a pin drop in that room. And then he said, "do you see that? That's the sac and everything looks good". What? Really? Is life gonna be okay now?  He said it looked small but it didn't mean the baby couldn't/wouldn't grow. So we went with that. We got the first pics of our baby. Our Baby!!!!!!!! All we had to do was go in on Monday for another ultrasound to make sure we were on track. He did say to go home and light a candle and stay hydrated.

 So I did. I actually went with one of my BFF's that same day and bought a prayer candle and a prayer card for unborn babies. I prayed. We celebrated. We were happy. This baby was a fighter and was proving, yet again, that he was going to be ours.

Well come Saturday there was a little bleeding. Then on Sunday it was bad. And I mean bad. And tissue in there too. I knew in my heart it couldn't be good, I even cried. But my sweet husband said it would be okay and we knew only the doctor could tell us.

So 3 days ago, we went back. I was scared. I could probably speak for my husband in saying he was scared. The doctor started the ultrasound and paused when he got to the uterus. Nothing. Empty. Our baby was gone. Again, devastation.

They all left us alone in the room to grieve. I cried.  He tried not to. We were both feeling the rug being pulled from under our feet. What was God doing to us? Why does this have to be so hard? I was already in love. Deep love. The baby name book had surfaced. I had my favorites already. Maternity clothes were pulled out so I could get my closet organized. I wanted to be ready when I finally popped!!!!

I think Monday was shock. I knew deep down it was happening, but I chose to believe it wasn't. I cried a lot that day but felt hopeful that we only have to wait until April to go again. But now, on Wednesday, I'm back to devastated. It's getting worse. It's overwhelming. I feel defeated and helpless. A grave sense of sorrow. 

And then I moved on to the "what ifs, next time." What if it doesn't work again? What, if any, will our options be if we don't succeed? 

I have 17 voicemails on my phone that I can't even check. I don't want to talk. I want to sit in a dark room and indulge my feelings. I never knew it would hurt so badly. I never knew that this would feel so lonely and hopeless. I am struggling between being grateful for my son I already have and mourning the one we should be having. Between seeing those close to me with babies on the way and wanting to be happy for them and then also feeling anger and jealousy for not still having that myself.

 My baby Embry was going to be born 1 day before my birthday. Now he's not. He was going to have a name that meant "fighter", because that's was he was.  He was going to melt our hearts and now he won't.

And I feel for my husband too. I know he's hurting. He's trying to be strong for me, but I want to be strong for him. After all, we are the only 2 people in this entire world who know what the other is going through.  His hell can't be much cooler than mine. His loss can't feel much less, if any, than mine. His fears and tears are not unlike mine. I can see he is desperate to make the pain go away for me. He doesn't know I just as much want the same for him.

I don't know how long this will last. The bleeding. The cramping. The raw emotions. I do know I will never forget the baby we lost on Sunday. Whatever the future holds, that baby will be in our hearts. We will never quite be the same as we were on Saturday. And the fear of miscarriage will haunt me through future pregnancies.

Brandy's Story: Finding peace in God through the loss of 7 children

Brandy, you are right. How does one possibly respond to the deaths of 7 children. Much of your story resonates with mine. Except my number is 4. Not 7.  Thank you for sharing not only your losses, but also your healing and hope. I pray that it will help someone else.

Love, Rachel

I am a blessed mother of 8 beautiful babies.  7 babies of whom I have never been able to see smile, laugh or hear them speak.  One day, I will.  Most people are speechless when they hear my story.  How does one respond?   

For those of you who are faced with loved ones grieving the loss of miscarriage -- in my honest opinion -- there is no right way to respond -- because in my experience, most mothers don't know how to grieve.  Just do what seems natural to you -- I am sure it will be received in love by the grieving family. 

Our story started all the way back in 2005.  Seems like a lifetime ago.  Newly married, we were excited to tell everyone and anyone about our news.  At the first ultrasound, the tech was silent.  She didn't say anything.  She left quietly to get our doctor.  That is when the doctor broke the news that the baby would not survive.  We were devastated.  We lost child number 1 just weeks later.

About 9 months later, we were pregnant again.  I was so scared.  We didn't tell anyone.  Through the whole pregnancy I just trusted God that it was his choice and I was going to let him decide.  I remember hearing the heartbeat at the first ultrasound, I started crying. Not just a couple of tears, but full-fledged weeping.  Even up to the day they decided to take her early, I still let it rest in God's hands on whether or not we would be blessed with a child.  I fully trusted him.  It wasn't easy -- but necessary.  She was born in June of 2007, a perfectly healthy beautiful baby girl. 

Since then, I have had 6 more miscarriages.  My doctor has tried many things to try to help, but in the end, my babies all left before or close to the end of my first trimester.  My most recent experience has scarred me the most.  It was a week after Christmas in 2013, that we discovered it.  I called my doctor but being that it was their Christmas break, it was difficult waiting for their office to open back up.  Then it was the New Year’s holiday, so more waiting for them to open to get my test results. 

I was so excited; I instantly called one of my close friends who had been praying for me for the past 6 months about this very thing.  She broke down in tears because she and her husband had just found out they were expecting number 4.  Could it be that God was going to bless us both by allowing us to go through this journey together?  We knew it had to be a sign.  We prayed all the time, praying that my body would be strong enough.  I posted my walls with even more Bible verses than normal.  I clung to all of the morning sickness, thankful for it, praying it was helping my body to do what it was supposed to do.  My doctor continued to do blood tests to monitor my progress.   

 Then one morning, the nurse called with the devastating news.  Of course, it wasn't devastating to her because I am sure she makes that call all the time.  But I hit rock bottom, right there.  My hormone levels were decreasing.  My body was once again not strong enough to carry the little one with whom I was blessed. 

Sitting here 2 months later, I wish I could tell you I know why God has allowed this to happen in my life.  I absolutely love children and know that I am a great mom.  However, I know that it is not a reflection of who I am as a person or what I do.  I know that it is not due to God overlooking me because I am sure that He was up there crying more than I at having to take yet another child from my womb.  I have learned not to ask why or why not.

I have learned to step back and look at life a little differently.  It is possible that my gracious most Heavenly Father is protecting me.  I know that it doesn't sound like it after experiencing so much pain, but it is very, very possible. 

I know historically many women die in childbirth.  My body did not carry my daughter very well in 2007.  It fought me every step of the way.  I came down with preeclampsia so they had to take Janelle early and then they struggled with getting my blood pressure to a stable state.  I have never had problems with my blood pressure, but they could not get it to go down and were afraid that I was going to have a stroke.  They were of course very cautious with how much detail they went into as to not raise my stress level higher. 

However, it is very possible, that my loving God gave me Janelle to fill my heart’s desire.  To say, "Brandy, I know this is what you have wanted your entire life."  It is very possible, that on that day, in June of 2007, that He wrapped His loving arms around me and held me tight and kept me here on Earth to experience all that He has for me.  I have come to the realization that there is a good chance my body is not capable of carrying a child -- but I was blessed and protected through carrying one. 

Most people do not understand the pain of losing 7 children or even losing 1.  But our Heavenly Father does.  He gave His only Son for us.  And I know that He is my ultimate comforter.  When I think that no one else understands my pain, I know that He does.  And the greatest thing is that I don't even have to be able to put it into words.  He knows, He sees, and He feels right along with me.  I encourage others to turn to Him for their peace when they go through life's trials.  He is the ultimate peace and through Him, you will find comfort and joy again. 

Rachael's Story: Empty arms, empty womb and hurting heart

Rachael, I know you're pain all to well. I know what it's like to watch others move forward and to experience the blessings (the ultrasounds, the flutters, the bulging belly) and all the firsts of a baby that we were robbed of. 

I hope and pray that somehow, someday, you'll find contentment again. Until then, know that whatever you need to feel is OK. And that others are right here, grieving with you.

Much love,

Rachel

My name is Rachael. I have always wanted to be a mother. I watched both of my siblings have kids right away without a single problem. I grew up confident that I would be the same. Unfortunately, I have not been so lucky.

Six months after getting married, I unexpectedly but very happily became pregnant. My joy was short-lived because I miscarried at 5 1/2 weeks. It was heartbreaking, but I quickly learned how common losing the first is. I felt peace in the knowledge that I can get pregnant and hoped that my body just needed a push into motherhood.

It took 6 months before I got pregnant again. I had faith that I was more physically prepared and that this one would work. I passed the scary 6-week mark. My intense morning sickness comforted me. I felt my stomach begin to grow. I went to the doctor at 9 weeks and got talked out of doing an ultrasound. I was measuring in the 8-10 week range so I had faith that everything was ok and I could wait until next time. 

After that, my nausea subsided. At 10 weeks, I started to bleed. It was very light and only lasted an hour. I called my doctor who said it sounded normal. I tried not to worry. At 11 weeks, the bleeding started again and this time lasted the whole weekend. I wasn't in pain and it still didn't seem very heavy, so I waited until I could see my doctor on Monday. On Monday morning, I got up to use the bathroom and was faced with the reality that I was miscarrying. I sobbed. I got mad. I was heartbroken, again. 

I went to the doctor and received an ultrasound. My baby had died at 8 weeks. If only I had insisted on an ultrasound before. I got a D&C that night and wished I could just stay asleep forever. I didn't want to start all over. How many months will it take this time? Will I ever get to keep one?

It has been over 14 months now and I still haven't gotten pregnant since. I cry all the time. I scream and get mad. In the last 14 months, all 8 of my best friends have had babies. All of my siblings and husband's siblings have had babies. I am constantly reminded of what I don't have. I feel completely alone and incompetent. Each month that goes by makes me more and more angry. A month is a long time. 

The only thing I know is that I have a baby. I feel like my first miscarriage was a failed attempt. There wasn't even a heart. The second miscarriage, however, was my sweet Eliza May. I always felt like I would have a girl first and I feel very strongly that she came and went in the way she needed to. She's watching over me and I will have her again. My heart aches for her and for the babies waiting to come.

It has almost been 2 years since the first time I got pregnant and I pray every day that this wait will end. I grieve the things that were taken from me...the sound of a heartbeat, the flutter of movement inside of me, the growth of a belly and use of maternity clothes, the experience of birth, and the feeling of holding my baby. I want all of these things so badly that my entire body hurts.  Will I ever be happy again?

SAS's Story: Four pregnancies and one child.

 

 

 

 

 

Dear SweatAndStilletos . . .

 

Thanks so much for sharing your story. As I was reading parts of your story, friends came to mind who I know could relate. I know there are others who will be touched by your babies' lives, no matter how brief.

 

Your thoughts on failure so relate with me. I felt as though I could have been writing those words.

 

Thank you again for sharing.

 

Rachel

 

 

I’ve been wanting to write this for awhile but haven’t been able to put pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard as the case may be.

 

I’ve written about my last two miscarriages but in a different way. I’ve written more from the perspective of how I felt in the moment, the physical pain and the shock I was experiencing. Today, I’m going to write about my journey through infertility, loss and coping with the cards I’ve been dealt.

 

I never imagined I would have difficulty getting pregnant. I was more concerned about getting pregnant before I was ready. I also never thought having a miscarriage was possible. That’s not exactly a fair statement. I never even gave infertility or miscarrying consideration. It wasn’t something on my radar at all. Perhaps it should’ve been given some family history, but it wasn’t.

 

I was living blissfully in the land of "I’ll start a family when I’m ready and I’ll have two kids. Husband wants 4 but I want 2.  He'll have to figure out how to give birth to the other 2 himself."

 

Now I’ve had three miscarriages. Three. Four pregnancies and three miscarriages. I’ve been told I cannot have more children. Well, actually, I can have more children but it would be a huge health risk and it could cause irreparable issues. How’s that for crappy?

 

I do have the option of doing more costly fertility treatments. Actually having the egg fertilized in a petri dish and then planting it in my uterus. Sounds romantic, doesn't it? Even with that, there is a very slim chance my body would actually accept the egg and carry to term.

 

I’m often asked when we will have more children or some variation of that. It’s an innocent question and typical for society. The other day was the first time I answered with, “We can’t.”

 

I felt a little bad for the person asking as I could tell she felt bad and apologized. For me it was a stepping stone. I was finally able to verbally admit that I can’t.

 

Failure is something hard for me. It’s easy to say this isn’t failure. There’s a gazillion reasons why you would be right. But for me it is failure. My body won’t do what I want it to.  It doesn't matter what pills, exercise, food, wishing or demanding I do, my body just will not cooperate.

 

It's difficult when my son asks why he can't have a little brother or sister.  He's so good with younger kids and he's asked for a sibling since he could talk. He's so loving and helpful and they all look up to him. How do you explain to a 10-year-old that "it just can't happen, that I'm truly sorry and it breaks my heart each time you ask." 

 

You can't. I have to recognize his feelings and try to put it in 10-year-old terms that it's just not something Mommy can do and that adoption isn't something I'm ready for. 

 

I never wanted him to be an only child. I am an only child and I long for the connection I see between siblings. It is truly something special. I didn't want him to ever have to navigate life alone. His Dad and I will not always be here. Hopefully it is many, many years before we leave him, but someday, we will. 

 

When my husband first wanted to try infertility treatments, I fought him on it. I always believed that if we were meant to have more kids, it would happen. That God would make it happen. We had many conversations on why we should do it and I listened to his many reasons and I agreed. 

 

Though I agreed, I still believed that when the time was right, it would just happen. After many tears and devastating months of negative tests, I finally agreed to give it a try. It was not easy, it was a commitment, it was uncomfortable and my body still wasn't cooperating. It didn't produce enough even with the drugs, and neither treatment resulted in a positive result. I was continually reminded of my inabilities.

 

It's so hard to let myself and my partner down month after month. It's devastating to read a negative result on a pregnancy test month after month for years. It got to where I didn't even want to have sex because if I wasn't, there was no possibility of getting pregnant which meant I couldn't let myself or my partner down. (I do not recommend this way of thinking.)  

 

After my first miscarriage, I was destroyed. I chose not to lean on anyone and only told those that knew I was pregnant. I didn't share much with friends and didn't talk about my feelings. I tried to grieve alone.

 

I now see that as a mistake. I should have let someone be there for me. I should have let them hold me up because I could not hold myself.   was broken. I buried my feeling and pulled myself up by my bootstraps and tried to not think about it. I got very depressed but kept stuffing it down. Eventually I stuffed it far enough down that it wasn't constantly there yelling at me. It still affected me by leading to depression and other issues, but it wasn't in my face anymore. It was behind the scenes pulling the strings.

 

It wasn't until my second miscarriage that I realized how much the first had affected me. By this time, I had a couple of friends I told and tried to lean on. Neither of them had been through one and couldn't relate. They tried to be there for me but didn't know how. Who does? I've been through it and I still don't know what to say or do except to admit it sucks and it hurts and you will get through it.  You'll never be the same, but you will survive. 

 

After each time, I didn't know how I would have the strength to try again. Not that we were actively trying to prevent pregnancy, but in my mind we weren't trying to get pregnant either. I had no emotional strength left. I couldn't keep doing this. 

 

At some point I gave up. I don't know when exactly it was but it happened. I fell into an acceptance that this was my life and I could be ok with it.  I write more about this and my ectopic pregnancy here.

 

I still get emails from a site I joined when I was pregnant with my son. I updated it when I was pregnant the second time and the third time. It kindly sends me updates on my child's birthday and information on their developmental stage. I'd go and delete my information from the site, but I just can't bring myself to go to it. So, I just delete the emails, take a moment to reflect on my experiences and move on. 

 

I still get a pain in my heart when I see a pregnant woman, a friend greets me with her exciting news, or a small child is near.  I recognize it but don't dwell on it. It doesn't mean I am any less happy for them. It just means it affects me on multiple levels. 

 

I'm still healing from my three losses and I am forever changed. I'm stronger, smarter, braver and so much more than I ever believed I could be. I'll forever hold those three babies in my heart. I will never have a daughter to plan a wedding with, get a pedicure, and discuss her first love. What I do have is a son that lights up my world, gives the best hugs, whose laugh is contagious and is too smart for his (and my) own good.    

 

So to you reading this, that either is or knows someone going through this type of loss, I urge you to let them know you are there. 

 

Make them a meal, take them a coffee or cookies or anything. Be an ear or a shoulder or just a person that is there. Hand them a Kleenex and make them feel comfortable being a crying mess. They may not feel like talking or even having anyone around but knowing you are willing is huge. 

 

You don't have to have "the right words" just be present. Be that person that says "This sucks and I'm here for you."