What we wish you knew about pregnancy loss

I found this on a parenting forum and thought it was worth sharing.

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 loosing 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.

If you're my boss or my co-worker:

-Do recognize that I have suffered a death in my family - not a medical condition.

-Do recognize that in addition to the physical after effects I may experience, I'm going to be grieving for quite some time. Please treat me as you would any person who has endured the tragic death of a loved one - I need time and space.

-DO understand if I do not attend baby showers/christening/birthday parties etc. And DON'T ask why I can't come.

Please don't bring your baby or toddler into the workplace. If your niece is pregnant, or your daughter just had a baby, please don't share that with me right now. It's not that I can't be happy for anyone else, it's that every smiling, cooing baby, every glowing new mother makes me ache so deep in my heart I can barely stand it. I may look okay to you, but there's a good chance that I'm still crying every day. It may be weeks before I can go a whole hour without thinking about it. You'll know when I'm ready - I'll be the one to say, "Did your daughter have her baby?" or, "How is that precious little boy of yours? I haven't seen him around the office in a while."

Above all, please remember that this is the worst thing that ever happened to me. The word "miscarriage" is small and easy. But my baby's death is monolithic and awful. It's going to take me a while to figure out how to live with it. Bear with me.

Saying goodbye is even harder when you've never met.

If you are reading this you probably know that our family has suffered great heartache this month.
I really just feel the need to post our story in memory of our tiny baby, born May 10, 2010 at 16 weeks, 3 days.
On Thursday evening, May 6, I went into work feeling pretty good. I was coming to peace with our decisions on the birth plans for our baby, due in October. I was feeling pretty invincible for the first time since being pregnant so soon after a previous loss. At this point, four months pregnant, I figured it wasn't likely for anything to go wrong.
Overall I was in a good mood. That all came crashing down at around eleven pm, an hour before my shift ended. I noticed I had started spotting, and while this could be completely normal, I was completely gripped with fear at the thought of losing another baby. The next few hours were a whirlwind as I called David, left work and headed for the E.R. I hardly remember the E.R trip, I was in such fog. It was all a blur of rude doctors and nurses, and waiting waiting waiting. The ultrasound was the worst, as there was the tech, looking at my baby, knowing what was going on but not allowed to tell or show me anything.
We waited an hour and a half for the doctor to tell us the results of the scan. When he sat down and told us there was no heart beat, that the baby had died, I swear my own heart stopped briefly. We left the hospital soon after, and had to wait all weekend before seeing the doctor. I was numb. I had no idea what to think or feel or say. I couldn't even cry about it. i just carried on through the weekend, in that miserable fog, waiting.
On Monday morning I went into the Ob's office. It was truly painful to sit in that office that I had sat in so many times when pregnant with my daughter and son,now with a baby that I would never see grow up inside of me. During the appointment the doctor explained that she thought I had been too far along to go straight to a D&C and instead prescribed three days worth of medication that would start contractions and essentially induce labor. This terrified me, but in the long run more appealing than the D&C.
We got home around three thirty, after picking the children up from PapPap's and I took my first dose of Misoprostol. David went to bed (he had to work that night) and I was left with the children. Over the next two hours I slowly started getting abdominal cramps which by five thirty had become so painful I couldn't focus. i woke David up to take them and went to lay down. By six pm I hadn't rested and could no longer handle the pain. I called for David, who ran me a hot bath I(the midwives epidural, after all) and made me a cup of tea. I don't know how long I was in the tub before things intensified, but I started to feel an intense amount of pressure and climbed out of the tub. I think I was crying out in pain at this point, but I don't really remember for sure. David brought me a vicoden and called his mom to come get the kids.
He had both kids out in the living room, getting them ready to go. They were upset, tired and crying for Mommy, so I wrapped a towel around myself and slowly started to walk out to try and calm them. As I started to walk I had one hard painful contraction and felt a "pop", I quickly stepped into the kitchen (no carpet to ruin)as I felt a gush of fluids. My water had broken.I only needed that one dose of Misoprostol. Over the next I don't know how many minutes David got the kids loaded into the van and his mom drove them back to her house. I sat in the kitchen overcome with pain, but surprisingly lacking emotion. Within half an hour of my water breaking, the baby was born. At first I was scared to look down and see, but I am so glad I did.
Up to this point I had not pictured the baby as a baby with 10 little fingers and toes,fully formed facial features...everything. He was no different then a full term newborn, just smaller. I was truly amazed.
Over the next few hours we waited and waited for the placenta,and it just wan''t coming. After a couple hours I was able to work out a small piece and get up. That's when it went down hill. the birth had been fairly "easy" up to that point, but after delivering that small piece of the placenta, my pain picked up and was unbearable and i was bleeding a lot. It was probably close to eleven. We got me dressed and headed to the E.R. I was in so much pain I don't even know how I got into the car. At the E.R I had to be lifted out and put in a wheel chair. By the time we got there there was no break in the pain and i was covered in blood. The immediately got me a room and dosed me with morphine. The morph did nothing to dull the contraction, but it did provide a small break in between to rest. It didn't take long for them to make the decision to admit me and send me up to labor and delivery.I spent the night in L&D, with morphine every hour and Percocet every three hours. In the morning they did an ultrasound to confirm that the placenta was still inside, and then sent me down for surgery right away. They knocked me out for the D&C, so I can't really say much about that.
We went home a few hours later, and have been slowly recovering emotionally and physically since. The heartache ewe have experienced is indescribable. and I'm sure I will never fully recover. But while there will always be an empty spot in our family where our baby boy belongs, we will, eventually be ok.