October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month. Many of the mothers in the two bereaved parents’ groups I belong to have suffered a miscarriage or delivered a baby born straight into Heaven. There are so many emotions associated with these losses, as there are whenever a child dies. But, these grieving mamas also bear the pain of their loss not being acknowledged or as less than the loss of a child who survived for at least a few months.
After a relatively short amount of time, these parents are expected to be over their loss and move on. If they have a child later on, there’s an assumption that this child takes the place of the one lost. And while it’s acceptable to tell the story of your child who had a life outside the womb, it often makes people uncomfortable to hear a parent talk about a miscarriage or stillbirth years after the experience. In honor and support of those mothers, here’s one such story.
In 1980 a young woman, 18 weeks pregnant, felt a strange pressure in her vagina and dampness in her underwear. She called the obstetrics department at the air force base hospital and the nurse on duty told her to come in to be checked. As part of the exam, the nurse felt the woman’s stomach for the baby’s position and then checked for a heartbeat. The young woman heard her baby’s heart beating for the first time. Then the doctor came in, put the woman’s feet in the stirrups and did an internal exam. He said that her cervix had started to dilate and that there was a tear in the amniotic sac. He said that they could not stop the dilation nor could they repair the tear. The amniotic fluid was likely already contaminated with bacteria. The baby would not survive.
They moved her to a delivery room and induced labor. They did not give her any pain medication. A few hours later, she delivered a tiny stillborn girl. Her first child. Her first daughter.
That young woman was me. The nurse told me I shouldn’t look at the baby; it would be too painful. She said the hospital would take care of the remains. We didn’t give her a name – we hadn’t decided on one yet. We didn’t bury her or have a service. I always said I had a miscarriage. But, she was a person. I had a baby. One born straight into God’s arms, yes. But, a baby. Certainly not just a clump of cells. My breasts produced milk. For months I had nightmares where I suddenly realized I hadn’t fed my baby in a long time and I frantically tried to find her before she starved to death. I would wake up shaking and in tears.
A year later I had a beautiful full-term baby girl and five years after that I had her sister, also delivered healthy, two weeks after her due date. I was a happy mama, my girls were delightful (most of the time), and I only occasionally thought about that first little unnamed girl and no longer had nightmares.
I haven’t talked about that experience in a long time. It was more than 40 years ago. When I have to fill out medical paperwork that asks how many pregnancies I’ve had, it makes me momentarily sad to say three pregnancies and two live births.
At almost 64 years of age, I have reached a place of contentment in my life. I have some regrets, certainly, but they mostly are about the times when I was selfish or didn’t treat someone as kindly or compassionately as I could have. But, when it comes to the choices I’ve made in my life, and I contemplate the question, “what would I go back and change if I could?”, the answer is almost always, “nothing.” Because even the unwise choices have been stepping stones on the path I’ve traveled in my 63.92 years. And, any change along the way could mean I might not have had one or the other of my daughters, the career I loved, the wonderful 33 years and counting with my husband, our delightful grandchildren, our rural home on a river that brings me such peace. And on and on and . . .
Well, one thing I would change. I would have looked at that little human girl. I would have touched her little hand, her tiny ear. I would have given her a name and honored her with a memorial. I hope she forgives me. I hope I see her one day. I hope her younger sister who had 30-plus years here on earth knows her in Heaven and has some good things to tell her about their mother.
Yeah. There’s one thing I’d change.
One last comment. To the women who lost a baby in utero or at birth, and have no other children: if you wonder if you are a mother, the answer is yes. You created life and you did the best you could to protect and grow that baby until he or she was lifted gently into God’s hands. You deserve acknowledgment. You are worthy of your story being heard.
Laura
A Light for My Path 
Leave a comment