Horror of Pregnancy Loss Inspires Mother to Grow

By Suzanne Schafer -

My husband and I lost a baby during the middle of my pregnancy. From the first moment the doctor told me, with a deep, pained look on his face, that our baby had passed away, I felt grave sorrow in my heart which surged down to my core.

Shortly after this shattering moment, the doctor informed us that the safest way to remove our baby was to go to an abortion clinic. As those words slipped from his lips, my heart seized and my body gasped for air. The alternatives, he explained, were too dangerous and I had to think of my two small children and my husband.

As I found a small gulp of air, I reluctantly agreed, even as I sobbed from the bellows of my heart. I sat in a parked car and I began to scream, grabbing hold of my stomach, aching, wanting to feel his feet moving just once more. I began asking myself, “How could this be?” I frantically retraced all the events that had led up to this moment, searching for some reason or explanation. In this time of crisis, I wanted desperately to place blame and find a reason for my pain.

But it soon became apparent that sometimes there is no obvious reason. The truth within this situation laid somewhere in front of me.  

During this tragedy, I was in such a deep state of grief and shock that I began to witness myself and the events around me as if I were watching a movie in which I had been cast in the lead role. In the upcoming days, the intense physical and emotional pain I felt caused me to retreat from the outside world.  I found refuge in my bedroom. I hid from my husband, my family, my children and my friends; even though, all of them certainly reached out trying to ease my pain.

I went in and out of deep meditation trying to find the strength to endure the greatest juxtaposition I had yet to face in my life: finding myself in the presence of those choosing to end the potential life of a baby, while having no choice but to say good-bye to a child I had wanted to so deeply. The anger and sadness I felt was so intense, I became despondent and disconnected from what I had known as my life; and the roles I played no longer seemed to define me. I was no longer a mother, wife, daughter, friend, sister, designer or business owner. All of these roles just seemed to disappear.  All I could focus on and all I could be, was in the moment.

I was completely immobilized physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually. During this moment, I was in a juxtaposition between shock and hyper awareness which lead me into a witnessing state. In this moment, I had an inner-knowing that in the days to come I would be asked to look beyond myself and my immediate situation and once and for all break free of the past accumulation of pains and dramas which had hijacked my life over and over again.  

As I walked into the abortion clinic, I was profoundly aware of the opposing forces of life and death. While I waited to be called for my pre-op appointment, I began to witness myself slip further into a state of deep sadness and shock.

I went through the motions for the pre-surgery procedures - a two-day procedure.  Through it all, I kept whispering to myself, “This must be happening for a reason.”  In an attempt to distance myself from my own pain, I tried in desperation to witness all that was around me. The energy in the room was filled with utter anxiety, sadness, and chaos. I thought about my husband and the way this tragedy seemed to be pushing him closer and closer to the edge. I could sense his pain and discomfort with not knowing how to support me. 

I started to realize that we all had our own story. Everyone in the waiting room was not just there to end an unwanted pregnancy. They each had their own story that led them to this horrible place.  In this state of witnessing, I watched as everyone’s tale started to unravel around me. I truly realized my story was different but my pain was no different from the pain all of these women felt. It was not just about me; it was about us. 

I made it through the initial appointment, and left the clinic feeling more and more uncertain, as if a piece of my soul was being ripped from my very being.  The universality of our loss was being pushed into my face and my soul was yearning to understand this sorrow.  

Early the next morning, I arrived at the clinic. I slowly walked in the door, leaving my husband behind. This wasn’t my first miscarriage; two years prior, I lost another child at the end of the first trimester.  Because I was early on in that pregnancy, I was able to go to the hospital, where an ever-present, compassionate staff coddled and supported me.

The atmosphere at the abortion clinic, however, was drastically different.  You do everything yourself, you get dressed in a freezing room and wait in an open waiting area with other women. I was sitting silently in this waiting room when I heard the sound of shackles being dragged across the floor. Yes, shackles. I wanted to laugh and cry. Who wears shackles to an abortion clinic? Then, I heard police on walkie talkies: “The prisoner is here,” they confirmed to one another.

Suddenly, the circumstances I found myself in seemed utterly absurd, pushing me into fits of uncontrollable laughter. How could this really be happening?   In full acceptance that this was part of my story, I said from within, “You have got to be kidding me. I think I am going to lose it.”  

Just then, another woman is escorted into the waiting room, and takes a seat across from me. I recognized her as the woman who spent most of yesterday yelling at her boyfriend. I assumed she was terminating her pregnancy because she did not want to have a child. Then she told me her story. Although I was in a state of grief, I never felt such compassion. She had to do something I could never do; if she did not choose to end her pregnancy, she would not survive.

She was so strong and yet shaken at the same time. I sat there wanting to just be there for her and take away the pain, when I realized that I had assumed and judged her without knowing her story. I was no different than the picketers outside of this clinic.  Just as my husband’s words and gestures were of no comfort to me, I realized nothing I could say or do would ease her pain because words can not comfort any of us in times of desperation; it is time that will slowly ease the pain.  

Finally, my name is called.  I walk into the surgery room where I am met with the words, “Get up on the surgery table and put your feet in the stirrups.” I climb up and pull myself into the right position, feeling like a prisoner myself.  A few moments later, the surgeon arrived, a mood of anxiety and detachment looming overhead. His hair smelled like stale tobacco and his mood fell somewhere between anxious and a detached despondence from his own life and spirit.  

They slowly put me under and when it was over, they rolled me into a recovery room where ten girls lay in beds side by side. The doctor came over to check on me and I asked, “Did you see my baby?” He could not even look me in the eyes or show one ounce of regard for me or my situation.  He quickly turned his head and mumbled, “No.”  I laid there feeling empty.  I then appeased myself with a reminder that the worst was over and I could finally start to cry, weep, and heal.

Moments later, my prisoner friend is rolled in to the recovery room. She shoots me a look that seems to say, “I’ve been through this before,” and then begins to tell me her story. She stayed in prison two weeks longer than her prison sentence, she explained, so she could have the state prison pay for her second trimester termination of her pregnancy.

I really did not know what to say. I tried to wrap my mind around the social and spiritual implications of her choice.  She was detached from life and from spirit. As I lay there, the director of the clinic walks up and I begin to cry.  In an admonishing tone, she says, “Finally, you show some emotion; you are stoic.”  I just looked at her and said nothing. I rolled over on my cot until it was time to go to the next room. 

She finally takes me and my new friend to the other room. The prisoner then turns to me and says, “How old was your baby?”  I look at her and reply, “My baby was dead.”  She looks horrified and for a brief moment, I could feel her compassion and sense of my loss. She replied, “Oh.” The pain she felt for that brief moment pierced my heart. I was not able to even imagine what I could say to bring her peace. I just whispered, “It is okay.”

It took me a long time to completely process these series of events.  The deep sorrow felt so familiar to the deep wounds which struck my heart in a distant past. I reminded myself that in sorrow you can find joy.  

Later, as I lay in my own bed recovering from the surgery, I yearned to feel freedom again. I began to surrender to the idea of being present in this moment and to allow myself to finally grieve all that I had been through. I needed to say good-bye and embrace the bigger meaning behind my life. I was finally ready to raise my white flag and scream, “UNCLE!”  With a deep sigh, I slipped into meditation and with gratitude agreed to find a way to heal my wounds and find my eternal peace.  

In a subconscious and slightly conscious state, I knew all of this had happened for a reason. I would sing over and over in my head, “You can’t always have what you want, but sometimes you get just what you need.” This had become my theme song over the past seven years.  I was beaten down and ready to move on. This was yet another life experience which I would use as a tool, a tool to help others have the hope and belief they can move beyond their current state of living and experiencing.

Now, when anyone tells me they are going through a difficult time, I see it differently. I can be in a place of acceptance, compassion and love. I actually get excited for them knowing that they too are being asked to expand their awareness.  

During the days and weeks that followed the procedure, I started to revisit all the highs and lows I experienced in the past several years. I began to reassure myself that I could make it through one more incident. At night, when the sadness lay heavy in my heart, I would whisper to myself, “You can do it. You have survived before and you will survive again.”  

My husband and I had made it through cancer, depression, illness, loss of close friends and family and another baby all within the past seven years; we could make it through this too. When I sat in that sterile office feeling the loss of not only my baby but my identity as well, I realized that the greatest obstacle I faced was finally healing. I reflected on seeing my baby one last time during the pre-op ultrasound and realized how in that moment I began to surrender to the idea of healing.

I knew that I was being asked to grow from this because I had internalized so much loss in the past; I had built a stone fortress around part of my heart and soul. I knew I was being asked to grow from this moment and finally move on from all that held me in deep bondage and servitude. I would finally allow myself to surrender.    

Suzanne Schafer has just finished writing her first book, Bare Naked Bliss. She is currently working on a children’s book of poetry-inspired by her two lyrical children and a book on Self Intimacy. In Fall 2008, she launched her internet radio show on www.lifestyleyak.com. To learn more about Suzanne and her work, go to http://www.suzannetoro.com.

Healing from Within with guests Tracy Swanson and Susan Toro

From Healing the Grieving Heart radio, March 12, 2009

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1st Guest: Tracy Swanson is the Executive Director of “Empty Cradle” a nonprofit support group for parents who have experienced the loss of a baby through early pregnancy loss, stillbirth or infant death. Volunteer parents have offered emotional support, friendship and community education since the group was organized in January 1982.

2nd Guest: Suzanne Toro’s personal experience of pregnancy loss and seeing her husband through a course of cancer treatment has reawakened her true life purpose to be of service. She is the author of Bare Naked Bliss and host of karmadharma radio Radio.

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Finding Help and Hope After Pregnancy Loss with guest Cathi Lammert

From Healing the Grieving Heart radio, January 15. 2009

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Cathi Lammert is the Executive Director of Share, a foundation that supports those who have had pregnancy and infant loss.  Cathi is a former obstetrical nurse and bereaved parent of Christopher Michael who lived just 4 days. She and her husband Chuck have been involved with Share since 1983, shortly after Christopher’s death.  Share provides a wealth of free resources, local and online support groups, an online catalog, and caregiver training.  Visit www.nationalshare.org or e-mail Cathi at clammert@nationalshare.org.

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Healing After Miscarriage and Infertility with guest Kira Copperman

From Healing the Grieving Heart radio, November 20, 2008

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Kira Copperman is a social worker and the President of  KBC Consulting, a healthcare consulting firm that specializes in helping medical professionals improve their frontline customer service.  Prior to KBC Consulting, she was the practice manager for a large fertility center in Manhattan entitled Reproductive Medicine Associates of New York.  I 20006, she was honored by RESOLVE, the national infertility support organization, with “The Friend of RESOLVE” award because of her dedication and commitment to the organization.  Her experience with patients dealing with the emotional side effects that can accompany infertility had a profound effect on her and was one of the main reasons she created KBC Consulting.

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Miscarriage and Infant Loss with guests Beth Seyda and Monica Novak

From Healing the Grieving Heart radio, October 30, 2008

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Beth Seyda’s life was transformed in 1997 with the birth and death of her critically ill newborn son, Dylan.  She combines her 25+ years of professional experience in consumer research with her personal experience as Co-Founder and Executive Director of Compassionate Passages, Inc. The mission of her non-profit organization is to give a voice to pediatric patients and their families through advocacy, education, and research with the goal of improving pediatric end-of-life care and providing support to dying children and their families.  Compassionate Passages donates the book Empty Cradle, Broken Heart: Surviving the Death of Your Baby to bereaved families. 

Beth lives in Chapel Hill, NC with her husband, Mark, and their 7-year old son, Tyler.  To learn more about Beth’s non-profit organization, go to: www.compassionatepassages.org

Monica Novak became a bereaved mother in 1995 with the stillbirth of her daughter Miranda, learning firsthand the devastation of saying goodbye to a much-loved, much-wanted baby before having the chance to say hello.  Three weeks later, she began a journey towards healing when she attended her first Share support group meeting.  Along the way, she and six other bereaved mothers formed a close bond that carried them through the grief of miscarriage, stillbirth, and infant death, as well as the challenges of subsequent pregnancy and infertility.  Having been at the opposite ends of grief and joy; despair and hope; indifference and compassion; fear and peace-sometimes simultaneously-she has captured these emotions and the story of her journey in a highly-praised new memoir titled The Good Grief Club.

Monica writes and speaks on the subject of pregnancy loss and infant death and is involved with local and national organizations that provide support to families and caregivers.  She is a member of the Pregnancy Loss and Infant Death Alliance (PLIDA). Her mission is to bring comfort and hope to bereaved parents worldwide and to educate and promote awareness to the physicians, nurses, clergy, counselors, family, and friends of every mother or father who has or ever will be told that their baby has no heartbeat or that nothing more can be done.

She is also the editor of Open to Hope’s Pregnancy and Infant Loss blog page www.opentohopepregnancyloss.com

The mother of three daughters, Monica lives in the Chicago area with her husband, children, and a rat terrier named Sami.  For more information, please visit www.thegoodgriefclub.com or e-mail Monica at monica@thegoodgriefclub.com

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Finding Meaning After the Loss of a Twin Child with guests Jenny Hander and Jean Kollantai

From Healing the Grieving Heart radio, August 7, 2008

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Jenny Hander is a bereaved mother and author of A Place of Peace. After the loss of her infant twin daughter Alysa in 2005 Jenny turned back to her Christian faith. Jenny’s mission is now to share her journey and uplift others through writing and public speaking.  She can be reached through her website http://www.aplaceofpeace.net/

Jean Kollantai founded CLIMB, Inc., the Center for Loss in Multiple Birth, in 1986 after one of her full term twin sons died at birth. Jean resides in Anchorage, Alaska, from where she edits the newsletter and coordinates the CLIMB’S website www.climb-support.org.

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Finding Meaning After the Death of a Child with guests Emily Laitmon and Joanne Cacciatore

From Healing the Grieving Heart radio, July 17, 2008

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Emily Laitmon is a licensed psychotherapist practicing in New Rochelle and New York City. She is the bereaved mother of Daniel and editor of the book Our Children, Our Hearts, Journeys of Child Loss and Rememberance. She is a grief counselor and group facilitator for Bereavement Center of Westchester.  New York Times Article featuring Emily Laitmon

Joanne Cacciatore found her life’s purposed challenges after the death of her daughter, Cheyenne, during the birth process.  By 1996, the former stay-at-home mother of four other children had founded the MISS (Mothers in Sympathy and Support) Foundation, which is dedicated to providing crisis support and long-term aid to families after the death of a child.  She is the author of Dear Cheyenne, a tribute to her stillborn daughter.  She can be reached through her website www.missfoundation.org

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Helping Grandchildren Deal with SIDS Grief and Sibling Loss with guests Jewel Sample and Nina Bennett

From Healing the Grieving Heart radio, May 29, 2008

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 Author/Speaker Jewel Sample is the award-winning children’s writer of “Flying Hugs and Kisses.” “Flying Hugs and Kisses” is about five children who creatively take on roles of support toward each other while showing their individual feelings about the death of their baby brother. The National Parenting Center awarded “Flying Hugs and Kisses” their 2007 Seal of Approval. The National Sudden Infant Death Resource Center has selected Sample’s books as a bereavement resource for families with children. Jewel’s grandson, Brennen, died of SIDS in 2004.  Visit Jewel at http://jewelsamples.blogspot.com/

 

Nina Bennett has 4 grandchildren, one of whom was unexpectedly born still following a healthy full-term pregnancy. She has worked in reproductive health since 1976, and was a childbirth educator for nearly 10 years. A healthcare professional and frequently requested guest lecturer, Nina presents talks and workshops locally and nationally. She is the Principal Investigator of an IRB-approved research study looking at how grandparents incorporate perinatal loss into their families.

Nina is a social activist who gives voice to the often silent grief of grandparents through her writing and speaking. Her articles and poetry have appeared in the anthology Mourning Sickness, The Broadkill Review, Slow Trains Literary Journal, Grief Digest, the News Journal, A.G.A.S.T., Different Kind of Parenting, M.I.S.S.ing Angels, and Living Well Journal. Nina is the author of Forgotten Tears A Grandmother’s Journey Through Grief.  Proceeds from her book are donated to MISS Foundation/AGAST, and other agencies supporting families bereaved by the death of a baby.

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What Makes Pregnancy Losses Unique

by Irv Leon, Ph.D. -  

People who suffer miscarriages and stillbirths grieve over a baby they do not know.  Understanding how these losses are different from other losses helps to appreciate the distinct way they are mourned. Here are several ways that pregnancy loss is unique.

1.  It can feel less real.  

When you grieve, you typically recall the beloved with longing memories -  his/her voice, face, treasured interactions.  With pregnancy loss, there are no such memories to grieve.  There is silence and blankness instead.  This is why it is usually helpful after a stillbirth to see the baby you grew to love during your pregnancy, to get to know her or him as a real person, as a daughter or son.  Even if you are unable to (or choose not to) see, hold, and touch your baby, having pictures or mementos can be another way of concretizing and identifying who was lost.

2.  Sometimes it’s losing a baby; sometimes it’s not.  For many women and their partners, miscarriage is a confusing, anxiety-provoking event.  Unlike a stillbirth, there usually is no body to see, and the pregnancy may not have gotten far enough along to be felt as a baby.  What was lost?  For some, it was a baby, especially if viewed earlier in ultrasound.  For others, it is felt as a blow to a woman’s maternal creativity.  Or perhaps it is a profound disappointment.  Sorting out what was lost can help determine the personal meanings of a miscarriage.

3.  It injures the self and self-esteem.  More so for women than for men, pregnancy loss is an assault upon the self.  It feels as if your body has failed.  Reproducing has intimations of immortality.  It is becoming a co-creator with God.  For many women, depressed feelings following these losses may be as much a result of feeling terrible about oneself as missing one’s baby.  Finding other avenues of feeling proud of yourself may help to alleviate diminished self-worth. 

4.  It revives other losses and hurts.  Not uncommonly, we name our children after someone who has died, in his or her memory.  Conversely, when a baby dies, it may revive the intensity of a prior loss - a parent or some other important figure in one’s life.  When grieving a pregnancy loss persists without relief for longer than a year, an earlier loss or trauma is often involved as well.

5.  It interferes with normal development.  For many people, the goal of having children is not only to love the child but to gain the adult status of parenthood as well.  Pregnancy loss often causes feelings of being left out and stagnating as one’s friends, siblings, co-workers are having children.  This often makes it intolerable to be around other pregnant women or families with babies.

6.  Others don’t understand. Many people don’t realize how profound a loss this can be.  Others may be uncomfortable with loss in general.  Even well-intentioned people say hurtful things-”You’ve been in the dumps for two weeks.  Get over it already!” “You can always have another baby.” “It was meant to be.”  Sometimes it may be useful to tell the offending person he may be well-meaning, but it doesn’t help to hear that.  If he or she is capable of listening, it may be possible to explain what the loss does mean to you.

7.  It is more difficult to end.  Most losses entail grieving relationships rooted in the past.  Pregnancy loss almost entirely grieves what will be lost in the future.  So grief is intensified on particular anniversaries, especially the due date, or special holidays or experiences you hoped to share with your baby.  Even after the intense grief over pregnancy loss has subsided, there may always be events that trigger the everlasting loss of this baby. 

Irv Leon is a psychologist who has worked for more than 20 years with reproductive loss, adoption, and bereavement. He is author of When a Baby Dies: Psychotherapy for Pregnancy and Newborn Loss (Yale University Press, 1990.) Reach him at irv.leon@prodigy.net.

Finding Your Way After Sibling and Infant Loss with guest Clara Hinton

From Healing the Grieving Heart Radio, May 22, 2008

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Clara Hinton has a burning passion to lend support to parents grieving the loss of a child. At the age of 15, Clara’s 13-year-old sister died tragically, and that loss began a series of events in her life that made grief all-too-real.   

While experiencing the blessing of living children, Clara has also felt the pain of losing six children due to miscarriage, and has delivered one stillborn son.  Knowing the grief of child loss first-hand prompted Clara to write a book, Silent Grief, as well as begin a grief support website, www.silentgrief.com, for parents seeking support while going through the pain of loss. 

Clara also teaches grief coping skills on college campuses, as well as coordinates grief workshops for schools, churches, and hospitals.  The first Silent Grief Retreat for Bereaved Parents was held in October 2008, and the Retreats are now planned to be an annual coming together for bereaved parents. For more information, contact Clara at chinton@wpia.net or visit the Silent Grief website.

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