(This post is the second
part of How Mothers Grieve. We’ll continue with the obstacles you might face
when returning to work or social activities.)
Returning to “Life”~
Finally,
returning to work or other activities presents challenges. What do you say to
your friends, your co-workers? What will they
say to you? If your loss was early in
your pregnancy, you may not even have shared your news with them. (I have a
friend who flat out refused to share her pregnancy news with anyone—outside of her
mother—until she’d successfully passed the third month, just in case something
happened.) You’ll be scared, disoriented, groping for stability in your “new normal.” You
may even separate yourself from your house of worship and all of the people
there who should be a source of strength, mercy and healing. One woman told her
priest, Barbara Brown Taylor, she couldn’t come to church because she started
crying the moment she sat down in a pew.1 Another congregant told
Barbara that he stayed away because he was too frightened to answer questions
and too angry to sing hymns.2
In this
situation, it is important that you
at least tell some of your closest friends or understanding colleagues so they
can be a source of support for you as you attempt to return to “normal.” And
you might be surprised just how many of your co-workers know just exactly what
you’re going through.
A Silent Sorrow: Pregnancy Loss recounts this woman’s experience:
“I’d be sitting at my desk and want
to stand up and scream, ‘I had a baby and was
pregnant and now it’s gone!’” she
recalled. “I wish I had told people earlier along.
I needed that extra support.”
If you were
showing, your co-workers will undoubtedly ask about your baby, and you will
need to find some way to share your news, even if it’s the last thing you want
to discuss. Some people will offer heartfelt words and ask meaningful
questions; others will simply be driven to know the “gory details” only for the
sake of curiosity and having the latest scoop to share. Some will truly want to
listen; others really won’t care. Sometimes you’ll get so sick of the questions
and well-meaning comments that you’ll respond with mean, clipped responses
like, “My baby died.”
Be prepared to confront
other pregnant women and new, healthy babies. Your head will probably spin and you
might feel disoriented, angry and even physically ill. Panic attacks might
ensue. Be aware that as much as you try to protect yourself from outside pain
infliction, it cannot be avoided. One mother arranged to have her work location
changed after her baby died shortly after birth.
“They changed my location, but they
put me in an office where many young
mothers and babies came in. One
mother came up to my desk with her newborn
and asked if I wanted to hold the
baby. I said, ‘No,’ and ran crying to the
bathroom. I spent a lot of time
crying in that bathroom over the next six
months.”
I personally
encountered such a multitude of stupid, thoughtless comments—from family,
friends and strangers—that I was often left breathless and shaking, grasping
for words from my brain that could only greet me with a vacuous void. I’d stand
gaping at the giver. Other times I shut them up with nasty retorts inviting no responses.
Remind yourself—often—that
most people have no idea what you’re experiencing. Then forgive yourself. Do not feel
guilty about placing your sorrow above the feelings and expectations of others.
Do not feel obligated to explain yourself either.
Abortion~
Now I’ll tread
into dangerous water to discuss the unique grief that can be experienced when
an abortion is selected in response to a diagnosis of congenital abnormality or
condition incompatible with life.
If you underwent
prenatal testing—and received word of a grave problem—you may have elected to
abort your baby. If you’ve done this, guilt has the potential to disable you
emotionally, even if you feel you made the absolute right decision. Being
“forced to choose” feels like an additional burden. Consider Elaine’s story:
“Our family was ready to go out for
dinner when the genetic counselor called.
I could hear in her voice that she
had bad news. I felt like I was in a tunnel;
it was like a bad dream. I started
screaming, right there in front of my
husband and the kids. I had to wait
two weeks before I had the abortion. The
baby was kicking. I thought I would
lose my mind.”
Learning that
your baby has a genetic problem may put you in “crisis mode.” You may feel as
though you have medical information that doesn’t provide all of your answers,
like the test for Down’s Syndrome that doesn’t tell you the severity of the
problem.
That became
somewhat of an issue for us when I became pregnant after Victoria’s death.
Being a thirty-six-year-old mother almost “required” genetic testing, even
though Chris and I remained adamant that we would not abort even if a genetic
anomaly had been diagnosed.
When my first
blood test indicated a higher-than-normal possibility for Down’s Syndrome, my
doctor asked me to become involved in a pilot study being conducted through the
University of California—San Diego. UCSD was in the forefront of developing a
blood test to more accurately determine whether a mother is carrying a Down’s
Syndrome baby. Because of my situation, I was accepted as part of the test. My
doctor was “confident” everything would be okay, but it still didn’t stop me
from breaking into cold sweats and holding my breath when he called one Friday
evening to give me the results.
Fortunately, the
news was good, but receiving “bad” news certainly would have drastically
altered how Chris and I handled the pregnancy. We would have probably spent the
next several months grieving the fact that our child wouldn’t be completely
normal or healthy, while making the rounds with specialists who could provide
us with information to better prepare us for the road ahead.
Choosing to have
an abortion under these circumstances always has the potential to haunt you:
Did we do the right thing? Did we not have enough faith—that God could, or
would, have provided us with a miraculous, in-womb healing? Should we have
fought harder for our child and not given up hope so easily? Could the baby
have survived and been successfully operated on after birth to correct the
problem. Was the diagnosis valid? Be prepared for all of these “what ifs” (and
guilt) to assail you. For years. (And
be forewarned: guilt for abortion survivors often manifests itself in
lingering, or late-onset depression or psychological issues. It isn’t over once
the abortion has been performed.)
“Producing” an
impaired, disabled child can also add to your grief, making you feel
inadequate. As one father said,
“It’s a double taboo….First, people
think something is wrong with you
because your baby was defective.
Then they look down on you for having
an abortion.”
Deciding to
have any risky genetic testing can be burdensome. The doctor who had cared for me
during most of my pregnancy with Victoria kept nudging us to have an
amniocentesis, simply due to my age (34 at the time of conception). But I
wouldn’t do it. Not with my history of irritable uterus. To us the risk wasn’t
worth it. Dr. Gordon*—who cared for me when I lost Victoria—understood and
appreciated my genetic testing qualms and misgivings and relayed to me a
heartbreaking story.
Dear friends of
his, professionals who waited until the wife was in her late thirties or early
forties to become pregnant, elected to have an amniocentesis to determine if
the twins she was carrying had genetic issues. Even after learning the risks,
as well as the facts that the older a woman is, and the more advanced the pregnancy,
the harder it is for her to handle the amniocentesis, they went ahead with the
procedure. Within days following the test, she went into premature labor and
lost both babies. The procedure had caused a spontaneous abortion. And what
stacked more pain and heartache onto their loss? Absolutely nothing was wrong with her twins.
Experiencing the loss of a
baby will forever change you; you will never look at yourself or the world the
same way again.
You’ll view your other children in a different light, probably protecting them
more and loving them harder. You’ll cry more and be more sympathetic to others.
You’ll see, absorb and analyze the world around you through a different lens.
And you’ll always carry a scar in your heart for the child you’ve lost.
I’ll end this
post with some recent thoughts by our Honolulu pastor, Alex McAngus:
“Suffering ultimately destroys our illusions of self-sufficiency. Have
we not all noticed how difficult it is to turn our thoughts to God when
everything is going well? Life is good, plenty of food on the table, everyone
is healthy. We are good, moral people who live conventional lives. God becomes
something like the airbag in the car - we're glad it's there, but we hope we
never have to use it. We are satisfied with ourselves.”
May your heart
be turned toward God as you navigate your way through your grief. And may all
of us never look at the world and the creatures and people in it as commonplace, or less
than miraculous!
_____________________________________
NEXT WEEK: How a Father Grieves
_____________________________________
Thanks for
joining me.
Until next week!
Blessings,
Andrea
1 Leaving Church: a memoir of faith, Barbara
Brown Taylor (HarperSanFrancisco, 2006), 148.
2 Ibid, page 148
General
reference: A Silent Sorrow: Pregnancy
Loss, Kohn, Moffitt and Wilkins (Dell Publishing, 1992)
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