Secrets and lies about our unborn children

By Anjali

About 30 years ago, a woman I'll call Carlene was home taking care of her children when she began feeling sharp pains in her abdomen. A few minutes later, Carlene's pains became excruciating. When she felt a strange sensation between her legs, Carlene gathered up all her strength and made her way to the bathroom. Moments later, in the toilet, she gave birth to a very, very premature baby. She screamed and sobbed, grabbed the nearest towel, picked up her baby from the bloody water, and carefully swaddled it. She then grabbed the keys, dropped her other children off with the neighbors, and sped to the emergency room.

Once at the hospital, Carlene pulled aside the nearest doctor by the sleeve of his coat, and showed him the bundle cradled in her arms. He looked down at the still baby and told her, very briskly and coldly, that there was nothing they could do. He sent her home.

Carlene, no longer pregnant, drove home with the child in her lap.

When she reached home, she walked around the house to the backyard, and buried her child. Other than her husband, she never told a soul about her loss.

Two months ago, nearly 14 weeks pregnant, I suffered my own miscarriage. I was shocked to learn at a routine OB visit that the baby's heart, which I had seen a few weeks earlier on ultrasound, was no longer beating. Three days later, I had a D & E to remove the baby.

Since then, I've been writing about it on my own blog. I write about how I've been dealing with the shock and the grief, and my bouts with temporary insanity and insomnia. I write about the good days and the bad days, and the truly horrible days. Writing about my miscarriage has helped me work though it. It has given me a means to cope. It has helped me make some sense out of something that is senseless.

Something quite unexpected happened once I started blogging about my miscarriage. I started hearing from several mothers each day who've experienced pregnancy losses and told hardly anyone. They kept their pain from their siblings, their parents, their friends and their other children. I was surprised to learn that my own friends, who I interact with on a regular basis, had also had miscarriages during various periods of their reproductive lives. Some of them had several.

I have to wonder: Are we any more open about our pregnancy losses now than we were a few decades ago? Is society any more sympathetic? Do most of us still suffer in silence?

In this day, when we know so much about fertility and early pregnancy with prenatal screening, in this age when talk therapy is no longer taboo, are we any more honest about our babies that were never born?

Soon after my miscarriage, Carlene received a phone call from her sister. Her sister informed her about my own pregnancy and subsequent loss. Carlene was speechless for a few moments, and then broke down sobbing on the phone. Her sister was puzzled. Carlene had only met me once before, years ago; why, then, was she so affected? Carlene then confessed her secret, one that she had carried for years and hid from even her closest confidante. She told her sister the story of the baby she lost. She talked about the cruel emergency room doctor who sent her home without any help or condolences. She talked about the backyard burial. She talked about how in her heart, all these years later, she still carried the guilt and the grief and the shame of it all.

Carlene's experience saddened me beyond words, but it is a lesson, I think, to us all. These secrets we keep about babies we never got to hold, or nurse, or rock to sleep, or dress -- these secrets are worth sharing with others. These losses are real. They affect who we are as mothers. They are a part of our identity and of our family, and of our lives.

While I'm no psychologist, I believe that by sharing with others our pain and our grief, we allow ourselves to finally begin the healing process. Moreover, by telling the stories of our much-loved children who never came to be, we bring comfort, and perhaps even some closure, to other mothers who've endured the same.

Anjali is a stay-at-home mom (and hopeful future bestselling author) who lives in suburban Philadelphia with her husband and two young girls.

Comments

[mcewen]

I share this personal experience with you. I am confident that there is a significant percentage of the population that are in that same 'silent' club.
Best wishes

[amy h.]

I couldn't agree with you more, Anjali, and I am so very, very sorry for the loss of your child. Losing a child, no matter when it occurs, is an enormous loss.

I hope that by telling your story you are able to begin to heal. Obviously you will never forget the child you lost or the dreams that you had for this child and your family, but hopefully by allowing yourself to experience the full range of your emotions (and by helping others, which you most certainly have done!!) you can find your way to some peace.

I had a similar loss 6 years ago, and while the pain is still very real, I know that by sharing my feelings with others (and allowing myself to truly grieve for this child) I am doing much better than I would have if I had kept it all a secret.

I will tell you that what surprised me the most was the lingering anxiety, anger and sadness that hung around long after the initial crisis period was over, and longer than I thought I *should* be feeling that way. I encourage you to take good care of yourself (something we sometimes neglect as moms!), give yourself all the time you need and seek support wherever you can get it whenever you find that you need it.

You and your family are in my thoughts! Thank you for sharing your story in such an honest and personal way.

[Karen]

It's so true... I was pregnant with twins and lost one of them at four months. Talking about a mix of emotions... devastated that I had lost one, but relieved that the other one was alive and healthy. I did talk about it though to family and friends, but got mixed reactions. My mil sent a condolence card, but on the flip side said something like, "well, God knows best." Grrr... My sister said, "Well, at least you have one left." My mother, bless her, simply listened. My husband... well, he didn't say much then and whenever I bring it up, he doesn't really say much now. I wonder all the time about that little baby I never got to hold.

[Roni]

First of all, I am so sorry for your loss.

Second, hell yes! I believe that a lot of the issues we battle each day is a result of our collective silence. Silence on PPD, losing our babies, stress of motherhood, etc. Thus, there isn't a true sense in the world of what it means to be a mommy, even to those of us who are mommies.

Thank you for sharing.