Dear Family and Friends,
It has take several months for me to gain the courage and to then find the words for this post. If you have come here by the personal email you received from me, I wanted each of you to know about this journey. If you have come here by any other means, welcome. I hope that my story can help others who have had similar experiences or want to know how to help others.
On November 1, 2017, I was admitted to the hospital due to symptoms concurrent with a miscarriage. My doctors confirmed that I had been pregnant, but was losing the baby. The whirlwind of events that followed was the most trying time of my life. On December 15, 2017, it was evident that my body had not completed the miscarriage naturally, and I was admitted to the hospital for a D&C - a medical procedure to assist with the completion of miscarrying.
Because the medical ordeals of my miscarriage were so overwhelming and confusing, when I was finally allowed to have a D&C, there a was a huge sense of relief- finally, I could move on. I expected life to continue as normal. Unfortunately, it took months for me to fully realize the trauma that my body and psyche had experienced. I had suppressed the grief as far down as I possibly could until it was unbearable. It's the first time in my life that I truly could not express what I was feeling. One day I found myself completely alone, and I fell to the floor with uncontrollable tears.
The idea of new life should bring joy and hope. Due to my circumstances, I never got to experience anything around my pregnancy but fear and grief. Acknowledging and facing this incredibly tragic yet very private event happened is something that I struggled with. It was incredibly hard to express to literally anyone outside of myself.
But I am not alone. One in every four pregnancies ends in a miscarriage. Every day in the United States, 2000 women will lose a baby during pregnancy. Maybe these are just numbers and statistics, but it shows me that I'm more likely to talk to a woman who's had a similar experience, than one who hasn't. And so are you.
Talking about my pregnancy is not easy for me to do with even my closest friends and family or counselors. But I've learned that I don't help anyone, much less myself, by not talking about it. For a long time I kept silent about many things in this process for fear of being judged, shamed or misunderstood. It wasn't until I spoke with people that had experience with this kind of grief and loss that I realized my thoughts and feelings were normal. I learned that my grief was valid, which made my insecurities die, and showed me light in all the darkness. The more people I tell about my experience, the more I see that people want to understand and help.
In the last decade, awareness for this kind of loss has become more prominent. October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. If you ever find yourself with someone who has lost a baby, just letting them know they are not alone is the most you can give them. Encourage them to find someone they are comfortable talking to. And if that person is you, give them a ear to listen and a shoulder to cry on. October 15th is World Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. One event that takes place during the day to commemorate the losses worldwide, is called, "Wave of Light." You are asked to light a candle at 7pm, no matter the time zone, for one hour, allowing the light to pass on to the next time zone, creating a 'wave of light' to encompass the world for one day.
Medically, there are many unknowns about my pregnancy that will never be answered. It's something I've come to accept. But it doesn't change my emotions or what I know in my heart to be true.
In my heart, I know my baby was a boy. I named him John. He was never a part of this Earth, but he was, for a time, a part of me.
If you are able, I invite you to participate in Wave of Light on October 15th at 7pm, for John and for the many other remembered babies that have been lost. If you know anyone that has lost a pregnancy, I urge you to tell them about Wave of Light. It is a gentle reminder that they are not alone or forgotten.
Thank you,
Anna
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