Sunday, November 16, 2014

Stillbirth

The term is stillbirth.  I hated that term at first but it's grown on me.  I don't know how else to describe it.

And there's all kinds of plays on words.  Stillborn, still born.
Born silently.  That's the truth.
I always imagined hearing cries at the birth of my children.
Death before birth.

That's something that gets me now.
The fact that I never, for a second, considered that I would be one of the mothers who leaves the hospital without her baby.
That I never considered that Lydie was never completely ours.
Why did no one warn me that stillbirth could be a possibility?

I remember before the 20 week scan, the big one where you see if there are any abnormalities.  I remember reminding myself that the majority of babies are born healthy.
I remember breathing a sigh of relief that my baby looked perfect.
Why did no one warn me that stillbirth could be a possibility?

You don't think about it, not at 34 weeks.
She could have lived on her own, outside my womb, for the last 10 or so weeks.
I breathed another sigh of relief at that time.  We made it to the point that she could live in the world.  Sure with some help.  But she could have lived in the world.
You think you're safe.

Why did no one warn me that stillbirth could be a possibility?
Because the odds are 99.5% that you're NOT going to have a stillbirth?
Because no one expected that we were the fucked ones?

It's 2014.
I live in the United States.
I have good healthcare coverage.
Why did no one warn me that stillbirth could be a possibility?


4 comments:

  1. I think that, like probably so many others, I read these posts, feel your grief, and wish I could express my thoughts in a way deserving of the beauty of your posts. I can't. But I feel. I feel from your words. We haven't been close in many years, but you'll always be in my heart. Your writing has wisdom that has given me insight into my own experiences. You write with such raw honesty and insight into something so fresh and painful. I'm impressed with your strength through your grief, how you are doing your best to deal with it, and how open you are about your vulnerability. Every post I read, I want to comment, I want to say, not that I understand (because no one does) but that I'm here, holding your words and your grief in my heart. I'm reading what you're feeling and wishing I could hold your hand. I wanted to write so many other things, because so many bits of what you've said have enlightened how I think about my own past experiences, but that doesn't matter. What I want you to know, is that I can't possibly ever think of the right thing or any appropriate thing to say, but I really wish I could. I wish I could wrap you in hugs with my words.

    Much love.

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  2. i agree... i upset that somehow still births happen and that in 2014 something can't be done to stop them.....

    my friends say Ethan was born sleeping, i kinda like them saying that instead of stillborn

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  3. Astounding, isn't it? I did everything. We went to all the appointments, exercised, prayed (um....?). How on earth is this happening? I really, truly thought it only happened to other people. Looks like I am the other people THEY are referring to. Two educated, intelligent and successful people. Stillbirth happened to me too.

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