Note: I welcome any and all readers. I hope that, if you find yourself here, you find comfort in our story as I have found comfort in the stories of so many other moms and dads who have traveled this lonely road.

Friday 30 May 2014

Postpartum Depression

The happy face is cracking. I was in a delirious state for much of April, following a month of intense anxiety. I almost felt at peace with what happened and felt what I thought was happiness more than once. I could see a way forward. Even at the time, I was suspicious of these feelings, and now I see that I was doing what I do: processing things intellectually and not dealing with my real feelings. When possible, I was blocking the flash-backs and grief and focusing everything on trying to conceive. My therapist pointed out today that this was probably just a deeper form of the shock and denial I'd experienced in the early weeks. I remember wondering early on how you can tell the difference between grief and post-partum depression. Well, now I know you can.

Everything is REAL and close now and I can't seem to shake it off. It's not just grief or sadness, it's like a heavy blanket that clouds my mind and squeezes my heart. I'm exhausted and anxious, my thoughts are scattered, and doing anything more than what I have to do seems impossible. I've thought several times that it would be better if I just wasn't here anymore (though I haven't thought about harming myself with any real intention). I've tried to explain how I'm feeling, but I feel shut down by many friends and family, who often change the subject or try to console me or cheer me up. Though I know I shouldn't, this has caused me to isolate myself. I can't seem to care about anything other than Danny. Even our TTC journey isn't really holding my interest anymore. I found this post-partum depression check-list (click here) and so many of the items apply to me.

I feel like there are two of me; one is the outward me who can sometimes smile and carry on conversations, then there is the inward me, whose only thoughts are of Haven and the life I should be living. Unfortunately, inward me has become outward me in the last few weeks. I'm quiet, I cry, and I don't know how to smile for real anymore. I barely made it through our vacation intact, though I somehow managed to keep from crying in front of our friends. I don't know why I feel I need to appear strong when I'm anything but.

The whole month has really been a trial, and now I am suddenly stuck in the mire. It's like it snuck up on me, even though I can see all of the signs now. There were several big triggers, all right in a row (not counting many smaller triggers):

1) The week leading up to Mother's Day, which is when we were picking out a headstone.
2) Mother's Day.
3) Ordering the headstone.
4) Getting my period after our first cycle. Felt like betrayal.
5) Haven's 3 month mark.
6) My sister-in-law and brother-in-law's son was born. He should have been grandchild #2.
7) Vacation. Last year, we left for this same destination the day after I found out I was pregnant. The home we stayed in was full of ghosts.
8) Newborn photos all.over.facebook. ("This is what life's all about. Early morning rocks with my baby boy.")
9) My sister and brother-in-law decided that they would dedicate their baby on Father's Day and we're invited. I just...can't. I know there is no way they realize just how hard that would be for us, or why Father's Day is one of the worst days they could possibly have chosen, but I still feel stunned.
10) Some comments from people that showed me just how alone we are in this.
11) Hormones. Pregnancy hormones are a cake-walk compared to post-partum hormones. I basically feel awful all of the time. My body is a lumpy, chubby mess, and I hate it so much right now.
12) I am supposed to return to work in about two weeks and I do not feel ready. I am barely getting my house to a livable state, never mind working full-time! I don't know what to do. A friend commented that "maybe it'll be like you never left!" Riiiiight.

So here I am, a depressed and physically pained mother with no baby. I feel like it is all pointless, but I keep trudging on. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I still believe there will be life after this, but it's a struggle to put one foot in front of the other. How do you become a part of society again when you feel like a total alien? How do you grin and bear it? How do you start to care about life again when your whole future was derailed? Do I even want to keep going? What guarantee is there that things will ever be better?

Right foot forward, left foot forward...and repeat.

Sunday 11 May 2014

Mother's Day

I have been dreading this day since the day Haven came into the world, silent. I had anticipated this day almost as much as the day I would give birth, because I would be able to celebrate all of the joy she had brought me in those amazing nine months. I bought a special "I love my mommy!" onesie that I would have dressed her in, and I would have brought her to church to be ooh'd and ahh'd over. I would be able to stand with the other moms, and the kids in the church would have gone around, bringing flowers to all of the moms.

Not to be.

I decided right away that I would not be visiting church today, because I couldn't bear the thought of standing...or not standing. I couldn't decide if getting a flower or not getting a flower would be worse. I knew I would weep buckets, no matter what, and crying in front of people is something that makes me uncomfortable. At first, my husband didn't understand, but he supported my decision to stay home (he'll be coming home from work early to cook me supper and snuggle in front of some cheesy movie of my choice). He also posted an incredibly sweet message to me on facebook. I couldn't ask for a better man to be my partner on this unexpected path.

A good friend sent me this article (click here) yesterday, and it put into words some of the feelings I've been feeling, as well as some of the thoughts I've had about other moms and women in my life. I know so many women in these various situations, so I chose to represent them in my facebook status today:
Sometimes things happen in our lives that make us see things we never saw before. So...

Today I am thinking of my friends whose mothers are sick, and those whose mothers are no longer here. I'm thinking of those whose relationship with their mother or child is not a happy one. I'm thinking of the adoptive and foster moms, and of the moms who made the loving choice to give up their child for adoption. I'm thinking of the many moms I have met who are like me, having lost their child (some of whom are bravely walking the pregnancy road again). I'm thinking of the women who are battling infertility and longing to start a family. I'm thinking of the new moms, and the moms to be. And I'm thinking of my mom, who always worked hard to give us the best life possible.

Mother's Day means a lot of different things to different people. Today is bittersweet, because I ache to hold my beautiful daughter. She brought us a surplus of joy in the short time she was here, and we will always have that. I long for the day when I will hold her again, and I look forward to someday building a family with my wonderful, kind husband.
I know that, if you are reading this, you have probably lost a child. Please know that I am thinking of you today. Please know that you will always be a mom, even if your child is not here with you. Be kind to yourself today, and every day.

Crocuses always make me think of hope, pushing up from the cold, dead ground.
This one gave me a moment of faith in the idea that someday
we will have "take home" babies of our own.


Friday 9 May 2014

Invisible Parents, the Sequel

There is a parental child benefit that all parents in Newfoundland receive upon the birth of their child. It also applies to parents whose child was stillborn. To be honest, I wasn't sure at first that I wanted it. I felt a little sleazy collecting money when my daughter had died and I didn't have any child-related costs. But I realized quickly that funerals and headstones and all of those things cost money, and they are not covered in any way when your child is stillborn (my insurance booklet very "tactfully" says that my coverage for a dependent's life insurance is only for children "from live birth"). So every expense has been out of pocket. (It turned out that, thanks to the generosity of our friends, family, and coworkers, we were able to cover all expenses without going into debt.)

Filling out the application was emotional for me. You have to tick a box saying that your child was stillborn, and the form asks for the child's name, but it is "not required if you are applying as a result of a stillbirth." I felt like the form was screaming, "YOUR BABY IS DEAD AND SHE DOESN'T MATTER AS MUCH AS OTHER BABIES!" For the rest of our lives, we will have to fight for the legitimacy of our parenthood to our daughter. The fact is that many won't view her as a person and will not think our grief and acknowledgement of her as our daughter is justified. So...I filled her name out anyway. Small victories.

We completed the application and mailed it in with all relevant information and additional forms, only to receive a letter in the mail saying that our application could not be processed because we needed to include a stillbirth registration letter. What? No one told us that we needed one or how to get it, and the application form did not mention it. Stillborn babies don't get birth or death certificates. All I had was a letter from the funeral home confirming that they held a service for Haven. So I had to call that office back to find out what they needed and how to get it, then I had to call Vital Statistics in order to request it.

When I asked why I hadn't been told anything about it, the lady said, "well, I think because it's a hard thing to talk about with parents." I said, "well, it's a whole lot easier than putting parents through this process!" Having to rehash our story with strangers over the phone is one of the most stressful and painful things that I have had to do, and it's something I have had to do more often than you might think. Honestly, I don't give two craps how uncomfortable our situation is for someone else to deal with. They aren't the ones who lost their only child, so they can, quite frankly, suck it up.

This pissed me off, but I restrained myself. After all, it wasn't that lady's fault that the system is broken.

At least there is a happy ending to this story. Or there will be. A local blogger who lost her daughter in a similar way to us (Being Everlee's Mom) contacted the government about this issue and they are now working on a way to streamline the process to spare parents from having to jump through hoops in order to have their children recognized. I know that a lot of families will benefit from such a change. I guess it's just one change at a time, one courageous parent's voice at a time, that will make stillbirth and parents of stillborn babies visible.


Wednesday 7 May 2014

Invisible Parents

I am still surprised every time something happens to remind me of just how invisible we are as parents of a stillborn baby. I found out recently that a Public Health Nurse is supposed to visit all new moms at least two or three times, not only to make sure the baby is thriving and feeding, etc., but to make sure the mom is coping alright with all of the post-birth hormones, and specifically to make sure she is not slipping into postpartum depression. But for me, and for so many other moms like me, there was no phone call. No visit.

I thought at first that I must have missed the call or there was some mistake, but when I mentioned it to my therapist, she confirmed that it is not standard practice to check up on bereaved moms. She thought maybe it was because the hospital recommends therapy to the parents, or they might assume that a parent wanting support will contact someone for support. The problem is, when you are the parent of a stillborn baby, it is agonizing to make calls for any reason that requires you to talk about your loss. Believe me, after four calls to EI, I never wanted to use the phone again.

I think it is a poor excuse to say that no one really knows how to handle this kind of loss. Doesn't the medical community owe it to bereaved mothers to give them the same support that everyone else gets? Particularly because mothers of stillborn babies are at a much higher risk for postpartum depression, PTSD, anxiety, etc.

Dr. Ruta Nonacs, discussing miscarriage in her book A Deeper Shade of Blue, says "Experiencing a stillbirth or neonatal death probably puts you at an even higher risk for depression; one study indicated that a mother's risk for depression after stillbirth is about seven times higher than a woman who has a live birth." And another study (click here) confirms that link.

So why are we ignored?

My husband and I have a large network of friends and family who have supported us through this tragedy, but so many other couples don't have that. Even I, with all of the support and understanding that I have been gifted with, feel let down.

I hope that parents like us continue to speak out about their experiences and let the medical community know that we should not be ignored. We are still moms and dads, and we still need support. That is why I plan to contact Eastern Health about our experience. I will update here about any responses I receive.


Monday 5 May 2014

The Real World Approaches

In Canada, you would normally receive a full, paid year off from work (up to 55% of your normal earnings) if your baby is born alive and well. You still receive the pregnancy/maternity leave portion of your Employment Insurance when you deliver a stillborn child due to the physical recovery and time for grieving. That means 15 paid weeks, and two unpaid weeks. Your employer must give you your job back, or an equivalent job with equivalent compensation. Well, I am about a month away from the end of my pregnancy leave, and I am starting to think about reintegration into The Real World. I have been in a safe bubble of sorts; I've been able to choose the people I want to be around, I have been able to focus on physical recovery and grieving, and I have been able to start each day at my own pace. That will change soon, and I am afraid.

I am afraid of strangers' reactions, since I have such a public job. The more I read forum posts and pieces of people's stories, the more I realize that there are a LOT of people out there who don't understand stillbirth and don't ascribe personhood to stillborn babies. Therefore, they don't think a parent is justified in mourning as though their baby breathed on the outside, or in talking about them the same way as they would any other child they bore. It's ridiculous, frankly. There are babies born much earlier than the point where Haven died, and if they were to spend even a few hours breathing on the outside, even with assistance, a lot of people would think of those babies more as people than they would my daughter, because she never breathed on the outside. I am afraid of meeting these people because I am afraid I'll either lose my mind and yell and them, or that I will be dumbstruck, and they will take my silence as agreement or some sort of proof that they are right.

I am afraid that I won't be able to keep up with things anymore. My job requires me to be "on" all the time, and to remember things. To keep things running smoothly. An administration job is not the kind where you can just shut off your mind. I was always sharp, remembered the little things, did things without being asked or reminded. And now, here I am. I still have "mommy brain" from all the hormones (I've heard this might never go away), my grief is horribly distracting, my focus on trying to conceive (TTC) is distracting, my thoughts about how my husband is doing are distracting...there really isn't a lot of room left for sharp thinking. I hope that I am able to flip a switch and just turn the focus onto my job once I'm back, but I'm nervous.

I am afraid that, if I can't conceive before I get back to work, the exhaustion of full-time work will make it more difficult. I'm afraid that if I can't time conception right, I'll end up having to work next year during the most busy and stressful time at work (April and May) and put my baby at risk. I'm already afraid that if I DO conceive this cycle or next, that even those few months at work will be dangerous for my baby due to my stress and anxiety. Basically, I'm afraid of stress.

I am afraid that going back to work will make all of this seem more real somehow. Like it never happened. I should have been returning in February of 2015 after an exhausting and joyful year of nursing my daughter and watching her grow. Now I am returning early, empty-handed and exposed.

I am afraid that people will think that going back to work means I'm okay.

Sigh. I'm just afraid.