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01 Feb 05:55am

Filed under: Health, Lifestyle, Miscarriage, Pregnancy, Women

It would have seemed like an innocent enough question.

Loss of a child in pregnancy is a daily occurrence but rarely spoken about. Picture: File

Standing at the supermarket checkout, struggling slightly with a bulging belly as I hoisted heavy bags into the trolley, with no children in tow: ‘Will this be your first baby?’

The answer should be simple. If a one word response will suffice, I’ll have no problem. No, this is not my first baby, my first pregnancy. It is my seventh.

I have a split second to prepare my reply, in the knowledge that an entirely honest answer will undoubtedly lead to surprise and further probing.

‘You have six children already?!’ Followed by an opinion - trust me, when you’re pregnant everyone has an opinion.

So, I have to decide; do I juggle my groceries while explaining that out of six previous pregnancies I only have two children?’

Do I add that while two of the pregnancies ended early in miscarriage, another two progressed past three months before I knew my babies had died? Or that each of the babies was desperately wanted, anticipated and loved for every minute that the pregnancy lasted?

It just doesn’t seem fair – to reignite and expose my grief or to upset the well-meaning checkout assistant.

So, as usual, I choose a half-truth. I deny those babies that only live in my heart and I refer to the two beautiful girls that I am so fortunate to have filling my life with joy.

Inevitably, the conversation moves on to ages, gaps between siblings. Another sensitive area for me.

I hear myself agreeing that the three years between my first two children was a ‘good’ gap’. I don’t mention that it might have been 18 months or two years without one or other of the later miscarriages.

It’s all over quickly enough and is a performance I am well rehearsed in, but it still grates.

I can only imagine the strength required to negotiate such inquiries when pregnant following a stillbirth.

Every day in Australia about six babies will be born, but never take a breath, utter a cry, lock eyes with their parents. Often they die inexplicably at the end of an otherwise problem-free pregnancy.

I can only imagine that pain.

But having spent 18 months talking to many couples who have experienced it, I know that the inability to acknowledge those babies, to mention them, to use their names, often adds to the heartbreak.

They are invisible losses. No one wants to hear about your dead baby. Most people do not know what to say.

The world goes on and people expect you to ‘get over it’. You don’t. You learn strategies for living with your new reality – like lying at supermarket checkouts.

I hear myself agreeing, again, that this pregnancy is ‘exciting’ (a word which would never be my choice) and shove the trolley towards the door.

Next stop a maternity wear shop and another minefield. Obviously, in this environment I am a sitting duck for more fast-fire questions about the impending birth.

With relief, I make it to the changing cubical without having to side step any pregnancy commentary.

I even manage to get an opinion on a dress without having to negotiate a single tricky question.

But once more it is as I am paying that the exchange enters more difficult terrain.

‘Is the dress for a special occasion?’

A perfectly reasonable inquiry.

But again, how to answer?

I think the shop assistant is pregnant, not in my unavoidable obvious state, but I have my suspicions nonetheless.

Here is the honest answer: ‘Yes, the dress is for a party. A party to celebrate the publication of a book I have written. What is it about? Pregnancy. Pregnancy loss. Miscarriage and stillbirth. Why it happens, how it happens, how people survive, how others react, about breaking down the taboos around talking about dead babies.’

As I consider a less than honest or detailed reply, the irony is so clear I can almost feel it hanging in the cool shop air.

Still chastising myself slightly over my supermarket denial, I come clean.

It is obvious immediately, something in the eyes, in the expression – this woman understands. I know before she tells me that she has been there, has experienced loss. We don’t need to go into too many details, but we have an understanding.

Given the statistics – one in four women – it is not unlikely that the checkout assistant at the supermarket had been touched by pregnancy loss too.
I’ll never know.

But my conscience is eased slightly by my courage in the maternity shop. I have made a small step in acknowledging all my babies, in starting a conversation about the fact that not all pregnancies have happy endings and offering the comfort that comes from feeling less alone.

My sincere hope is that the book will do the same and much more.

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24 comments

Show oldest | newest first

- Liz says:
  
  07:45am | 01/02/10
  
  Best wishes with it and congratulations on finding the courage to write the book.Like most loss in our lives it will ease with time.The women who understand will find you.
  
  Reply
- Isabel says:
  
  08:34am | 01/02/10
  
  Whoops. Tears. While time may ease most loss but after nearly 30 years I still tear up on reading articles such as this. Cannot deny the existence of the one killed all those years ago even while aware that such acknowledgement may cast a pall over the conversation. Within a list of thoughts celebrating life is the comment “What other people think of you, is none of your business.” So, I can only recommend that you answer honestly from your own experience and let others worry about their reaction to it. Writing your book is as honest as you can get and helpful to others - even when we weep. Okay, it eases from sobbing to weeping, from weeping to tearing up, but if ever there is no reaction I hope that’s the day I am in my coffin. According to the doctor, prior to switching off the machine, the definition of Life is the capacity to feel pain. How anyone copes with multiples losses is beyond me and I can only admire their strength in carrying on.
  
  Reply
- Virgo says:
  
  08:44am | 01/02/10
  
  All the best of luck to you my dear, I had only one child, not through lack of trying, I had a number of miscarriages. I value my boy, immensly but you will be happy to know hes not smothered. He’s grown up now and married but he has no children, and I doubt he ever will even though hes happily married. Time is a great healer but sometimes late at night, when I can’t sleep I wonder how differently my life would have been if these treasured babies had survived.
  
  Reply
- JH says:
  
  10:01am | 01/02/10
  
  Why do you feel the need to respond to a such a personal question from a stranger anyway? Anyway, what they are ‘really’ asking is how many children you already have, but I think you already know that. So, just answer ‘2’ an avoid the agnst of feeling you have to share more personal aspects.
  
  Reply
mogs says:

11:40am | 01/02/10

I think the thing is that whether you answer the strangers question or not, its a reminder to yourself of your losses. I’m sure that Zoe probably does choose the say ‘2’ more often than not, but the unspoken angst it raises for her remains. It’s by no means a casual topic to bring up, but I can definitely see how her book will help others know they aren’t alone with their thoughts.
- Anon says:
  
  11:33am | 01/02/10
  
  Perfect example of how one persons decision to complicate every question manages to make ever the simplest attempt at small talk a minefield.
  
  Instead of assuming that small talk is intended to illicit an in depth response, accept it for what it is. Small talk. If some one asks “How are you?” you don’t slip off into a rant about your stress about your suspicion that your partner hay be getting it else where, that strange rash on your genitals that you think you got from one of the 6 partners in the past 3 days. Time to put aside the narcissism and answer the question in the manner it was intended. If you can’t work out what they intended by the question assume they wanted as little info as possible and fill it out if they ask - a simple rule - if it is an area covered by your swimwear or is most readily accessed by an area covered by your swimmers, it stays private. Haemorrhoids, diarrhoea, period pain, genital warts, breast surgery (I was going to add prostate to the list, but I somehow doubt You’ll have prostate trouble) - the less information the better.
  
  I manage to get through each and every day without responding to “How are you?” with “I feel like rubbish, like no one would care if I were hit by a bus on the way home or hanged myself from that bare rafter in the garage while the car was running. Oh by the way I’ve tried to kill myself before. Once when I was a teenager. Bullying, you see. And again in my 20’s….. ah, I’ll be right.”
  
  “First pregnancy?”
  “Nah, I’ve been through this all before” Followed by a kind smile and getting on with your day.
  
  If it was an IVF baby with the last egg after 10 attempts would you expect that detail to be shared to the service assistant? Of course not. What about whether this would be a child born out of wedlock or whether you knew who the father was or whether the father was sticking around… None of these things were asked, nor were they answered.
  
  Why did you face a dilemma of one unasked question while you ignored so many others?
  
  The reality the average service assistant really doesn’t give a damn if the 23rd pregnant lady she has served in the past 6 hours is having her first or her 31st. She (I assume a she because a male is almost certainly not going to ask a woman about her pregnancy) is trying to introduce some small talk because it’s polite, it makes her day faster and it’s what she is told to do by her manager - so you can feel that your grocery shopping is a personalised experience rather than a minuscule $50 transaction in a multi-billion dollar business.
  
  “Special occasion?”
  “Yeah, a party tonight” all that is required. Again the shop assistant doesn’t really care - they have their own friends their own life and enough of their own problems than to care about your personal dinner plans.
  
  Assume the following - that they care about your day as much as you care about the details of their day. After all, you suspected that the person was pregnant but decided to bring up something that may make them fear for their own pregnancy without concern for their emotional well being, but simply to soothe your own desire to tell stories about your own life and experience.
  
  If you want to do that, keep it to your own friends and family or, as you have write a book. That way those that care can take and interest and you don’t shove it in the face of those that are apathetic. Again, try to avoid the assumption that the average Joe/Jane actually cares - if they care they’ll ask for details or read the book.
  
  That aside, good luck with your book launch and your pregnancy. Your previous experience is sad news indeed. I hope you will soon be increasing your household by one. I agree that this is a discussion that is worth having and information that should be available to all expectant mothers as well as those that are intending to get pregnant - even if it not one to share with a stranger at the checkout. I hope your book can help those that wish to participate in the discussion.
  
  Reply
Isabel says:

12:58pm | 01/02/10

Anon: “I manage to get through each and every day without responding to “How are you?” with “I feel like rubbish, like no one would care if I were hit by a bus on the way home or hanged myself from that bare rafter in the garage while the car was running. Oh by the way I’ve tried to kill myself before. Once when I was a teenager. Bullying, you see. And again in my 20’s….. ah, I’ll be right.””

Anon : May surprise you, but people DO care. OK, it doesn’t have to be a daily recital, but if/when you next feel suicidal tell someone you feel like shit and topping yourself. You will be surprised by how many people are wearing that T shirt. You are not alone, but you will never know that if you are not prepared to share.
The apathetic won’t care if it is in their face or not. The important thing in my opinion is to maintain one’s own integrity and if that means answering questions (other than the trite “How are you?”) honestly so be it. The only person one has to live with is oneself and, to quote the title of a song heard long ago “A Stranger’s Just a Friend You Do Not Know.”
ej says:

04:51pm | 01/02/10

Well said, Anon! You’re exactly right.
Zoe Taylor says:

08:00pm | 01/02/10

Anon: Thanks for your comments and best wishes.
I do recognise small talk and, as in this case, usually keep any angst to myself. These are not situations that I dwell too much, although they are of course more pertinent during a subsequent pregnancy.
But it did occur to me that it was an example of how the shadow of pregnancy loss lingers and, as such, I thought it was an interesting anecdote on which to base the post. And it does seemed to have resonated with other survivors of pregnancy loss.
Decisions about how much to say to pregnant women are immensely difficult. But I will point out that time and time again people have commented to me that they wished someone had mentioned to them that not all pregnancies end happily - as it would have eased the shock and loneliness when it happened to them. But I’ll say again, this is such a sensitive topic and it is is very difficult to strike the right balance.
One final note, you wold be surprised how a few words of genuine kindness from stranger who has some understanding of where you are coming from can be of huge comfort.
- JM says:
  
  11:44am | 01/02/10
  
  Dearest Zoe, Thank you. My first pregnancy ended tragically with a still born baby at 20 weeks. There was an induced labour and I gave birth to never hear my little girl cry. I struggled to cope with the numerous questions and queries during my next pregnancy and JH you are wrong…what Zoe experienced, I experienced and it was tough. and this is not about “ansgt” at sharing, this is about the pain that you carry with you forever, usually silently. Over time it does not go away, you jsut become better at carrying it.
  I was asked all too often if it was my first pregnancy, was this my first child and it wasn’t - sometimes I answered honestly, I told them it wasn’t but that my first died - and then sometimes I would just say yes, it was my first and then came the barrage of comments, telling me I would not know what hit me when the labour pains came and so forth. But you know, I would know, I had given birth, I’d been in labour…..it was so hard. And to deny the existence of my precious little girl, I made a mental apology to her every time and cried when I got home. I never ask such questions. I know it can cause pain. Thank you for your article and for writing your book. It is very brave. I felt so much pain and often felt so alone.
  
  Reply
- Ky's Mum says:
  
  01:02pm | 01/02/10
  
  Dear Zoe,
  I so appreciate your comments ....“about breaking down the taboos around talking about dead babies.” This is one of the last great taboos in our society. We are now arguably free to talk about sex, religion and politics but mention the death of a baby and you can hear the crickets chirping.
  This was one of the most isolating factors of losing my son Ky. Ky was stillborn at 38 weeks. He was my 3rd baby, I was 35. I still struggle when people ask how many babies I have had and often say five to honour Ky’s memory, but when I have had a long day I just stick to four as I want to spare the other party the discomfort. I once had a lady run out of the room when she asked where my baby was as she knew I was due, she just could not cope with the news that Ky had not made it and did not know what to say. This book will help so many people who are suffering alone, Mums, Dads, brothers, sisters and grandparents. Thank you for talking about this in your book and in this forum.
  
  Reply
- Razor says:
  
  01:32pm | 01/02/10
  
  Dear Zoe,
  
  Did you address the issue from the perspective of the father at all?
  
  When my wife had her miscarriages I found that the she got plenty of appropriate support from others but I got very little, depsite feeling all the feelings of grief and loss.
  
  It just reinforced my personal opinion that weddings and pregnancies are all about the female - blokes just have to turn up at the right place at the right time fairly sober and dressed appropriately and everyone is happy.
  
  Reply
Eric says:

01:48pm | 01/02/10

Razor,

Men are either unimportant, or The Enemy. That’s just the way our matriarchal society works.
AFR says:

01:54pm | 01/02/10

Razor, you’re not really Eric are you?

But seriously, miscarriages are hard on fathers (been there myself), but sorry, there’s no way you can compare your pain to what your partner did, for a number of reasons. And why didn’t you get “support”? When we had our miscarriage, we were both offerred counselling, and our respective friends were very supportive.
Jack Thomas says:

03:36pm | 01/02/10

Good effort Zoe.

On the money AFR, I was crying in the carpark myself upon hearing of ‘our’ loss while at work. No support offered for me as dad, was not even in the state of mind to look for it.

Could never find the right time to raise it with other blokes, not the best conversation starter. I make a point of putting the hand on the shoulder to mates I find out have been through the same thing. Was surprised to find so many others who have been through it too.

My pain was sharp as hell, but not a pinch on the mother’s I reckon. Blaming others or self pity is for the weak, in my view, a real man sucks it up and supports his wife. Be competitve on the court, field or track, not in the “who’s got the bigger pain” stakes. Handle it badly and you might as well seperate now, because you can be sure that if she remembers the miscarriage she’ll remember how you ‘treated’ her.

Munchkin No.2 clears all that away, I haven’t given it a thought until I read this. I like the glass half full, so think that someone asking about a pregnancy etc at least suggests they are half interested. No need to make them feel like sh1t because they asked a question and showed some interest in you.

A little known stat manipulated by those evil anti-abortionist scum is the fact that a miscarriage procedure (Curette) is listed as an abortion. That’s as wrong as their ‘cause’. Hope you’re not one of them Eric?
Zoe Taylor says:

08:08pm | 01/02/10

Razor, the book does deal with how men cope, although I found it much more difficult to find men who were willing to contribute by talking abut their feelings.
What I learned was that some men do feel overlooked and some feel their grief is not as legitimate as their partners and many feel they have no choice but to be the ‘strong’ one, particularly in the immediate aftermath. As a result, often their grieving is done in private and not shared with anyone (like crying while alone in the car).
Interestingly, a common comment from women was that they wished their partner could break down and cry in front of them. And the advice from many survivors was that it was important to recognise that everyone grieves in different ways.
Monique says:

09:08pm | 13/02/10

Interesting. As a woman, I felt unable to talk about the loss of our boy twin, at 16 weeks, with my husband. I always felt that even though my husband grieved, he just wanted to put it all behind us and focus on our surviving girl twin as well as our 19 month old toddler. Made the remainder of the pregnancy very hard as I had to carry both babies to term. with, what felt like, very little support, as my husband was trying to be “strong”.
- Razor says:
  
  02:31pm | 01/02/10
  
  AFR - no I am not Eric.
  
  Where did I say my pain was equal or more than my wife’s?
  
  Reply
Liz says:

04:18pm | 03/02/10

Men suffer undoubtedly and glad it is being addressed but why bring competition into it?Very sad as if there isn’t enough pain and suffering around in this situation.Hope that those of you still with emotional pain will seek professioanl help and not try to go it alone.If you find the right Counsellor it will help you deal with it..loss and grief are not to be shoved under the carpet and attempts made to forget.You can’t and good that we call now bring this subject into the open.Often this is due to the suffering it causes other and their inability to deal with us or know what to say that is appropriate or helpful.If at all possible non-commital answers are best, if you have to practise a few and get them ready so you’re prepared.Good wishes all who suffer from this sad life event whether you are male or female.Men at least haven’t got the physical effects and changes to cope with directly.
- R says:
  
  04:22pm | 01/02/10
  
  Thank you Zoe for publishing a book about this and for writing an article which has been published in a forum which I read daily and thank you to the punch for publishing this article.
  I myself had a miscarriage on mothers day 2 and a half years ago, and in the days, weeks and months that followed my mind kept questioning what was so wrong with me that my body rejected my child. Even though doctors presented me with statistics about how many miscarriages happen in Australia each year, I still felt quite alone with my pain. At that point in my life I didn’t know anybody who had had a miscarriage, let alone somebody who had gone through what I was going through with whom I felt comfortable enough to turn to for support or advice.
  My partner at the time was also in need of support, but even though we were both going through stages of loss and grief, we were individually not strong enough to support the other through this and were both unsure of where else to turn for support. Ultimately our loss resulted in the breakdown of our relationship.
  I think this is a topic which needs to be spoken about more often to help prevent or ease the thoughts of loneliness and pain that women (and men) suffer after losing an unborn and wanted child.
  
  Reply
- The nomad says:
  
  08:11pm | 01/02/10
  
  Yup its sh*t!
  
  Im childless myself but bough flowers for a close mate and his wife just before their newborn died, went into the florist and asked for flowers for a newborn. Got the expected happiness and questions from the florist, which I was in no mood for and replied that the baby was probably going to die and did she have any advice as to what I should put in the card?
  
  It wasn’t a nice thing to do but it made me feel a little better about the whole sorry situation.
  
  Reply
- DocBud says:
  
  01:23am | 02/02/10
  
  When I was young I watched a programme about still birth in the UK which showed how the system was unsympathetic to the grief of the parents, whisking the baby away and burying it in an unmarked grave. I was profoundly moved (i.e. I cried buckets).
  
  When we were faced with the certain knowledge that our third child would not survive birth, remembering that programme, I took control. We had a priest outside the theatre who baptised Mark as soon as he was born. He had a full funeral, was cremated and given a memorial plaque. What amazed us was the number of firends who finally were able to deal with their own similar losses because of the openness with which we dealt with it whereas up until then it had been a taboo subject.
  
  Time does not heal, I do not think of Mark everyday now but when I do it still hurts like crazy and I’d have loved to have known my son in his 23rd year. If he’d have been anything like his four siblings he’d have been a great lad.
  
  The bizarre thing is that had Mark not died, we would not have had our fourth child when we did, so she would not have been the particularly wonderful young lady she is and she would not have given us the particularly beautiful first grandchild that she has. So painful as the memory of Mark is, one actually would not want to change things because two special people would not exist if one did (but still I have tears rolling down my cheeks).
  
  I do not think these things are about mothers and fathers, they are about couples. For both of us (and for his two young older brothers), Mark had already become a part of the family in promise of what he might become and his loss hit us both very hard.
  
  Reply
- Michelle says:
  
  06:18am | 02/02/10
  
  After my fourth miscarriage (4months along) I decided to let people know and be honest when they asked - my mum was very unsupportive, told me I shouldn’t talk about such embarrasing things, people told me that I was lying, musn’t have wanted it enough, or that I must have been having drugs or living an unhealthy lifestyle. My husband and I are desparately wanting kids but I can’t seem to carry. I dont know why this should be a taboo - I’m sure there are many couples/women that have been in my situation and i’m sure there are many who want the outlet to talk about it.
  Why should we be made to suffer in silence, denial and be expected to just move on? Its a great loss, even when you are only early on in a pregnancy to find out you’re pregnant, immediately feel the love for this new miracle inside you, only to have it taken away again.
  I have found a few women like me, who have had miscarriages, and have found it a comfort to have someone who can relate, sympathise and empathise. Its something that needs to be talked about.
  
  Reply
- Joni says:
  
  10:27am | 02/02/10
  
  I have lost 8 babies to late first trimester miscarriage and suffered many years of TTC . People can be so cruel about it with the most terrible, judgemental comments. Almost as if you are some how to blame.
  
  In the end I was diagnosed with Hashimotos, a thyroid condition and when it was treated I managed to have a lovely healthy boy. The hard part is the big gap of almost 8 years between him and the next sibling,some people even ask if he is a “mistake.”
  
  Why is m/c so embarrassing? It does need to be talked about more so people can deal with this last taboo subject.
  
  Reply