HOPE BLOOMS
sharing your stories and remembering your children
By: Emily Carrington EPLA Founder
In honor of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day on Oct. 15, we reflect on why we take time to remember our miscarried children: They lived Even if it was only for days or weeks, children lost in early pregnancy lived. From the time of conception there is a new little life inside the mother. This life is worthy of remembering. They died Miscarriage can be a strange and invisible death. It is hard to understand losing someone you never met. But whether the child was an embryo or a fetus, the loss of life is death. They are our children We created them, we sustained them, we are bound to them as parents. Many parents start to plan and dream for their kids as soon as they find out they are pregnant. Others might take a while to get used to the idea of being parents. Regardless, the family bond is real and cannot be taken away. They are loved A mother’s love needs no explanation. She holds her children in her heart, even when she can’t hold them in her arms. They are missed We don’t remember our children for only one month or one day of the year. We miss them throughout the year when we are reminded of their absence. Remembering our babies fosters healing, community, dignity, and peace In my own experience, taking time to remember miscarried children has allowed for so many benefits. By stopping to reflect on the lives of each of my children I have experienced healing and comfort and I have learned to live with my grief. Remembering my children has also fostered community. I have had the opportunity to come together with other women and families who have walked through loss. Remembering my children also gives their lives dignity, a dignity they surely deserve. And finally, I have found peace as I move forward in life. One of my biggest fears early after my losses is that my children would be forgotten. But as I take time each year to remember my little ones I see that I need not fear, I carry them with me always. Emily Carrington is a freelance writer, wife, mother, and founder of the EPLA.
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By Maria Servold EPLA Editor At the Early Pregnancy Loss Association, we have been glad to see an recent increase in public figures and celebrities sharing their miscarriage stories. Just a few years ago, it was rare for miscarriage to appear in the news, let alone to have someone like Meghan McCain write about her experience in the New York Times. We are glad to see that the conversation around miscarriage is becoming more open, as we think sharing stories about loss is important to help women and families heal. This week, TV star James Van Der Beek shared that he and his wife are expecting their sixth child after suffering several miscarriages. Not only is it encouraging that he discussed the losses his family has suffered, an Instagram post he made highlights other important aspects of handling miscarriage. First of all, it’s encouraging to see a couple who has only been married since 2010 so open to welcoming new life - they already have five children aged 9 and under. Many Hollywood couples don’t stay married for more than a few years, and many don’t have children, let alone six! The Van Der Beeks are setting a great example of welcoming children into the world, even if it means lots of them, and even if it means suffering losses along with live births. In an article about the couple’s pregnancy announcement, Van Der Beek is quoted as saying he and his wife were open in telling their children about the miscarriages they suffered. When he announced the pregnancy on “Dancing with the Stars” recently, he said his children could see that their parents were upset, so they were honest about what happened to the babies they lost to miscarriage. On this blog, we have highlighted the importance of letting children know if they have other siblings who aren’t with them on earth. In his Instagram post about their current pregnancy, Van Der Beek said they wanted to share their story... “in an effort to chip away at any senseless stigma around this experience and to encourage people who might be going through it to open themselves up to love and support from friends and family when they need it most.” October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month, so stories like this from public figures are helpful in expanding the conversation about miscarriage. If you want to share your own story, email us at miscarriagecare@gmail.com Maria Servold is an Editor at the EPLA, Assistant Director of the Herbert H. Dow II Program in American Journalism, and Lecturer in Journalism at Hillsdale College.
By: Emily Carrington EPLA Founder I have lost three babies in early pregnancy, and I have had one healthy pregnancy. When I was pregnant with my daughter the first trimester was plagued by when. My thoughts were consumed with things like: when I miscarry, when this baby dies, when they can’t find the heartbeat… Loss had been my only experience, and I could not believe this pregnancy would end any other way. Fast forward three years and I have a healthy two year old, and I am pregnant again. This time I am not so bleak, but I am still haunted by my reality. I can now imagine a full term baby and a pregnancy ending in a successful birth because I now believe that pregnancy can end well. But everything is haunted with an *IF. When I was pregnant with my daughter I couldn’t even imagine these things. I couldn’t think about holding her or bringing her home. It all felt impossible. Now that part is better. I can imagine this baby, but every dream comes with an asterisk. Maybe we will announce the gender at Christmas.* *IF I am still pregnant. I need to get some maternity clothes from my sister.* *IF we make it out of the first trimester. I can’t wait to enjoy spring with my newborn* and three-year-old daughter. *IF this baby comes. The baby can sleep with us, then in the playroom, and then the kids will share a room. *IF we have a baby. I was surprised by the *IF. I thought I would either sink into my previous fatalist mood of all doom or I would be completely okay. I was not expecting this middle ground, oscillating between my previous realities: the baby will die and the baby will live. But here we are and I am trying to give myself space to feel all of my feelings, the happy, the sad, the scared, and the unsure. Emily Carrington is a freelance writer, wife, mother, and founder of the EPLA.
By: Nick Carrington EPLA Editor I kept the door shut. I felt like an impostor and the less I interacted with others, the less likely they would find out. Sometimes, I would keep the lights off; if I slouched behind my computer, maybe no one else would know I was there. Teaching college kids humbled me, and my anxiety didn’t go away even after a few months of doing it full time. Knock Knock Knock I couldn’t hide for long. My mentor was at the door, checking in on her first-year colleague. I couldn’t let her know. What if she thinks she made a mistake in hiring me? I was young, scared, and alone. “How’s it going,” she asked. Convicted, I couldn’t outright lie.“Not bad…but I feel like every day is a struggle, like I’m learning along with my students.” My mentor, who had taught for more than 30 years, smiled and said something that acted like a balm to my troubled heart: “I know exactly how you feel. My first year of teaching, I stayed one day ahead of my students. They never knew.” We laughed over stories of jotting down notes moments before class started and struggling to answer questions with confidence, even though we knew the answers. She had experienced my fears and come out on the other side. I wasn’t alone; in fact, I wasn’t even that unique. Sharing our stories can be cathartic for us, but it also comforts others who have fresh wounds or have inadvertently opened old ones. Sometimes, we feel alone and too scared to tell anyone about it. In reality, other people have probably been through something similar. But hearing their stories helps us deal with our own emotions, whether feelings of grief, fear, anxiety, or pain. On October 15 of last year, we launched Hope Blooms, our digital publication meant to share your stories and remember your children. In almost a year, we have cried, grieved, and rejoiced together. One thing we know for sure through this process: if you have struggled with miscarriage and all the emotions that come with it, you are not alone. You need to know that all the guilt, emotional turmoil, pain, anger, confusion, and grief you feel are not unique to you, and you need not shoulder that load by yourself. It’s likely your family, friends, and co-workers have experienced something similar and are willing to help. Sharing our stories can be cathartic for us, but it also comforts others who have fresh wounds or have inadvertently opened old ones. Your stories have taught us a lot about miscarriage and grief, and our community of care continues to grow. In year two of Hope Blooms, we want to hear more of your stories. We know that not everyone is a writer. That’s OK; our editorial board will help you express yourself in a way that accurately reflects your experience. Your story matters, not just to you and your family, but to others who have wrestled with miscarriage grief. If you have miscarried or are a loved one of someone who has, we encourage you to write your story. We want to hear it and would love to share it with our community. If nothing else, let us remember your beautiful children who may be gone but will not be forgotten. Send your stories to miscarriagecare@gmail.com or send us a message on Facebook. Nick Carrington is an Editor for the EPLA and Assistant Professor of Professional Writing at Cedarville University. By: Stephanie Gordon EPLA Editor Hello! I’m Stephanie Gordon, and I am a new blog editor for the Early Pregnancy Loss Association! I am a resident of Hillsdale, Michigan. I am married to my husband, Matt, who’s a chiropractor. Together we have two young girls, Eloise (5), and Flora (3). I am also one in four. I experienced miscarriage in 2012, and it shook me to my core. After experiencing miscarriage, I continuously told those around me that I needed to be a voice and to get involved. No one was talking about miscarriage, even in 2012. Not long after my miscarriage, the EPLA was developing, and I reached out to Emily during the early years of the organization and exclaimed my interest of getting involved. I wanted to be there, even in some small way, for other women. I helped design and publish the organization’s website, and I am now here sharing my stories, and stories from others. Here is my miscarriage story. None of this was planned – or part of the plan at that moment in time. Life happened quickly, and I remember seeing that positive pregnancy test. Honestly, the plus sign made me nervous for many reasons, but I knew it’d be OK. Days and weeks passed, and I quickly fell in love with the idea of becoming a mom and growing a human inside of me that was formed out of love. Matt and I were going to enjoy the next 10 months of just us. We knew life was going to change a lot, but we were excited. I wasn’t ignorant to the fact that miscarriage was a possibility, as it is with every pregnancy. I took great care of myself. I ate healthy. I continued to CrossFit and made my coaches aware of my condition. I took my prenatal vitamins every day, and limited caffeine intake. I was doing everything right to grow a healthy human. I was about nine weeks along when one day I remember going to pee and noticed blood. Oh, no... It’s OK, spotting is normal. I knew deep down something wasn’t right, but I tried to ignore it and went about my day. I shared the news with Matt, and he wasn’t too alarmed. Spotting during pregnancy is completely normal (I actually spotted with both of my girl’s pregnancies, too). A few days passed, and the amount of blood I was losing was increasing. Matt and I made the decision to check on myself and the baby. I called my doctor at University of Michigan from bed, and they asked me to come to triage immediately. I sat cold and silent the whole way to the hospital. I was scared, and I saw it on Matt’s face, too. We arrived at U of M, and I was wheeled to triage. I filled out some paperwork, and was admitted to a room. I changed out of my clothes and into a gown. As I got undressed, I noticed I was losing more blood. I sat in a bed and waited for the doctor. They took my vitals – all was well – or so they made it seem. They also took a sample of blood to measure my hormone levels. The young doctor asked routine questions like, “when’s the last time you peed? When was your last period? Is this your first pregnancy? Do you have a history of miscarriages?” The doctor reassured me that everything was going to be OK, and nurses kept asking how I was feeling. I was honestly sliding into a deep depression. Here I was sitting on a white pad, bleeding. Losing my baby. After three hours, I was told I needed a vaginal ultrasound. The tech turned the lights off as I laid on the table. She inserted the wand, and there was our baby. I saw Matt’s face and his facial expression. He knew, but he tried to put on a hopeful face. She took lots of pictures and she didn’t say a word, nor did she answer any questions. She was silent. She removed the wand… so much blood. Tears ran down my face. I was wheeled back to triage and waited for the doctor to come back with results. My doctor came in and sat down. I could tell she was a little nervous to share the news. There was no smile. She started by saying my hcG levels were barely at 7,000 – when I should be at a minimum of 10-20,000. I was hit with immediate sadness even though I was already expecting the worst. Tears started streaming, again. I remember her putting her hand on mine. “This pregnancy is not viable. Let’s make an appointment with your doctor on Monday morning to talk about options,” she said. There’s something really hard about letting go of something you love so much. I knew as soon as the pills were inserted, that was it. I would no longer have my baby. She left the room and Matt and I lost it. He just held me. I remember putting on my clothes and my dirty underwear – another horrible reminder. I don’t even know how I got to the car; I was so numb. I called my parents as we left to tell them we lost the baby. The drive home was full of silence, quiet tears, and broken hearts. My baby was dead inside of me. Monday slowly came, and I met with my doctor. We got one last ultrasound to confirm the miscarriage. Our baby was measuring eight weeks, so it hadn’t been long since the baby died. We talked about options as far as how to “take care of the situation.” Since my pregnancy wasn’t too far along, I was given the option to take what’s called Misoprostol. This option allowed me to insert four pills into my vagina, and my body would go into labor about 4-5 hours later. The other option was a D&C – dilation and curettage - which means dilating the cervix to remove all contents of the uterus. My doctor recommended taking the pills at home, so it could be a private experience that I could do with Matt by my side. I decided to take the Misoprostol at home. I wanted to wait until the weekend to take the pills. I wasn’t ready to let go of my baby that was inside of me, even though it wasn’t alive. There’s something really hard about letting go of something you love so much. I knew as soon as the pills were inserted, that was it. I would no longer have my baby. We both said a long prayer and hung on to those last moments. I tried to insert the pills myself, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t let go. Matt, bless his heart, was able to do it for me, both of us crying the entire time. We laid in bed and waited. All I could do is cry and hang on to my belly. After three hours, I started having cramps, but nothing too major. I was starting to feel almost ill, and my stomach hurt. I laid on Matt’s chest and he read me books. Four hours in, I felt sick to my stomach – a side effect of Misoprostol. After emptying my bowels, I had strong uterine cramps coming on, and I was quickly losing everything from my uterus. It was all happening so fast, and it hurt. Going into this, I knew I couldn’t flush anything down the toilet. I saved everything that exited my uterus. I was determined to give my baby a proper burial. There was a point in time that I fainted on the toilet. Hours 4-6 were torture. I hated every second of it. I was hot and sweaty. I was dizzy. I had just lost my baby. I wondered why I had opted for this option. Never again, I thought. No one really tells you how it’s going to be or how it’s going to happen. I think because it’s different for everyone. My experience with the Misoprostol had its ups and downs. I was happy to go through the procedure at home. I was happy I was able to keep my baby, and I was happy I wasn’t in a hospital. The downside is that I experienced major side effects. I hated how it felt. I had zero control – basically I was giving birth over a toilet, which just sounds sad and depressing. I hated that it upset my stomach. Also, I had to get multiple blood tests afterwards to make sure my hCG hormones were slowly declining. It wasn’t just a one and done thing. I think that’s what made it so hard: weekly blood tests to make sure I was officially no longer pregnant were utterly depressing. The following Mother’s Day, Matt bought a crab apple tree to remember our baby. He also wrote me a beautiful card that read, “Yes, you are a mother. Yes, you lost like a mother. Yes, you loved like a mother.” Those words will always stay with me. That day, we planted the tree and buried the baby underneath the tree. It was beautiful, and I finally felt like I had some sort of closure. I had a long, hard year after that miscarriage. I cried a lot. My sadness turned to anger. I despised every other mother I saw, especially those who got pregnant and didn’t care for their bodies. Essentially, I was jealous, and that also made me mad. It’s not like me to feel that way. It’s hard to explain the emotional torture from miscarriage. But, after that one year anniversary, something changed. I was OK. The sadness never really left (I don’t think it ever does), but somehow I came to terms with what had happened. After that anniversary, we were ready to try again. I was scared and worried we would have a hard time conceiving or keeping a pregnancy. That first pregnancy after miscarriage is terrifying – as I think they all are after experiencing miscarriage. I spotted during Eloise’s pregnancy – and even Flora’s pregnancy. But, I birthed two healthy, beautiful girls. I am forever grateful for the baby I never met. That baby showed me what a mother’s love truly is. It is beautiful, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I always dream and wonder who they were and who they would’ve been. Essentially, I was jealous, and that also made me mad. It’s not like me to feel that way. It’s hard to explain the emotional torture from miscarriage. Whenever I feel a little sad, I go visit the crab apple angel tree, and tell my baby I love them so. I don’t ever wish miscarriage on anyone, and I hope more mothers share their experiences with miscarriage. I hope that if you are going through a miscarriage, or have experienced one, that you’ve had someone to turn to – to lean on. It’s not fair. But, know that you are loved. You love your baby, and you will get to meet them one day. Isn’t that a beautiful thought? It will all be OK - eventually. You are strong, and absolutely no less of a woman or mother.
Stephanie Gordon is a paleo food enthusiast, wife, full-time SAHM, marketing professional, and blogger. By: Emily Carrington EPLA Founder If you haven’t already read Meghan McCain’s miscarriage story in the New York Times, do yourself a favor and read it. In her intimate first person account, the co-host of The View puts politics aside to articulate the burden of miscarriage. Her words serve to legitimize the grief of so many families who have suffered the same loss, and she frames the difficulty of walking through loss alone. “Because even to this day, the subject of a miscarriage carries so much cultural taboo. Miscarriage is a pain too often unacknowledged. Yet it is real, and what we have lost is real. We feel sorrow and we weep because our babies were real.” Her story is painful yet uplifting for all of us who have walked this dreary road before. Her reflections on her love for her baby give a glimpse of joy in the midst of suffering. “I had a miscarriage. I loved my baby, and I always will. To the end of my days I will remember this child — and whatever children come will not obscure that. I have love for my child. I have love for all the women who, like me, were briefly in the sisterhood of motherhood, hoping, praying and nursing joy within us, until the day the joy was over.” And she reminds us of a very important truth. “You are not alone.” We hope that Meghan’s words bring you comfort. But we also hope she emboldens you to speak up, too, if you need to. You do not need a daytime talk show or a platform like the New York Times to be heard. You can follow her example in your own community, you can start your own blog, or you can even send us your story for this blog. We are hear to listen! The more we raise our voices together the more we can change the culture. Emily Carrington is the founder of the EPLA and mother to four children.
By: Nick Carrington EPLA Editor While the research is mixed, some studies suggest that couples are more likely to break up following a miscarriage or stillbirth. Sometimes the couple was struggling before their loss; other times, miscarriage led to unhealthy grief habits that affected the relationship. Men and women often grieve differently, and loss parents may have difficulty understanding the other through their pain. Women may feel severely depressed or anxious after a miscarriage for up to three years. The heartache will often either bond a couple together in inseparable ways or cause a schism between the two that is hard to heal. Loved ones may or may not see the cracks forming in the aftermath, but regardless, couples need help in myriad ways, including encouragement in their relationship. Here are a few ways to help them as they grieve and learn to live together following a miscarriage. Encourage Counseling Loved ones should be careful in suggesting a couple receive counseling after miscarriage. First, many couples do not need counseling; they draw closer together or remain strong during the grieving process. But, even when a couple is struggling with their relationship, seeking counseling is a deeply personal choice. However, if you are extremely close to a couple and see issues that a trained counselor can deal with, you may suggest they seek therapy. Sometimes, they need a push to do what’s necessary to strengthen their relationship. Counseling will help them understand how the other grieves and how they can be a healing balm to each other. Watch Their Kids While They Go Out Kids are one of the greatest blessings in life, but they also cause plenty of stress in day-to-day life. Loss parents with alive children may need a break from the rigors of child rearing to spend time together. Even a few hours out can make a significant difference in a couples’ relationship. If you are family, you may offer to watch their kids for an entire weekend. Parents can invest some time in their relationship and get a breather from the demands of their everyday. Suggest They Go on a Marriage Retreat Marriage retreats serve as part vacation and part counseling. They provide concentrated time for couples to enjoy each other. Churches often sponsor marriage retreats, and if you go to church with loss parents or know of another marriage getaway, you may want to encourage parents to attend. We all benefit from intentional effort on our relationships. For couples in an intense grieving state, it may be even more crucial. Watch their children, pay their way if you can, and ensure they can be alone together for a short time. Be Slow to Speak and Quick to Listen This popular truth from the book of James is vital to coming alongside loss parents. While there is a time to suggest couples get help, they may benefit most from a caring, listening ear. Don’t try to “fix” the situation; be supportive and loving. Listen. Couples and Miscarriage Miscarriage affects every aspect of life, including the relationship that formed that precious child. If you are a loved one, you can help ease some of the strain that couples feel after losing a child. It’s a tough road back after losing child; let’s do all we can to make the journey a little smoother. Nick Carrington is an Editor for the EPLA and Assistant Professor of Professional Writing at Cedarville University.
By: Maria Servold EPLA Editor One of the hardest things about miscarriage is that many families don’t have anything physical after the event to remember their babies with. While a memorial item can never replace the baby that was lost, they can bring comfort in times of grief and help keep the memory of a miscarried child alive. My own miscarriage was very early, and I was treated in an emergency room, so I wasn’t given any sort of memorial items that many women receive if they miscarry in a labor and delivery unit. The Early Pregnancy Loss Association hopes to change this in a small way, by including memorial items in both sizes of our miscarriage care kits. We include small things like knitted blankets and journals, but there are many companies that offer beautiful and meaningful memorial items for miscarried babies. Here are just a few: My Missing Peace, an Australian company, offers unique and beautiful memorial pieces, like colorful resin hearts that contain a model of an unborn child. You can order a heart to feature one or multiple babies at whatever gestational age you’d like. Heaven’s Gain Ministries, with whom we partner on our miscarriage care kits, offers beautiful burial boxes, urns, and memorial pieces. A nonprofit loss support group, M.E.N.D. (Mommies Enduring Neonatal Death) has a page listing many different small companies and groups that produce memorial items for miscarriage and stillbirth, like jewelry and stuffed animals. Etsy also lists dozens of miscarriage memorial items for sale. While a memorial item will not be able to replace a child lost to miscarriage, many families find them helpful and comforting. If a memorial item is something you are looking for or you think a friend or family member may like, these pages will be a good start! Maria Servold is an Editor at the EPLA, Assistant Director of the Herbert H. Dow II Program in American Journalism, and Lecturer in Journalism at Hillsdale College.
By: Emily Carrington EPLA Founder Every year I brace myself for Christmas and Easter, for Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, but the one that always surprises me is Independence Day. Yup, that mid-summer holiday celebrating our nation’s independence. The one marked by hot dogs, fireworks, baseball, and family time. It is that last one that gets me -- after three miscarriages, a large part of my family will always be missing. I was recently struck by this reality when I was looking at some pictures from the summer of 2015. The thought that haunted me was that no matter how happy I looked or how much fun I seemed to be having, the reality was that my children are missing from these pictures. I had lost two little ones approximately a year earlier, my first in May and my second in September of 2014. I would go on to lose a third only weeks after these pictures in August 2015. I remember how greatly I felt the loss of my children every single day during 2015, but I also remember how amplified that loss was during the week of the 4th of July. Parties, family BBQs, and parades only reminded me that my family was incomplete. This feeling still sneaks up on me the first week of July. For our family, Independence Day is a big family celebration. We come from as far as Michigan and Tennessee to meet at my in-laws' on the banks of the Ohio River. The only plans for our days together orbit around two things: food & family. But each year I am reminded that three of our little ones will never be with us. Three of our little ones will never see the great river at sunrise or sunset, or run in the summer sun with their cousins. I feel this weight with each celebration. I am sure other loss parents have experienced some sneaky rough holidays too, Maybe this week is hard for you too. Or is it your annual Memorial Day Celebration? Or New Year’s or Halloween? Whatever it is, these surprising reminders that our children are gone can hurt. Emily Carrington is the founder of the EPLA and mother to four children.
By: Nick Carrington EPLA Editor Two years ago, a cousin of ours had a miscarriage. She also almost lost her life. Her and her husband dealt with the grief, the sadness, the physical recovery, and the bills. As with all miscarriages, it was a tragedy. That cousin is due to have her second child (first born) in two months and has had a healthy pregnancy. She recently shared with us how joyous it was to save for medical bills for the birth of her coming little one. At first, that notion seemed crazy. Medical bills? They typically agitate us, sometimes to the point of angst as we argue with insurance companies and forego other desires to scrape enough together to keep debt collectors at bay. How can saving for them bring such exuberance? We came to understand that the pain of paying necessary medical bills for her miscarried child made the act of saving for this baby a joyous one. Paying the necessary money for her child would always be worth it. But, after taking the financial hit without the reward of a little one, our cousin has a new perspective on what real “cost” is. At the EPLA, we know just how hard it can be to receive medical bills after a miscarriage. Those numbers on a piece of paper can feel like a dagger to an already lacerated heart. And depending on when you receive your bills, it can feel like they’ve opened a wound that just started to scar. One day, the EPLA hopes to help people who have miscarried by paying part of their medical bills. It won’t heal that wound completely, but maybe it can be a balm that provides a little relief. It will be one more way we can come alongside those suffering. Right now, we aren’t in a position to achieve this goal, but we are actively setting aside money for this purpose and with every donation, we get a little closer, and that gives us hope. If you have miscarried, know that we have thought about the totality of your pain, including the agony of paying medical bills. At some point in the future, we aim to ease that pain just a little, and maybe for a moment, engender some peace. Nick Carrington is an Editor for the EPLA and Assistant Professor of Professional Writing at Cedarville University.
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