Stillbirth – a Shared Tragedy

(My and Gosia's older daughters, Karolinka (left) and Helenka (right), who are 3.5 wks apart at approx. 4 months of age.)

Dear Readers,

When I was pregnant, especially with my first child, I didn't get out of being told some horror stories. I tried to let them in one ear and out the other. I am NOT a supporter of scaring pregnant women. However, this topic is important to me and tragically stillbirth continues to touch too many families. These families have friends and relatives who are in turn devastated as well. Many do not know how to help the parents, or even how they should feel themselves. This information is for anyone touched by stillbirth, or anyone who wants to know a little more about it. Please don't read it if you feel it may distress you.

In memory of my friends’ baby girl, Marysia Majewska,

tragically born still at 9 months' gestation, on 25 July 2007

***She will never be forgotten***

It’s a time in my life when everyone I know is pregnant or just given birth, or trying for their first or subsequent baby. The calendar is full – each month seems to be another due date. Every so often the happy text messages roll in – “On such and such a day, so and so was born, weighing…, measuring… Proud Mum and Dad.” I’m almost counting down the days, excited for friends, waiting to meet the pride and joy that is to be born.

I’m one of those lucky Mums; two births, two gorgeous healthy babies proudly announced in text messages, their photos emailed out to dozens of friends and relatives, monitoring every step of the pregnancy, waiting with bated breath for that big day.

My good friend Gosia is pregnant almost neck-and-neck, her baby due just 2.5 months after my little boy, I find out about it even before her home pregnancy test shows two stripes; she just knows she’s pregnant – she’s gone off coffee. The count-down starts. At around 20 weeks I get the first happy text message – “Mine is a girl :-) :-) :-).” Every phone conversation centres on how she’s feeling, when she’s due, how big the baby is, have they decided on a name? How is her elder daughter doing? She’s so excited, she’s picked her sister’s name herself.

The day of Gosia’s c-section is my name day. She is one of those rare women who do not go into labour on their own; in fact, she cannot even be induced. Her first pregnancy ended up a c-section and the doctor knows there is no other way.

The night before the c-section I wake to find a text message from Gosia on my phone. Before I even read it a feeling of dread spreads through my body: she can’t have had the baby naturally. But nothing can prepare me for what I read: “Our little one has chosen a different path. Marysia died before birth.”

Surely she must have been a very sick baby everyone reassures me: it’s probably for the better. Inconsolable, I don’t know what to do, what to say, what to write. There is no way to console, no words I know to lessen the pain my friend and her husband must be feeling. No way out of this nightmare.

“Marysia was a completely healthy baby,” shattered, I read the text message Gosia sends the day after the autopsy is done. Well then what the hell happened I wonder?

Stillbirth.

Something I had vaguely heard of.
Something I did not want to know about when I was pregnant.
Something I thought was rare and linked to major problems or strangulation by the umbilical cord.
Not something that struck out for no reason at people close to me.
Not something that could’ve affected me and may yet affect others I know.

My friend lost her baby daughter to stillbirth in July of 2007. The little girl we had been waiting for, the little girl who was supposed to grow up alongside my kids, the little girl I was looking forward to cuddling, whom I had bought clothes for thinking in my naivety that since Gosia was already 8 months pregnant nothing could go wrong.

Stillbirth is not just a tragedy for the parents – it can affect anyone who knows them. It is a time when they need support that is often hard to come by. Friends shy away for fear of hurting them by not knowing what to say or how to behave. Or waiting for them to “get over it”. This is not an illness that can be cured. This is a change of life as they know it, and an enormous, heart-wrenching tragedy that cannot be undermined.

I didn’t know how to help Gosia. I felt helpless and vastly overwhelmed, not to mention heartbroken. I was given the advice of never mentioning her baby, of pretending everything was ok so as not to bring her down even more. Of “being strong” for her – how??? All of that felt wrong. It also felt wrong to pry. I let her know that I was available to help in any way she needed – just by listening and letting her cry if that was what she wanted. For weeks our only contact was via email and text message because it was hard for her to talk to anybody. I didn’t know what to do but I knew this – not to leave her alone with her burden. And that it was ok to tell her I too was shattered by this loss.

I felt a deep affection for Marysia even though I didn’t know her and I will forever be sorry she couldn’t stay here. She would have turned two this July. It still hurts.

If you want to support anyone dealing with this tragedy here are a few things I have learned:

- Ask if and how you can help.
- Be there to listen if your friend needs it (and they probably will - both mothers and fathers).
- Don't try to cheer them up! It's not possible. Don't be tempted to say "It's all for a reason," or "God wanted it like this." They are not going to agree with you and, worse still, they will feel that you are belittling their loss. Just be honest: "I am so sorry, I wish this had never happened." If you don't know what to say, best keep quiet, give them a hug or something instead.
- Realise that they are going to need time to deal with this loss - the first six months to a year or so will be the hardest.
- Don't be afraid to mention the baby. No one wants their child to be forgotten. Maybe do something positive in the baby's memory.