Sunday, October 23, 2005

FAQs and Conjecture

Since the day I came home from the hospital empty handed and broken hearted, I have worn a tiny gold band on a twisted chain in memory of Nick. A lovely nurse who stood by me during labor and delivery gave it to me; I believe it is part of their grief package, but she took care to present it to me individually, and showed me her own that she still wears after 9 long years. The original band was not "real" gold, so after about a month of 24/7 use, it no longer reflected the gleaming emotions I required it to. I had a jeweler replicate it in 14k, and I keep it on proud display daily. In the 8 months I've worn it, I have had a total of THREE people ask me about it.
I really feel I am almost unapproachable in many aspects. I've mentioned before how I keep to myself and don't care to share info (in the non-blog world, that is!). Perhaps people (co-workers, neighbors, acquaintances) assume I am a private person, and they don't want to offend me. At any rate, I have not yet found a satisfying response to the questions. The first time, a gal asked me "Is that a baby ring?", I said yes, sort of. She didn't bother to clarify, and neither did I. The next time, the checker at the store, said, "Oh, what a beautiful ring! May I ask, I mean, not be to be nosey, but, what does it signify?" I said I had a stillborn. End of conversation. More recently, a co-worker inquired about "that lovely charm you wear all the time". I told her that I had lost a baby, and I wear it in memory of him.
I don't know how to address the issue with people who are polite enough to ask, but probably really don't want to know the truth. I also feel like I'm not giving Nick the respect he deserves, when I just refer to him as "a stillborn" or "a baby". How do you tenderly speak of your dead baby? My son was stillborn. (Josh? huh?) I had a son who was stillborn. One of my babies was born dead. My son Nicholas didn't make it. I lost a child.
And to further confuse the issue, is I want to explain to people that this wasn't an early loss. I endured over 30 hours of labor and squeezed his lifeless body out of my womb. I held a limp, blue, skin-peeling-off little angel in my arms for a few hours before they packed him in a box. I buried my baby. We had a funeral. He has a grave with a headstone. And a whirligig.
Alas, these conversations have never occurred, because nobody ever asked. I never brought it up. It stays inside my head.
Tonight at work, one of the girls I used to supervise had returned. I hadn't seen her in months; she had taken a leave of absence due to early pregnancy complications requiring bedrest. She is about 19-20 years young, unmarried, and her (ex?)boyfriend is on parole. She didn't mention the pregnancy until she was experiencing problems. Later, I heard she had lost the baby. Tonight, after our requisite hellos and how are yous, I found a moment alone with her, and expressed my sympathy. "Oh, no big deal", she said, and trotted off on her way. I figured she either was dealing with it well, or it really wasn't a big deal to her, and left the exchange in the back of my mind. Until break. Just so happened we were taking it at the same time. She said to me, "I heard you lost a baby, too". Yes, I confirmed, I have. "Is that why you wear that necklace?" Yes, I wear it for my son Nick. "You named it? How did you know it was a boy?" He was full term, I told her, he had problems with his umbilical cord. "Like what?" It was around his neck, and he had two other knots farther up, one was really tight. It cut off his blood and oxygen supply. "Oh." Uncomfortable silence for a few minutes... finally, I ventured to talk about her loss. "How far along were you, hun?" She didn't know. "Did you have to have a d&c?" She did, said it wasn't bad. I again expressed my sorrow, and told her if she ever wanted to talk about it, I'd be there for her. "I thought you had a miscarriage," she said. I've had one of those, too, I assured her. "Wow."
And no, I of course have not told anyone at work I am expecting a Maybe at this time. I began working there in April, and never mentioned Nick. It's not something that you just bring up out of the blue. Hey, did you see the Steelers game last weekend? How about this weather, huh? Ham is on sale at the store. Hey, did you know I've lost babies?

11 Comments:

Blogger Lisa P. said...

I probably share too much info, too often. I may have already told you this story; I'm not sure. After my first miscarriage I was back at work and talking to some coworkers. One mentioned that she was tired of being sick and I asked her "oh, do you have the flu?" She said "didn't you know? I'm pregnant." To my horror, I blurted out "I just had a miscarriage." Or something equally inappropriate; I can't quite remember anything except the shock on her face.

Yeah, some Steelers game huh?? (ahem.)

Sun Oct 23, 12:11:00 PM EDT  
Blogger lorem ipsum said...

First of all, I know it isn't the same.

But I have a Shining Light Fund bracelet for my two losses, combined. September sapphire and March aquamarine. The only person who's commented on it was my husband, and even then I didn't tell him what it means. He's trying to move on. But it was in my body, and so I can't just not think about it.

Sun Oct 23, 12:45:00 PM EDT  
Blogger laura said...

when somebody asks if we have children yet, i say, we lost a child (or our son) in february, or, our first child was stillborn this year. it's hard to know what to say. it's not that i want to shock people necessarily, but i've stopped caring about shielding other people. i just say it. i think the more people talk about their losses, the less freakish it will become to society at large. the days when nobody talked about such things didn't serve anyone well. good for you for opening a door for this young co-worker of yours.

Sun Oct 23, 04:47:00 PM EDT  
Blogger Catherine said...

You know, I waffle on this. There are times when I WANT everyone to talk about Alex like he was real. But then, I switch to hating that people talk about him like he was such a normal part of my life. It seems to wear off his specialness (like the shine on that ring of yours) if people treat the whole sad situation so "normally."

I guess my mom was right...I'm just a minefield of emotions and I can't expect anybody to reasonably anticipate my moods anymore. lol

Sun Oct 23, 08:09:00 PM EDT  
Blogger Jillian said...

Maybe, and I guess I speak for myself only, when people ask about the ring and you tell them why you wear it, the conversation stops because of all the other things you wrote about in your post - the labour, the birth, holding Nick, burying him.

I know that before I met all of you amazing women my reaction was to imagine my children being born all over again - but dead. And how can someone who hasn't been there presume the right to discuss it? I mean to say, most of us never become familar enough with women who have lost babies to know what to do.

So maybe the conversations stop when people get a glimpse of what could happen to them? That's no help to you, granted.

I also wanted to say that I never knew Nick's story in so much detail and wanted to thank you for sharing it.

OK, I'm muttering now. Sorry:)

Mon Oct 24, 02:30:00 AM EDT  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I think people don't ask further because they assume it's far too painful for you to talk about, or they don't want to "pry."
I think that people really do want to know the story once the conversation comes up, but it's awkward to inquire. They're talking to the mother of a deceased child, and most people understand that there is no worse pain.
I think it's great that you want to talk about Nick though, I hope it helps you heal.
And I too, am so sorry for your loss and I appreciate you sharing your story.

Mon Oct 24, 11:38:00 AM EDT  
Blogger Lala said...

I actually spend time thinking/imagining conversations like that with people. Working it out in my head about how to be nice and respectful and yet let them talk if they want to. By the same token I get agitated and cry if I think I've offended someone with one of MY emotional outburts. Case in point - an aquaintance(lovely woman) came to say hi to me at the counter of my restaurant and as she approached I blurted "please don't tell me you're pregnant!" and she said no, she had just had a miscarriage. I said so did I, in November, and I just can't take one more pregnancy announcement from within our "community". We made more small talk and she left but I started to cry and had to run through the mall looking for her so I could apologize for my outburst and share the hardship with her. Yep, I'm weird.

Mon Oct 24, 03:23:00 PM EDT  
Blogger kate said...

I wear my mommy bracelets every day, and people *very* rarely ask. And sometimes when they do ask, i flub it, like the other day...but sometimes i actually answer in a way that i am not unhappy with. Fundamentally, there is really no good way of saying that your child has died. And i am sorry that you, that we, have this issue...

Mon Oct 24, 10:22:00 PM EDT  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

during my years of infertility, i often thought about how much more difficult it must be to lose a pregnancy; to lose a baby.

not getting pregnant cycle after cycle is one thing. but how does one come to terms with the high of carrying a baby and losing it? mothering a child, (sometimes) beginning with pregnancy, is the deepest relationship we can have. there is no easy way to suffer that loss.

your love for Nick shines through in this post. i felt it. isn't that life?

Wed Oct 26, 10:42:00 PM EDT  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

People just don't know how to handle it. I am glad that blogs exist, for us to talk about love and loss openly, to people who will, for the most part, understand.
I am so sorry about your Nick.

Fri Oct 28, 02:46:00 PM EDT  
Blogger Unknown said...

I just read your story - found a link to it at Joy's Trips.

I lost my baby boy Scott at almost 18 weeks. His heart stopped beating and to this day no one knows why. I labored for 8 hours. In. hell. And held him, too small and too blue, until they took him away.

I know what it's like to be pregnant again and to be terrified.

And I know what it's like to want to throttle the people who say the stupid stuff, when they are only slightly worse than the people who say nothing at all.

My heart goes out to you.

Thu Nov 10, 05:10:00 PM EST  

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