Tag Archive for: stillbirth

שיחה על לידה שקטה

Post Conversation About Stillbirth

conversation about stillbirthI took on new roles in my new path; all are very important.
But I think one of the essential roles is talking about stillbirth with practitioners from various fields.

I begin my talk/lecture/conversation with my own story and talk about the specific characteristics we will see in our clinic, with women who will tell their own stillbirth story.
I also share my personal and professional experience, assuming that many practitioners don’t know enough about stillbirth, so it’s important to give even some necessary information about stillbirth. So practitioners will have a general idea of the situation and know how to react.

I worked on my presentation for a while, trying to deliver a very accurate and precise message.
Of course, I realized I have more than just one important message, and I hope they echoed in the hearts of those wonderful eight women who cleared their summer schedule to come and listen to me.

Before every talk/lecture/conversation I give, I get very nervous, to the point I don’t understand why I set it up in the first place.
Every time I feel this way, there’s one book and one person who remind me why I’m coming out of my comfort zone to talk to others about this silenced topic:
If I won’t talk about it, how will you know?

If I won’t tell you how I felt, what life’s like after what happens in that delivery room at the hospital, if I don’t tell you that stillbirth includes everything that happens after, not just what happens in that delivery room, how will you know?

If I won’t shed light on dark issues, how will you know to help that patient that comes to you in desperate need of help after her stillbirth?

How will you know there’s hope after stillbirth if I won’t be the one to come and talk about it? Hope that appears like rays of light, piercing the clouds of loneliness and silence, which are all around after a stillbirth.

So much silence surrounding this topic, so many whispers.
How can this be, when this is a topic that should be talked about out loud? Have we any idea how that can help those who went through stillbirth?

This talk/lecture/conversation ends, I hope, with a bit more understanding that stillbirth is a trauma, like many other experiences. We should talk about trauma.
I hope that the women who heard me and asked their questions, understand that we need to bring our kindness to the front. It involves allowing ourselves to be vulnerable and allowing words to come straight from our hearts.

Kindness. We need more kindness and compassion in this world.
Every day, and especially in situations such as after stillbirth.

I Am Not A Hero

I Am Not A Hero

I Am Not A HeroAfter my stillbirth, at the hospital, I remember the doctors saying I am a hero.
When I went back home, my friends told me I am a hero.
My brother told me that he sees me in a Wonder Woman suit, saying that I am a hero.
I am not a hero.

I never felt like a hero. I felt I stumbled upon a horrible nightmare that I can’t wake up from because it’s not a dream. It’s real.
I lost my baby girl Ayelet.
As if that’s not bad enough, I had to give birth to my dead baby girl Ayelet.
There was no way around it. I had to give birth to her; there was no other way.
I had no choice.

I was heartbroken, terrified, and given half a chance I’d bolt the hell away from that experience.
What’s so “hero” about that?

We did what we had to do

Today, when people read my posts about stillbirth or hear me speak about it, they say I am a hero.
I understand what they are trying to say, I guess, but listen:
I am not a hero.
I don’t think women who went through stillbirth are heroes.
The simple truth is- we did what we had to do.

I’ve been trying to think about why people say this.
Most of the time, I think it’s people who can not even begin to imagine what it means to go through stillbirth.
It just sounds like the worst thing that could ever happen to them or anyone. It is merely un-imaginable.
Therefore we are required to have superhuman strength or something extra, like being a hero. It is the only way to go through this because being a simple human isn’t enough.

Being human

Honestly speaking, I think this is all a part of going through life as a human being.
We go through wonderful, fulfilling experiences. We go through beautiful love which brings us joy and laughter.
These are all understandable experiences.
Once we get to the more painful experiences, that’s when people think we need super-powers to go through them.
But we are not weak. We are not unable to go through heartaches, grief, pain, and loss.
These all stem from the love and relationships we go through in life.
It’s all part of the deal of love and relationships.
Just as we don’t need superhero powers to go through the joy of love, we don’t need those powers to go through loss.

So what are you saying? What should we say to a woman who wen through stillbirth?

You can say she seems very strong. You can add that you think she probably didn’t even think she had such power inside her.
You can also decide to say nothing and sit there with her in silence.
The words can come later on.

יציאה משתיקה לחרות

Departing From Silence To Freedom

departing from silence to freedomYears before I had my stillbirth with Ayelet, I went through sexual trauma.

This trauma took over my life primarily through fear. Thanks to successful therapy sessions (which were at times also scary. And challenging. And exhausting. Sometimes it felt like it took me hundreds of years to go through it), I conquered fear and chose to be in the light

I mentioned fear as the decision-maker in my life at the time. Another constant companion was silence.
Silence was involved with each trauma I went through. It was also present in other trauma stories I heard from friends and read about in books.

How is it that silence is the one thing that most traumas have in common? Thinking about it rationally, it doesn’t make sense. After all, we didn’t do anything wrong; others did us wrong. It’s almost like a given: something happened, and we’re not going to talk about it. When I talk about being silent, I don’t mean just the actual act that caused the trauma but being quiet altogether, about how we feel, and about what’s going on in our head. Just not talking and being silent.

This is the case with many women after stillbirth too. No one’s talking about it, including us. Many women can suffer from post-traumatic as a result of stillbirth.
Guess what. Nobody’s talking about that either.

Silence

I read a bit about silence, trying to figure out why it is so present in our lives, and here’s what I found out:

As I stated before, silence can be found in various traumas: Holocaust survivors and 2nd generation, PTSD, child abuse (sexual or physical violence), and also, stillbirth.
I recently started reading the work of Dr. Yochai Ataria, which is fascinating, even though I don’t always understand or agree with him. Dr. Ataria mainly talks about PTSD, and this is what he has to say about silence: “trauma is an impossible situation. It is something between a nightmare and a delusion. A state in which all sets of rules, beliefs, hopes, and expectations collapsed. There are no explanations but complete horror. The post-traumatic person is, therefore, representing a condition in which all words are truly gone. Words are a system of symbols that are completely detached from the experience. Trauma leaves words out and causes them to be foreign. This is why, in a PTSD state, it is not possible to use the every-day language to describe the world behind the curtain. Words don’t describe or explain. They obstruct. Any kind of testimony is damaging the authenticity of the original experience. Speaking up turns the impossible to “just another story.”
Dr. Ataria further explains that reality is a world of words. Silence is the primal protest of people who went through trauma. Trauma is a different world. Through silence, they express they have reached the lowest point, and they refuse to cooperate with reality, with the world.

As a woman who has been talking about her traumas for several years now, it is understandable to see my problem with Dr. Ataria’s explanation of silence.
Of course, I can understand his meaning. I felt like this with my traumas before I started to deal with each one of them.
How can we even begin to describe stillbirth? Every word belittles all I went through during those two days, from the moment I was told my baby girl Ayelet died inside my womb and all the daggers in the heart like experiences I was served by reality. Each of these experiences prompted me to seclude myself more and more. 

However, it is a known fact that words have power. In the wrong hands, this power is abused. But in the right, delicate, sensitive hands, words can empower and us.
My therapist and I shared many words. Many times they were trying, painful, awkward words.
Who wants to sit and feel shame from head to toe? Not me.
Who wants to feel guilt floating around, threatening to paralyze one’s heart? Not me.

Nonetheless, these words were spoken. Yes, they released shame and guilt in all their glory (and other emotions), but these words also helped bring these emotions back to their normal proportions.
It’s been nine and a half years after the stillbirth, and I can sometimes feel guilt over my girl Ayelet’s death. But I now know it’s not true. Thanks to those words I spoke at my therapist’s office, I know the answer to that creeping thought. This is the empowerment I needed to feel I can lift my head and keep it up above the difficult swirling emotions I felt after my stillbirth.

Freud & Lacan

Dafna Ben-Zaken speaks talks about the Holocaust trauma, which was never talked about in her family but was felt throughout her childhood.
The silence was loud and very present.
A combination of Freud’s findings and Lacan’s approach explains silence: “It is a tear which was arbitrarily made and has no logic or meaning. It is a tear that leaves the subject without the defense of language. The injury will always show up suddenly and violently, leaving us shocked and distressed, and we try to collect residuals of words in which we try to understand what happened.”

Freud established an element of repression in dealing with trauma. Lacan added: when facing certain traumatic moments, we are verbally unable to express what we went through.
These can explain the experience of women after stillbirth. Many women are not interested in facing the stillbirth they went through because it is too hard even to try and talk about it, and all it’s affects on their body and soul. Their only wish is to move on, towards the next baby, in a desperate desire to give birth to a live baby.
I can understand that. Of course, I too wished for a live baby with all my heart. But a live baby can not erase the loss I went through. The live baby can not replace the baby I lost.

Repressing can not delete something that already happened. Repressing pushes the trauma away from us, but the trauma stays embedded in us in so many ways. The longer we remain silent and not talk about it, the trauma will penetrate deeper and deeper.
The goal is to integrate trauma into our lives, so it won’t be a force which runs our lives.

Departing from silence to freedom

It’s challenging to describe in words what we went through. That is why it’s easier to remain silent and not talk about it.
In the long run, this silence took a hefty toll from my life. I realized that although I didn’t want to talk about my experiences at all, I didn’t have a choice anymore. I had to talk about all of them.
I found that my ability to put my most inner secrets and fears into words is one terrifying experience, but at the same time, it marked the beginning of my healing journey.
I found that through telling my stillbirth story and talking about everything I went through, I can validate someone else’s stillbirth story, validate all her feelings and her sense of loss.
I found I can live my life as I see fit, and not be blinded by fear and missing out on so much.

This continues to be almost a daily mission for me, conquering the restraint of fear. It was present in my life for so many years, but I am overcoming fear again and again, and this, to me, is the true meaning of freedom: the power to act, speak, or think as one wants without restraint.
All this starts with words that come from the heart, the womb, the soul.

*Photo: street art in Tel Aviv, saying “ok we’ll talk, we said. And we were silent”

קברים לתינוקות לאחר לידה שקטה

Graves For Babies After Stillbirth

graves for babiesAs I was in the delivery room, waiting for my stillbirth to begin, the medical team talked with us about burial.
There were two options: a private burial or a mass grave.
Ayelet was still inside me, two hours were between me and the horrible announcement that I lost my baby, and already a To-Do list was forming.

It’s a difficult thing to do. I am sure that anyone who went through loss knows what I’m talking about, like when my parents passed away, I received endless letters from gravestones companies.
It was as if these companies have a list of families who just lost their loved ones, and they passed it around them to tell us about the high quality of marble they have, and the professional engravement. The various fonts I can choose from. The bank of quotes and illustrations we can select from the gravestone, and so on.

I don’t want to hear about burial, or maternity rights I might or might not have, or the room they’ll put me in after the stillbirth.
All I wanted was to get my baby girl back.
But there was another voice in my head, as I am in the delivery room and forming that To-Do list, an inner voice that understands that I must make these decisions. It is my baby, my husband’s and mine, we are the only ones who should make these decisions, for example, how are we going to burry Ayelet.

Graves For Babies

My immediate answer was, “we will have a private burial.”
The medical team told us we can still discuss burial, so we did, my husband and I. We talked about how we have no idea what to do, and how we want to be after the stillbirth and as far away from it as possible.

So Maybe A Mass Grave?

This was a very upsetting thought for me. My imagination was starting to get the best of me, and I was freaking out: Why should my baby girl be one of many? She deserves a private burial.
We had two days until the labor inducers kicked in, which provided us with time: to cry, mourn, be silent, talk, dose off. And we went through all this together.

My Experience With Graves

As we talked, I remembered about my feelings towards graves:
My mother passed away in October 2001, my father in April 2004.
I loved them deeply, they were everything for me. My parents were buried next to each other.
I don’t visit their graves. I don’t feel connected to their graves. Let me explain a bit more on this:
I remember my parents every day. I talk about them, they are very present in my life, and I share many stories and anecdotes about them with my family.
There are pictures of them at the house, the kids hear about them a lot, and my husband met my father, as I met him three months before my father died.

I don’t believe that the grave is where I can talk to my parents.
Yes, their body as I knew it lies there, or at least it used to. But what about the soul?
I won’t get into various theories here, but I will say that I feel their presence with me many times.
When I wish to re-connect with them, I don’t go to the grave.
The days of their passing are sad, and I feel very uncomfortable in my skin. It seems strange to remember the one miserable day in which a person died and forgetting the great life this person had right up until they died. I celebrate a person’s death rather than mark the day of his death. It feels healthier and a better way to remember a loved one.

The last time I went to their graves was before I got married back in 2005 because I was told: “it’s tradition.” So I thought, “OK, I’ll go.”
We were there, my husband and I, for about 5 minutes and we left.
Fifteen years have passed, and it still seems like the right way to go.

Back to Ayelet

Assuming we will have a private ceremony and burial. Then what?
I won’t visit that grave, neither will my husband.
What does this grave give me? It is not significant for me, and my husband shares that feeling.

Ayelet died at the exact place she was created in my womb. If she left her mark anywhere, it’s between the walls of my uterus, as if she carved on one of my womb walls, “Ayelet was here.”
She’s with me all the time.
And so I looked at my husband as we were waiting for the stillbirth to start and told him, “let’s not to this, I don’t believe in graves.”
Nine and a half years after the stillbirth, and I still feel this way.

I feel it’s better to sanctify the living rather than the dead, celebrate life rather than mark death.
People who die are embedded within us. I feel true to my mother’s spirit when I go to the beach, one of the places she loved most. I feel true to my father’s spirit when I keep telling his jokes, and my kids roar with laughter.

Ayelet & Me

It’s a bit different with Ayelet.
I didn’t have the time to create memories with her our of the womb. And yet, even with her, I felt I had memories to share when I held her after the stillbirth:
During the pregnancy, I used to talk to her, and told her, for example, that I will sing two songs in Hebrew for her when she’ll come out.
As I was holding her after the stillbirth, I sang those two songs for her.
During the pregnancy, Ayelet would move a lot. At some point, I started asking her questions and wait for a reaction: if she’d kick hard, I knew that was a “no.” If she’d hardly kick, I’d take it as a “yes.”
As I was holding Ayelet after the stillbirth, I looked back at those questions and answers. And I talked to Ayelet about the heartburns I had with her, how heavy her pregnancy got at some point.
How much we waited for her.
Mainly, I told her we love her very much.

In the case of stillbirth, choosing life can be a bit more complicated, I think. But I always remember:
My stillbirth with Ayelet was the saddest experience I ever had in my entire life. It taught me a lot about deep sadness.
That’s where my choice of life came from. Choosing life means being in the light, making the most of every opportunity for a celebration. For being happy, and that’s what I’m doing to this day.

For me, the question of burial is personal, and each woman and her spouse make their own private decision.
But I think that the most important thing, in the end, is how we remember our loved one.
The memory we have inside counts more than anything else, even a grave.

נדנדת הרגשות לאחר לידה שקטה

The Rollercoaster of Emotions After Stillbirth

rollercoaster of emotionsStillbirth is a loss.
We go through a real loss, even if society doesn’t always acknowledge our loss, as society never saw our baby.
But we felt our babies grow and move inside us, totally present in our lives.

Loss is known to everyone. I don’t know one person who hasn’t gone through a significant loss in hers or his life. When I saw “significant loss,” I mean significant to that specific person.
The kind of loss that creates intense feelings of mourning, sadness, a forced goodbye from a loved one. A profound difficulty performing daily activities, and much confusion.

The kind of loss that sends us through the rollercoaster of emotions of mourning. All the feelings I mentioned above are present at the same time, when we feel the need to laugh, smile, go out and have a drink to feel free from this emotional weight in our hearts. Oh, we know the weight won’t go away, it will wait for us, no doubt. But just for a few moments, we try to free ourselves from it.

Stillbirth is death.
Death of a baby. End of hopes, expectations, of a whole life.
It’s loss forced upon us.
Once we start addressing stillbirth as such, we will be able to understand all that we go through after stillbirth.
Once society addresses stillbirth as such, society will understand:
The need to mourn, the need to cry. We will realize that we are not “dwelling on this,” we are saying goodbye again and again. Each time will be a little different because we will be a little different.

We will understand the need for commemoration comes because we don’t want to forget what was erased from everyone’s memories.
We want to give meaning to this difficult and sad experience that we went through.

We will know this rollercoaster of emotions after a stillbirth is the rollercoaster of emotions one feels after losing someone significant to us.

But I think the most crucial part is for *us* to understand all this.
I think that in the end, it doesn’t matter if society understands us or not. I guess we’d rather have the seal of approval from people around us. I’m sure it’s easier than giving it to ourselves.
But we should be able to give it to ourselves, the permission to “dwell with it,” to mourn, to feel the loss, to “always talk about it, again and again,” because it is a part of the grieving process we need to go through before we enter the next phase.

Once we allow ourselves to feel everything, the need for assurances from people around us won’t be needed anymore.
The first weeks are difficult. As the Buddha said, thus it is.

Slowly the process we go through changes. Sometimes we’re up, and sometimes we’re down.
It’s all part of the healing journey.

הפנים והשמות של לידה שקטה

The Faces and Names of Stillbirth

The Faces and Names of StillbirthI went through stillbirth.
It is not a source of shame. It doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable. Stillbirth for me is a deep sadness I went through, and I can reconnect to it in a second. I choose not to do so.
Instead, I choose to talk about stillbirth.
It is the thing that will give this experience a face, a name, presence, acknowledgment.
It is the thing that gives faces and names to stillbirth.

For years there are rows of women who remain faceless, who lost their baby and have birth written all over their bodies and souls.
With an extra scar: we lost our babies. They died in the womb.
I don’t think it’s right to keep this experience faceless.

For years there are rows of babies who are buried faceless and nameless.
Yet they all have a face, and most of them (I think) have names just as my Ayelet had a face and a name.

Working through the loss I went through doesn’t prevent me from living my life. It allows me to acknowledge her presence in my life and the fact that she lived with me, inside me, and now she’s gone.
For one to die, one must be alive first. And if I don’t acknowledge Ayelet’s life, how will I be able to admit her death?

It is the only way that leads to mourning, grief, saying goodbye, and integrating this experience in my life.
I go on with this experience as a part of my bundle in life.
It is a healing journey.

after stillbirth

Thus It Is Mother- After Stillbirth

after stillbirthProf. Jacob Raz is a well-known author, speaker, and teacher of Buddhism. He wrote a book (in Hebrew), in which I found this, which brought me to tears.
The original text talks about a father who seeks comfort with Buddha, but I changed it a little, to mother. I hope Prof. Jacob Raz will forgive me.

When I read it after my changes, I feel Prof. Raz successfully captured what I went through after my stillbirth.
And what I feel many women go through after stillbirth.
Mainly, I love the deep understanding in which mourning and grief have a direct connection to love. Sorrow, difficulty, crying, this endless weight we go around with; thus it is.

 

 

 

At one time, some mother’s boy had died.
The bereaved mother, grieving and tormented
Came to the Buddha
And said,
My boy has died
And now that he is dead, I do not care to work or eat.
Again and again I roam the streets and moan,
Where are you, my boy? Where are you, my boy?
Please help me, teacher.

And the Buddha said to the mother,
Thus it is, mother, thus it is, mother
What is dear to you, mother, brings hurt and misery, suffering, grief, and despair,
Which comes from what is dear.

The mother, indignant and annoyed at the words of the Buddha, rose from her seat and went away.
What is dear to one brings joy and satisfaction, she thought, not hurt and misery!
How could the great master speak these words?

*
What did the Buddha say? He said this,
That which you are feeling now, mother,
Are hurt and misery, suffering, grief, and despair.
That is what you are now – grief and despair.
Right now
Thus it is, mother.

He did not say, may you know no more grief,
He did not speak words of consolation,
He did not say your son will return, did not say he will not return,
Did not say let time heal, go and meet friends,
Find meaning in your work,

He did not offer painkillers,
He did not say sit down to meditate,
Breathe in breathe out
Go to support groups, weekend workshops,
Sweat lodges or miracle-working gurus
He did not offer therapy
Nor reading in Buddhist classics

He did not say
Your son will become a god, or
He is in paradise now.
He did not say,
The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, blessed be the name of the Lord
He did not say all that
He did not offer God’s grace

He did not even talk about impermanence

He said
Thus it is, mother

You wish to feel no pain
To be free of grieving
But you cannot because this is what is now
Nowhere to go
And the more you wish to get rid of the pain
The more you suffer
Not only from the pain upon your son’s death
But also from the pain of the wish to be free from pain
And from the inevitable failure

Because there is no way for you not to be what you are now
A mourning mother, full of pain

Dear mother,
This is the nature of things
What is dear to you brings worry and pain
This is it
Anxiety is within the dear –
Like the color red in a pomegranate.
You want the joy of love but not its sorrow
But can you have right without left, high without low,
Youth without old age
Meeting without separation?

Your loved one equals anxiety about his life and mourning about his death
There is no other way

But the Buddha might have also said,
Be your hurt and misery
And you are free.

Know them thoroughly,
And be free.
Go through them
Like getting wet in the rain, like watching your footprint.
Like eating your bread and breathing the air
Know them
And you are free

And then, you will see, dear mother –
Mourning is liberation
And so are joy, and fear, dance and dream, and old age
All lived
Full measure

These and all the rest
Such as they are
Members of creation
Oh, these very sentient beings

The matter from which all is made
Free to come, free to go

Thus said the Buddha unto me

Rainbow Pregnancy, Rainbow Baby

The first time I stumbled upon the terms “rainbow pregnancy” and “rainbow baby” was in March 2019, about eight and half years after my stillbirth.
I don’t feel very connected to these terms. Here’s why:

First, I think that the rainbow is already taken. When I see a rainbow, I think of the LGBTQ community, which is associated with the rainbow. For me, this link is firm.
But the rainbow has been in use even before the LGBTQ community, starting with Greek mythology, through Chinese mythology, and ending with Irish mythology.
I feel the rainbow has too many prior engagements; therefore, it can’t be associated with yet another issue.

I also don’t connect with the term “the rainbow after the storm,” where stillbirth is concerned.
My stillbirth was not a storm. It was a sad, teary, and silent trauma.
When I was pregnant with my Noga, I did not feel the calm after the storm, or the rainbow after the storm. It was the pregnancy after my stillbirth, and that’s it.

Rainbow Pregnancy, Rainbow Baby

The terms “rainbow pregnancy” and “rainbow baby” carry with them, as I understand it, promises for a better future, happiness, some sort of a renewal of trust between women who went through stillbirth and the world.
While I understand the idea behind it, I am concerned about the responsibilities that the term “rainbow pregnancy” has over a child from the very first day of the pregnancy.

We naturally have so many hopes, dreams, do-overs we want to have with them for mistakes that our parents did with us, which we consciously place on our child. Sub-consciously, we make many mistakes. I feel that deliberately putting so much responsibility on the pregnancy and the child after a stillbirth is not right and not healthy.

In my eyes, it’s not right to expect the new pregnancy, and the other baby will amend all that the stillbirth left in our lives, all the emptiness and loss we went through.
The child that comes after a stillbirth is not meant to fix the sad experience of stillbirth.
It’s not up to this baby to restore their mother’s faith in the world or her body.
The thought that if we only have another pregnancy, another baby, then everything will be ok and the stillbirth will just fade away from our lives.
I saw these ideas rooted in many writings by women who went through stillbirth, these ideas that sting my heart.

Of course, I can completely understand these thoughts. In the past, I used to think that if only I’ll have another baby, everything will be ok.
That was not right. Today I feel that it was like more of the same denial for Ayelet’s existence people around me applied. You know, quickly have another baby, which will erase all memory of this horrible stillbirth and the fact that someone died in my womb, who knows how long she was dead in my womb and will delete the fact that I was pregnant for 37 weeks and three days and gave birth to death.
And this baby will synch me back to reality. This baby will bring peace and laughter, and heal my heart, my wound and bring happiness.

But Ayelet was with me for 37 weeks, and three days. She can not be erased from my life, our lives.
And we can not erase stillbirth from our lives. We can’t delete the pregnancy, the stillbirth, saying goodbye, the loss, and the grief.

My daughter Noga was born 13 months after my stillbirth with Ayelet. Noga is a different girl, wholly separated from the previous experience.
Yes, it’s difficult to separate, but I think that’s the truth. Noga’s existence might be intertwined with the fact that Ayelet did not survive the pregnancy, but that’s where it ends.
Noga’s role was never to heal her parent’s wounds, put an end to this miserable experience we all went through, and so on.
Noga was not the key to my happiness. She’s definitely a part of my happiness, but she’s not the secret for it.
Putting that role on her seems like a mistake.

Happiness

I think that happiness isn’t just about having a baby, even if it’s after a stillbirth.
I don’t think it’s healthy to be dependent on outside sources for our happiness, no matter who it is or how close they might be to us.

Children most certainly bring a considerable amount of joy into our lives, but that is not their job, it just happens from the sheer fact that they are children.
Our joy, our happiness, these are all elements we need to acquire from within us. From the healing journey we went through after stillbirth (or any other trauma, to be honest), processing this experience on all levels and allow this experience to integrate into our lives.
Taking care of ourselves is crucial for our motherhood, our happy family life, and a good, loving, and supportive relationship with our spouse.

*Photo: Noga, July 2016

לידה שקטה

Talking About Stillbirth

stillbirthOn September 6th, 2010, I was on the 37th week and three days of my second pregnancy. I was feeling under the weather, so I spent most of the day in bed. That afternoon I wasn’t sure I felt my baby move, so I went to the ER.
After several attempts to hook up the baby monitor, one of 3 doctors who were standing in front of me said: “I’m sorry, but there’s no pulse.”
Or, in other words: your baby died inside your womb.

When that happened to me, I felt utterly alone, like I was the only one in the world who went through stillbirth.
Of course, this was not the case:
6 of every 1,000 childbirths in Israel end in stillbirth. In Australia, those numbers are double.
There’s no way I am the only one who went through stillbirth.

We see this with other traumas as well; when something so profoundly significant happens to us, we feel we’re the only one this happened to. To that, we add the element of silence.
Generally speaking, traumas tend to be hushed. As if it’s best not talking about it, not let it be a part of our lives. Just go on with life. We have nothing to do about this now. We need to let go. Don’t deal with it. Don’t dwell on it.
“Time heals all.”
I don’t think time heals anything.

Silence only deepens trauma. Trauma grows well in the dark. Silence continually feeding it, and it exists inside us in isolation.
It’s not clear when silence became an unwritten law when it comes to traumas, but if we look at traumas in general, silence is there, and everyone agrees on this code: something happened, and we’re not talking about it.

What does it mean “talking about stillbirth”?

Today we can find many stillbirth stories almost on all social media:
On YouTube, we can see women sitting in their bedrooms, in front of a camera, sharing with us all that has happened in the delivery room.
On Instagram, we can find photos of babies who were born still.
On Facebook, we can find many groups about stillbirth and now and then someone will share she went through stillbirth and write what she went through.
A lot of pain and many tears come up from all these stories.

But stillbirth does not end in the delivery room. It just begins there.
In my opinion, talking about the stillbirth itself is just one part of our healing. The title “stillbirth” includes all that happens after the birth itself: the stares from people I know at the supermarket or in the street, crying, the phantom pains I had in my arms because my baby girl Ayelet wasn’t in them. The loud silence that filled my house and my life after I came home from the hospital, the inability of many people around me to contain my pain and loss. The society we live in which rushes us to “get over it already,” which promises me that I will soon have a new baby, long before they acknowledge my baby existed, and now she’s dead.
How jealous and bitter I was whenever I saw a woman with two children, or a pregnant woman, or a woman who had her baby around the time I had my stillbirth. The fact that I had to deal with being envious and bitter, two feelings I never felt before.
This experience taught me what deep, real sadness is, from the deepest place there is, my womb. All these and more are parts of “talking about stillbirth.”
Talking about stillbirth is also the healing process I went through, feeling all those emotions everyone wants to help you avoid: grief, loss, emptiness.

Talking about our spouses, who also lost their baby, they too mourn and feel the loss. This, too, falls under the title “talking about stillbirth.”

Let me assure you, time doesn’t heal anything. We heal ourselves.
Time allows us the time to go through our journey. Time does not make us forget or dims anything; many times, time is a painful reminder of all that we have lost.
At other times time passes by.
And where are we in all this? We flow along with the minutes and seconds that go by?

We choose how to live our lives. We will meet our experiences again and again in the course of our lives. It is the choices and decisions we make that will determine the life we have after this experience.
We are much stronger than society thinks we are.
We are much stronger than we think.

So here it is:
During these nine years since my stillbirth, I had a physical and emotional fight in birth, loss, and healing. I gave and received great love with my husband, my son, and the people who helped me along the way. Fear from another pregnancy, another stillbirth. Joy from another pregnancy, movements of a living baby inside me again, joy for all that I have. Loss of a baby and a lifetime I will never have with her. Hope that I will be happy soon, that I will heal, that I will be able to draw meaning from this experience. Pain for having to go through this sad experience, that a baby died in my womb. Healing from this experience and everything that comes with it, looking it straight in the eye and understanding that it’s another experience to what is called “Yael’s life.”

Nine years after and I wish to share my story with others who went through stillbirth and loss because I want to talk about stillbirth and not be silent anymore. It’s important to help others know they are not alone, and also, please remember: there is hope after stillbirth.

stillbirth

How Stillbirth Affected My Life

stillbirthMany women refer to their stillbirth as the “before and after” changing point, the life they had before the stillbirth and the life they have after it is not the same, it’s changed.
That’s not the case for me. While it is a significant point in my life, I don’t think I lived my life after stillbirth wholly changed and is now different from the way I was before the stillbirth.
I think the reason for this is the fact that before my stillbirth, I went through death and loss several times. I lost my grandfather and grandmother during my early twenties and lost my parents around my late twenties. My mom passed away in October 2001 when I was 26 years old, and my dad passed away two years and seven months after my mom.
Losing my parents are the losses that divide my life to “before” and “after,” especially my mom’s death, which caught me when I was going through a storm in my life, and her passing just made everything so much harder.

Stillbirth is not the point where my life got turned upside down. It is the experience that taught me what deep sadness is. “Sadness” is the best word to describe stillbirth for me.
Other experiences taught me of great anger, of compassion to the little girl I was when I went through other traumas and difficulties. But stillbirth is such a bitter experience, on every level possible, soul and body.

Sometimes I wonder how stillbirth affected my motherhood. Am I a different mother than I was before the stillbirth?
I’m not talking about the first few months, processing and grieving. Obviously, things at this time will be different.

To answer this question, I feel I need to look at a broader one: Did stillbirth change me?

Deciding to celebrate

I think I learned certain things from stillbirth as a whole experience, but I don’t think it changed anything essential in me.
Women who went through stillbirth talk about losing their innocence. They say every joy comes with concerns and doubts. I’m glad it didn’t happen to me.
But one of the things I remember is deciding to use every happy occasion in my life to have grand celebrations.
I think the only force that can stand against death is life. Therefore, the decision to celebrate was, for me, equal to choosing to live my life as good and happy as I can.

The first time I felt I want to celebrate after my stillbirth in 2010 was my boy’s Shahar 5th Birthday, which came four months after the stillbirth.
Since we planned a party, I decided I’m going to celebrate through the roof.
I saw that Angie from Bakerella not only makes the most amazing cake pops, but she also made it even better when she introduced me to cupcake pops.
Oh, how I LOVED cupcake pops!
I rehearsed, got sent ingredients from abroad, made some changes, and created about 40 cupcake pops, hand made by me.
Later I realized that it was occupational therapy for me. This little adventure helped me move to the next phase in my healing and brought great joy into my life at a time I needed it most.

“I choose to be in the light.”

The decision to celebrate every happy occasion changed throughout the years and is now a need and wish to be happy.
It’s quite easy to make me happy, generally speaking, but I feel my need to be happy grew with time, and that need stems from that decision I made after my stillbirth.
Alan Cumming, who is my greatest inspiration for writing and talking about stillbirth (and an inspiration for so many other things in my life), said in one of the thousands interviews he gave (yes, I saw many of them): “I have both darkness and light inside me, I choose to be in the light.”
He’s right, you know.

It is a choice. There are times in my life in which I had to make that choice every day consciously. Other times, the choice is like a reflex; I just do it.
I do believe it is a choice. From the moment I understood that I knew what I had to do, I knew I needed help, and I asked for it. I knew I needed to take steps each day, even little ones, which will lead me towards the life I wanted to lead.

I did not “move on” from my stillbirth. It’s not “over and done with.”
This experience walks with me after processing it, after healing. It’s integrated into my life.
I keep dealing with it, each time on a different level.
It is a part of my bundle.