I found it because I was thinking of what it must be like to experience a miscarriage. Recently I participated in a focus group at SANDS, which reviewed the infant death literature they provide to newly bereaved parents. In a follow up email, the facilitator who was in charge of creating the new booklets, emailed me to ask if, perchance, I'd also suffered a miscarriage, as she was having trouble finding women to give feedback on their miscarriage brochures. I didn't take offence - she was just asking what was from her perspective a pragmatic question, but it made me wonder about why she thought I might have been a likely candidate. Perhaps she thought I was more likely to have given that I'd had a baby who died? Or perhaps she didn't think that through at all, but was just trying to get her brochures finished on time.
At any rate, I never really feared miscarriage when I was pregnant with Max, although I knew from everything I'd ever been read or told that it is quite common in the early stages of a pregnancy. I was relieved when I passed the symbolic 12 week mark, though, I guess. Except I now see how pointless that so-called magical milestone is. Women are encouraged not to tell anyone they're pregnant before this time because the vast majority of miscarriages occur within the first trimester. I have two problems with this. The first is that this implies if you did lose a baby it's something shameful that you wouldn't want people to know about. The second is that it produces this kind of false reassurance that if you get through the first trimester with no problems then it's smooth sailing from there in. I had no idea my baby could up and die half way through my pregnancy for no good reason. I really don't think we should perpetuate this myth of certainty. It's not fair, and most importantly, it's not true. Yes, you're less statistically likely to lose your baby after the first trimester, but you're certainly don't become magically less immune to the possibility.
Leslie and I have wondered how we would cope if I were pregnant again and had a miscarriage early on. We can't help but think about it. It's like Heineman mentions in the article: you kind of assume that you're destined for the trifecta - miscarriage, stillbirth, infant death - when you've had one of them happen to you and you know for sure now that your name is on at least one, and maybe more tickets in the dead baby lottery.
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| The dead baby lottery: when you're the winner |
It upsets me to think about miscarriage because it makes me think of people, like the writer of the article I mentioned, alone and afraid losing their baby at home. It makes me feel sick that a small fetus might be accidentally flushed down the toilet. It makes me angry that mother's who miscarry don't get any official recognition that their baby existed (in fact, you get no recognition of your baby unless they are over 20 weeks gestation, which is a baby who is undeniably human and perfectly formed at that stage).
I hope I never have to find out what that feels like.
I hope that the dead baby lottery is like a pass-the-parcel game at a children's birthday party, and that the music isn't allowed to stop on you if you've already had a turn - just so that it's fair for everyone.
But it's not fair for everyone, is it? Some people, like Heineman, will experience the loss of multiple babies. Others, who perhaps take reckless risks during their pregnancies, or who are not fit parents, will continue to get to keep their babies, defying any sense of the rationality and reason we assume operates in our world.
There's no rationality and reason at all, though, really. There's no such thing as your 'fair share' or 'taking it in turns', or 'lightning doesn't strike twice, or 'you've suffered enough'. 'There are no rewards for being a good person, or for doing the right thing, despite what every parent, teacher or church will tell you to the contrary. There is just randomness and chaos; a universe in disarray, in which we are but the smallest, most inconsequential inhabitants. It's catch-cry is 'shit happens: don't take it personally'.
