A nurse sat by me and told me that she was sorry. I grabbed her crying asking her what happened. She just stared at me. 

Even though I begged for a C-section, they told me I had to deliver her naturally and would begin the process of inducing me. I just kept telling my husband how scared I was.

Would I hold her?

Would I be strong enough to see her face? And, would she look normal?

A few hours later my OB came in. She held my hand and cried and said, I too lost a baby. Please hold her and spend time with her.

Two days later, it was time to deliver my daughter, who we had already named.

Violet Ann

When she was delivered, there was only the sound of my loud cries. My father told me that the doctor had been crying too. I asked the nurse if she looked normal so I could prepare myself. They wheeled her out wrapped in a handmade knitted hat and blanket. She had a small bear next to her. My family and I took turns holding her. She was warm, with the most beautiful and peaceful face. I could only bear to hold her for a few minutes, and when I asked if she could bring her back they told me that it wouldn’t be a good idea. 

The feelings following, were something beyond description

Being wheeled out of that hospital, in a wheelchair with no baby to a house where the only screams and cries are your own. When you wake up and feel like your heart is being ripped out of your chest and you just beg that this is all a dream. That first Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, all the firsts. One was more gut wrenching then the other.

I was pregnant again, 4 months after burying my first born

I hated that everyone just thought I would be happy again or when a stranger would ask if this was my first. How could I pretend she didn’t exist?

No, this is not my first. My first is in heaven.

The looks of pity and discomfort from my response. I cried at every single sonogram appointment with my subsequent pregnancies. Until I saw that heartbeat on the screen, I felt like I was going to be sick. When my son Logan was born, I thought things would be different. But, at night when I would nurse him to sleep in the dark, I would sometimes get confused or pretend it was her. I would look in to his eyes and wonder if that is how she would look at me.

Two years later, I was blessed with a daughter

She looks exactly like Violet. For three years, I was unable to look at girly dresses or go down an aisle in a store with pink blankets and bows. But, after my daughter Teagan was born, something healed inside of me. It is almost as if Violet sent her down to me. You see, my husband and I were told we could never have children on our own, yet here she was, our blessing. 

 

When I was pregnant with Violet, I was so excited to teach her everything about the world but, it was her who has taught me

She has taught me how to be grateful, compassionate, and to love and appreciate every moment of this life, good or bad. Every step I take, is for the ones that she never could. Even though parenting after loss is complicated; a balance of a world filled with joy, followed by just as much sadness. If I had to do it all over again, I would still choose her. As long as I live, I will speak her name proudly.

For she is part of me, and I am part of her.

I will tell my story, and I will not be silent. Through it all, I will help the women that are new to this club that no one wants to be a part of. 

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Samantha Sykula

Born and raised in NY, I studied speech and language pathology at NYU. I am a stay at home mom to two beautiful children, Richard and Charlotte and wife to my wonderful husband, Rich. I have always had a deep love for learning, which has grown further since becoming a mother, I am always looking for new ways to enrich our lives. Becoming a mother changed my life, I learned compassion, caring and most importantly, true love. I hope to share the experiences of my breastfeeding, cloth diapering, babywearing, crocheting, full of love, life.

The post Violet Ann – Break The Silence, Nicole Heinze’s Story appeared first on Breastfeeding World.

As we arrived at the park on October 15th, I knew that it would be an emotional, beautiful and love-filled day. But, I did not expect the strength and the immediate bond between everyone there. It was incredible to watch, as each mother stood together, how interwoven they each were. They were bound together in an indescribable way. It was the most beautiful thing I could ever witness. 

Each mother was different, each story was different, every experience was different, and yet something felt the same. As they looked at their rainbow children, the beautiful little lights of hope, you could see all of the love among them. You could feel their angels there with us, watching over them. And, you could see on the face of every mother, that they were always carrying their precious babies; even when the world wasn’t. 

Mini Sessions with each of our mommas

We wanted each and every mom to have a special experience on this day. To remember and honor their babies gone too soon and acknowledge the special place their rainbow baby has in their hearts. 

As they came together….

Everything about this shoot was natural and beautiful. Bound together in loss, love and motherhood, each mom radiated an incredible strength that I deeply admire.

October 15th ~ Remembrance Day

As the day of remembrance, we participated in the wave of light together. We went around and spoke each baby’s name or due date. In the darkness, we sat, looking into each glowing light, remembering the lives that each flickering candle represented. We, at Breastfeeding World, are honored to be able to participate in something so incredibly moving. 

From the bottom of my heart, I would like to thank each of the wonderful mothers who offered their time, their stories and their hearts to us on this day. It means the world to be able to share this with our community and to honor your children and all of the children gone too soon. I would also like to thank Kim from Kim Max Photography for donating her time and talent to our shoot. Finally, Te-Ana Souffrant of Gem2Gen Doula services, who provided us the guidance and space to speak about loss openly and honestly. It was so wonderful to have all of you. 

I also would like to show appreciate to the following small businesses who generously donated their beautiful work for our moms and their families to use as props:

Mova-Light Maternity for the beautiful Dresses

Laura Costarella, Blue Stone Sky for the Rainbow Gauze

Jena Glasgow, Lilac Blossom Boutique for the Rainbow Maternity Sash

Jen at The Ritzy Rose for the Rainbow Baby Sign

Amanda Stinnet, Pretty Girl Bow Shop for the Felt Flower Headbands

Annie Edwards, My Little Itch, Rainbow Bow Tie 

Be sure to join us in our social media accounts and be up to date with the progress of our project!

And… Don’t forget to share your brelfies using our hashtag

#BreastfeedingWorld

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Samantha Sykula

Born and raised in NY, I studied speech and language pathology at NYU. I am a stay at home mom to two beautiful children, Richard and Charlotte and wife to my wonderful husband, Rich. I have always had a deep love for learning, which has grown further since becoming a mother, I am always looking for new ways to enrich our lives. Becoming a mother changed my life, I learned compassion, caring and most importantly, true love. I hope to share the experiences of my breastfeeding, cloth diapering, babywearing, crocheting, full of love, life.

The post New York City’s Rainbow Photo Shoot with Kim Max Photography appeared first on Breastfeeding World.

I know loss

I know the stabbing, breathtaking, panicking feeling of realizing your baby is gone. I’ve had the racing thoughts. The denial. Hoping to be able to wake yourself up from a terrifying dream. I have held my lifeless child in my hands. I have studied her tiny features. Turning off my phone so no one could reach me, I remember I couldn’t stand one more text message from someone saying they were sorry. I didn’t want to hear anyone’s sympathy.

All I wanted was my baby back

I felt as if something was stolen from me. Ripped out of my arms without my consent and I was left with my empty hands, reaching out needing to grasp something, anything that made sense.

Two pink lines

Lets talk about those two pink lines. Sometimes you pray for them, sometimes they surprise you, and sometimes they are terrifying. I have experienced all three! But nonetheless, when you see them, you become a mom. You see a new life, with a new spirit. Immediately, you imagine every possibility with this new beating heart. It is yours. You created sacred life within you.

Cells are multiplying, blood is flowing, and a tiny heart forms and beats life into an actual human! Your heart beats so fast you can hear it in your ears. Your hand subconciously touches your tummy and a slight smile brushes your mouth because you are going to be a mother. All as you find yourself looking harder to make sure those two pink lines are really there.

Can this be real?

Miracle, seems like an insufficient word for such an astounding series of events. Those two pink lines will change your life forever with just a glance. Is it a boy or a girl? You see yourself holding your newborn, first steps, first day of school, big hugs and tears consoled. It’s all right there, in those pink lines. It is important to understand these emotions as the mother, and as someone supporting a mother, because they are real and they are powerful. And they have got to be remembered if it ends.

When it Ends

Whether its early miscarriage, late term still birth, newborn death, or any kind of infant loss, the pain is just as real. No matter the time of the loss, remember, this mother has already seen the pink lines, experienced everything I have described. Do not discredit the emotions this mother has felt about the life inside her.

Each mother will grieve differently. As there is no right way to grieve. She will take as long as she needs to. And, that is okay. Let her hurt, let her cry, let her talk. But do not push.

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Each mother will grieve differently. As there is no right way to grieve. She will take as long as she needs to. And, that is okay. Let her hurt, let her cry, let her talk. But do not push.
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What to say

It can be difficult to know what to say to a grieving mother. So much so, that lots of people avoid saying anything at all. But it doesnt have to be that way.

Let’s first address what not to say, shall we? Some things are more hurtful than helpful. Please don’t say “Maybe it’s for the best”, “At least you know you can get pregnant”, “At least you have other children.”, “You can try again.”, “At least it happened early.” How about as a general rule, don’t start a sentence with “At least”. Don’t say “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.” Because she won’t.

Instead, let’s say, “What can I do today to help?” “I’m so sorry you are going through this.”, “I am right here whenever you need to talk about it”, “It’s okay to cry.” “I am praying for you.”, “You are important to me.”, “Your baby mattered.”

The Stigma

The world sometimes likes to discredit miscarriage because they think it’s not a real loss, or the mom can get over it easier because it wasn’t “a real baby”. This is simply not true.

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Remember the Two Pink Lines paragraph?

Women don’t need to suffer in silence. They don’t need to feel ashamed or silly about the pain that they feel. They need to feel it and they need to talk about it. There are so many support groups bringing awareness to this. Making sure that the world knows that this is a real loss of a real life, with real pain. You do not need to suffer in silence. To those that still carry the sigma, to them we can say “I hope you never have to go through this.”

The all important healing

After my loss, it took me while to want to talk about it. I felt a lot of anger and confusion. There were so many questions. I needed to feel the hurt and grieve in my own way. 

It was only after many conversations with God, that I was able to feel the heavy burden lifted from me. Suddenly, I no longer felt like I had to carry this hurt by myself. I found myself needing to talk about it. Needing to talk about her. She existed and deserved my praise. I had a great support system who listened and let me cry. Because of this, I felt her presence strongly around me, and that was very peaceful.

I wanted to do something in remberance of her. So we, as a family bought an orange tree and planted it in our back yard for her. It was a reminder that our family is forever. A reminder that we will see her again. It was a few months later that we saw a butterfly hovering endlessly around the tree. I then realised that, that day would have been her due date. And that sweet butterfly was a reminder that she is with us.

Ever since then, when we see butterflies, we say “Baby sister is here!”

I also felt very strongly that I wanted to write a children’s book to help explain to children what happens when mommy’s baby goes to heaven. My children’s book was written and published in the same year as my loss. It changed my life. I was able to start an Instagram account to share the book and also share women’s stories of loss and hope. (@too.perfect.for.this.earth) The women I have met through this have been inspiring and have helped break the silence. It has been an amazing experience.

Book information here

How to support those suffering through child loss

Say the right things. And love that momma unconditionally. If she is open to it, help her think of ways to honor and remember her baby. There are websites that will make jewelry out of your babies ashes or breastmilk. Websites that make amazing plaques or framed art with your childs name. Perhaps plant a tree and bury something of your babies with it.

Having something positive to hold, or see is very validating and healing. Pray. Pray for peace to be brought to her heart and her family. Serve. Take a meal, watch her other children, clean a bathroom, anything to help take the normal life pressures off of her while she heals and grieves. Send a card or a book to let her know she is in your thoughts

In conclusion, infant loss is a real pain that deserves the respect of understanding it. Reach out and tell your story, you never know who’s day you will brighten, or whose heart you will assist in healing. I’ll end with my favorite quote about this subject that inspired the title of my book.

“The Lord takes many away, even in infancy, that they may escape the envy of man, and the sorrows and evils of this present world; they were too pure, too lovely, to live on earth; therefore, if rightly considered, instead of mourning we have reason to rejoice as they are delivered from evil, and we shall soon have them again.”

-Joseph Smith

Be sure to join us in our social media accounts and be up to date with the progress of our project!

And… Don’t forget to share your brelfies using our hashtag

#BreastfeedingWorld

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Andrea Tao

My name is Andrea Tao. I live on the surface of the sun in southern Arizona. I have been married for 13 years and have 6 (yes 6) kids. I am a massage therapist by trade and a total hippy. Hobbies include watercolor painting, fitness, gardening and mommin hard. Pregnancy and infant loss awareness advocate. Wrote a children’s book about miscarriage a few years ago after a loss and it changed my life. Love seeing the humorous side of parenting and try to be as sarcastic as I can. Laughing my way through momhood!

The post I Know Loss – Supporting Those Suffering From Child Loss appeared first on Breastfeeding World.

“When a child loses a parent, they are called an orphan, when a spouse loses her or his partner, they are called a widow or widower. But, when a parent loses a child, there isn’t a world to describe that. This month recognizes the loss so many parents experience across the United States and around the word.” – President Ronald Reagan, as he proclaimed October as National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month.

October – National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month

Through the years, and across the world, October has become dedicated to remembering and honoring the angel babies that have been lost. It has also become a time to raise awareness around miscarriage, stillbirth and infant death. A time to discuss, educate, provide resources and support for the family members surrounding grieving parents and those who have lost a child themselves.

When a child dies, no matter when or how it occurred, no matter the age of the child when it happened; it is a devastating loss. Regardless of the amount of time a child spent in their mother’s womb, or in their family’s arms, that sweet baby is, and will always be, a child that is greatly missed.

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Last year,

Breastfeeding World opened the blog as a platform for mothers to share the moving stories of their loss. The memories of their babies forever live on in these stories, every time their names are spoken, we remember. We were honored, touched and deeply moved, that so many moms allowed us so deeply into their hearts for a brief moment.

This year,

We would like to shine light on hope. Because, after every storm, there is a calm, there is a Rainbow. Such a heavy loss leaves fear in its wake. We have heard time and time again, from mothers that they feared pregnancy, that they felt they could not truly enjoy the beauty of it all because that fear lingered like a cloud overhead. But there is hope; there is hope in the face of every child that has come after. We would like a chance to explore these feelings of fear and hope, to learn for ourselves and help families on this incredibly difficult journey.

Too many families grieve in silence, many not coming to terms with their loss. The moms of Breastfeeding World hear you; we want to honor your children gone too soon and celebrate your beautiful Rainbows. We hope that in projects like these, we are breaking the silence, so that we may help families live with their loss.

Join us in Central Indiana and New York City for the Rainbow Photo Session

We are welcoming moms from all walks of life to participate in this shoot. Your Rainbow can be of any age and does NOT have to have been breastfed (yes, your Rainbow can be an adult!). Also, you may join us if you are currently pregnant with your rainbow baby!

It is very important to us that ALL moms feel welcome to participate in this shoot if they would like.

This photo session is free to all attendees. Moms will be given access to the group shot, along with 1-3 watermarked and professionally edited photos. You will have the option to purchase unwatermarked photos from the photographer if you wish.

Moms will be wearing a solid color of the rainbow. You will be able to leave your preference when you register; but if the preference is already taken, we will work with you to choose another color. If you are pregnant with your rainbow, please bring a white shirt in addition to your designated color.

Rainbow children will be dressed in white.

We have many different Rainbow inspired set ups for the day of the shoot. One of which will get a little messy; we promise that will be the very last thing we do before we go home! But if you have something in mind, please feel free to share with us!

Individual Location Details & Registration

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October 15th 2017
5:45PM at Nassau County Museum of Art with Kim Max Photography
If you would like to participate, please register here
For the most up to date information, follow the Facebook Event[/left]

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October 19th 2017
6PM at Holiday Park featuring Rogue Art Photography
If you would like to participate, please register here
For the most up to date information, follow the Facebook Event[/right]

Due to the sensitive nature of this shoot, and our strong pledge to do this project justice, we do request that this be seen as a commitment. If you are not sure that you can participate on the date of the event, please do not take a spot of another mother who would like to participate. 

Be sure to join us in our social media accounts and be up to date with the progress of our project!

And… Don’t forget to share your brelfies using our hashtag

#BreastfeedingWorld

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Samantha Sykula

Born and raised in NY, I studied speech and language pathology at NYU. I am a stay at home mom to two beautiful children, Richard and Charlotte and wife to my wonderful husband, Rich. I have always had a deep love for learning, which has grown further since becoming a mother, I am always looking for new ways to enrich our lives. Becoming a mother changed my life, I learned compassion, caring and most importantly, true love. I hope to share the experiences of my breastfeeding, cloth diapering, babywearing, crocheting, full of love, life.

The post Rainbow Photo Session: Central Indiana & New York City appeared first on Breastfeeding World.

A Note from the Editor: Last October 2016, Breastfeeding World supported families who experienced miscarriage, still birth, and Infant Loss.

Our goal- to “Break the Silence” and stigma surrounding their grief during

We are honored to feature mothers willing to commemorate their babies, gone too soon, by giving them a platform to share their experiences. So with that, we are so thankful to the Little Lionheart project for sharing their story of loss, determination, and coping with our Breastfeeding World Community. Please do not grieve alone.

My Journey Through Loss- The Little Lionheart Project

When my husband and I got engaged, only 3 months after we met – we knew we wanted to start a family as soon as possible. We could never have imagined how difficult, devastating and heartbreaking having children could be. We never knew there was a ‘club no one wants join’.

Our first, second and third pregnancies ended in an ectopic and two early miscarriages. Whilst devastating at the time, we knew that we had to keep trying.

We fell pregnant with fraternal twins in September 2012. When we made it past the 12 week ‘safe’ period, the milestone excited us beyond compare. Finally, it was our turn. And to have two babies – amazing! We planned, we painted, we shopped as any expecting parents would.

On the 20^th November, whilst at work, my water broke early (a condition known as Preterm Premature Rupture of Membranes or PPROM). We lost our first little boy, Junior.

I went straight into hospital and was placed on rest. I waited for a cervical suture to keep our second baby baking away. However, as wait on the operating table 9 days later, my second water broke. Our second twin Alex was born too early.

Diagnosed with an ‘Incompetent Cervix’, I underwent surgery 3 months later to put in a permanent stitch around my cervix. The goal of this is to keep it closed during pregnancy. The stitch is generally considered 95% successful, so when we fell pregnant again in August 2013, we knew our ‘miracle stitch’ was finally going to bring us a baby home.

Still, I felt something ‘wasn’t right’, but dismissed the feeling, thinking I just had some nerves. We went to our morphology scan on the 5^th of December, I was 19 weeks pregnant. There, we realized that my cervix once again open, and my waters were ‘bulging’ through.

 Our nightmare was beginning again.

Again, I went straight from scan to hospital on strict bed rest, but that very night, I PPROM’d again. The contractions came, but then stopped. Doctors said to expect that I would be delivering our baby boy, Ashley, within 48 hours. But our little man had other ideas.

Even though Ashley’s leg became caught through the stitch into my cervix, combined with having zero amniotic fluid, our little man survived for 4 more weeks. We nicknamed him our ‘little lionheart’. He became our lion heart for his sheer determination to stay with his parents. Parents who loved him beyond measure, parents desperate for him to live.

However our little boy arrived after only 23 weeks and 1 day- too early. He lived for 23 minutes.

Despair does not even cover the feelings we had. We had lost 6 babies in 5 pregnancies. Our miracle stitch had not worked – we had lost our little lionheart. How could this have happened again?

After Ashley’s birth, we used a CuddleCot to spend time with him. Unfortunately the hospital had only one of these vital machines to share between the four families who lost babies the same day. We decided that we would fundraise to purchase a second one for our hospital. It provided the only time we had to parent Ashley – to take photos, hand and foot casts and make memories.

We gave ourselves six months to raise the $4000 needed; but through the love and support of our family and friends, we raised it in 3 weeks. Donating the CuddleCot in Ashley’s name was therapeutic in a way, and gave us a way to channel our grief.

We then established “Little LionHeart”

Little Lionheart is a charity project to support the pregnancy and infant loss community. We fundraise to purchase more Cuddle Cots for hospitals, and we supply ‘memory boxes’ to four hospitals to give bereaved parents so they don’t leave hospital with ‘empty arms’.

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So far we have fundraised $15,000 to purchase three Cuddle Cots, and about to fundraise for our 4^th; and provided well over 200 memory boxes to families. We are also passionate on ‘breaking the silence’ of pregnancy and infant loss. Losing our babies should not be a taboo subject, nor is it something to hide. I will not move on from or get over the loss of our babies. Their deaths makes my family achingly incomplete. We feel their absences every day.

We hope that through projects like ours, and many other similar ones in Australia, we can continue to provide support and understanding to our very special community.

Read more about grieving, coping, and surviving the death of your baby from Dr. Deborah Davis:

https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/laugh-cry-live/201610/9-compassionate-tips-surviving-the-death-your-baby

Sources of bereaved parent support:

http://nationalshare.org/

https://pailnetwork.ca/

http://sands.org.nz/

http://www.sands.org.au/

https://www.uk-sands.org/

Experience the healing that comes from telling your story—or reading the stories of others:

http://carlymarieprojectheal.com/capture-your-grief-2016

https://grievingdads.com/tell-your-story/

Learn more about this series, a letter from the Breastfeeding World Team

Join us in Breaking The Silence

[col1]Robyn’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Becca’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Megan’s Story[/col3]

[col1]Anika’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Janice’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Randi’s Story[/col3]

[col1]Olivia’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Tasha’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Maegan’s Story[/col3]

[col1]Liz’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Mandi’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Jacinta’s Story[/col3]

Be sure to join us in our social media accounts to be up to date with the progress of our project!

And… Don’t forget to share your brelfies using our HT #BreastfeedingWorld 

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admin

A photography project founded in late 2014 by Alexia Garcia, photographer a Alegares Photography. Breastfeeding World aims to promote breastfeeding and encourage new moms to nurse their babies through the art of photography and story telling.

The post My Journey Through Loss- Little LionHeart appeared first on Breastfeeding World.

On July 5^th 2016, Killian was born sleeping at just 19 weeks gestation. Wendy and her family had to face the unthinkable, mourning the loss of their sweet boy gone too soon. As you can imagine, everything moves so quickly and time with your baby is fleeting. Breastfeeding World shared Wendy’s moving and harrowing story after meeting her at the 2016 Big Latch On in NYC. We listened to the amazing things that Wendy had done up to that point and all of her big plans for the future, and we were inspired. We felt compelled to share her story and her project: bringing Cuddle Cots to New York Methodist Hospital.

Wendy and Killian

Congratulations!

The Team at Breastfeeding World is proud and honored to congratulate Wendy on all of her hard work, strength and perseverance in such a difficult time for her and her family. Her dedication to her project and the memory of her son, Killian, has given an indescribable gift to future families experiencing such a heavy loss at New York Methodist Hospital. Because of Wendy, along with the amazing contributors to her fund, a Cuddle Cot is now at New York Methodist Hospital.

She keeps going!

But Wendy is not stopping there! Motivated by the beautiful outpouring of love and support, Wendy and her family is moving forward in the collection and bringing Cuddle Cots to more hospitals in the New York Area. Breastfeeding World and I, are honored to have been able to contribute to such an amazing cause.

Wendy Says

“I feel so humbled and grateful to those who have shown their support, generosity and understanding of the importance of CuddleCots. When I began this campaign, I had no expections. I did not think that I would be able to reach my goal of a Cuddle Cot within 3 months! It made me feel a sense of personal accomplishment for my son. Killian was born still on July 5th 2016. To know that so many people know his name; To see the impact he has had around the world, just proved to me that his memory and legacy lives on. Because of that, I will continue on to raise more funds for more CuddleCots to be place in hospitals throughout NYC where it’s needed the most. I know that I cannot prevent a stillbirth or an infant loss, but at least I can give the families the gift of time. Time that I never had with Killian.”

Thank you, from all of us

We would also like to extend official congratulations, thank you and ‘you are amazing’ to Wendy . You have donated over 2,000 ounces of breastmilk to six different babies. You have done an amazing service to the breastfeeding community. Wendy, you have touched so many lives in the most extraordinary fashion. You have inspired us all in an indescribable way.

Thank you Wendy, for all that you have done and continue to do for our community.

If you would like to donate and help Wendy bring a Cuddle Cot to hospitals all over NYC, click here!

Be sure to join us in our social media accounts to be up to date with the progress of our project!

And… Don’t forget to share your brelfies using our HT #BreastfeedingWorld

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Samantha Sykula

Born and raised in NY, I studied speech and language pathology at NYU. I am a stay at home mom to two beautiful children, Richard and Charlotte and wife to my wonderful husband, Rich. I have always had a deep love for learning, which has grown further since becoming a mother, I am always looking for new ways to enrich our lives. Becoming a mother changed my life, I learned compassion, caring and most importantly, true love. I hope to share the experiences of my breastfeeding, cloth diapering, babywearing, crocheting, full of love, life.

The post A Cuddle Cot For NY Methodist Hospital appeared first on Breastfeeding World.

Becoming a mum at just 17- it terrified me. From a young age, Doctors warned me that carrying a baby full term would be a mission in itself. So when I became pregnant at just 16 years old, I never second guessed being a mum. I felt it was my one and only chance.

I had a fairly rough pregnancy- severe morning sickness from beginning to end. Consequently I only gained 1.2kg the whole pregnancy. Yet I safely delivered my first born daughter, weighing in at 6lb, full term.

After a year passed, I found out I was pregnant again

Ecstatic, I couldn’t believe it. I thought I was the luckiest young lady. The excitement soon turned to sadness at my 12 week scan, when they said baby’s heart beat had stopped. I miscarried, but it was a “missed miscarriage”- meaning I had no bleeding, and had to have baby surgically removed.

 I remember crying uncontrollably. A million thoughts ran through my head- was it something I ate, something I did? Everyone at the hospital reassured me- these things happen, and they are beyond our control.

I remember everyone asking, “So how far along are you now?” Then, when I gave them the news..

The awkward silence. My child was never mentioned again.

They told me I should feel thankful. That at least I had my first born child, when some women don’t even get one. Like I should be comforted over the loss of my second child?!

The following year I fell pregnant again. This time I didn’t get the same excited feeling because of the feelings still haunting me from my second pregnancy,

I had first scan. I had my 2nd scan. When I found out all was well, my excitement came. 2 weeks later I experienced really horrible cramping. Then at 14 weeks I went in to see my obstetrician. He pulled out the doppler to check for baby’s heart beat, and he couldn’t find it. “Baby must be playing hide seek, most likely a cheeky one, like their big sissy,”

He awkwardly smiled, trying to offer comfort, but I knew. Instantly, the tears rolled down my cheeks. He took me in for another ultrasound, he tried so hard to find that heart beat. Yet it wasnt there, again. I had another missed miscarriage.

By this stage, I was numb

 Again, I was to go for surgery to have the procedure. I heard all the same stuff as my first loss, this time I just nodded my head at everything they said. I didn’t even have the strength to talk. The following year I was pregnant again, and it was the same scenario. Healthy baby at 12 weeks, but one week later my angel passed.

Giving up all hope on having another child earth side, I focused on my studies.

 I was sitting in my hospitality course and I could smell the food cooking. Instantly, I felt nauseous, so I excused myself from class. AS I traveled back home, I spent the afternoon being sick. Honestly, I didn’t think much of it.

My gyno had called to say he booked me in for surgery on my cervix (having had cin3). He said I should be up nice and early the next day for surgery. Surgery went well- I came home and rested for a few days. But I still continued to feel ill and had some very heavy bleeding, so went to the gp for a check up, worried something was wrong.

 He booked me in for a scan urgently. As I was laid on the bed, the sonographer started saying “Everything looks okay here love… looks like a suture may have come undone and caused a little bleeding, and you have a sub chronic hematoma but your baby is well.”

Shocked I said “I’m not pregnant, sorry.” He turned the screen around so I could see my baby.

No sorry you definitely are love- and from these measurements you’re 18 weeks along!!”

Shocked, I could not believe it!! I made him triple check for baby’s heart beat and measurements and even received the news from what he could see I was having a baby girl. The weeks passed. 20 weeks they confirmed a beautiful little baby girl. Again they checked at 26 weeks, just to be sure, another at 32 weeks and again at 38 weeks, my baby was growing healthy!!

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I cried uncontrollably every time I saw my rainbow girl. I made them double check, triple check- my whole support system of medical professionals were beyond amazing. They totally understood my anxiety and struggle. So they never ever turned me away, more than happy to reassure me everything was okay with my rainbow girl.

New years Eve, 2013, at 5:30 pm,  my waters broke

In a panic i had my partner drive me to the hospital,where we found it was hindwaters. The Staff broke my waters manually after finding some green discharge. i started panicking but they reassured all was well. They provided syntocin via drip, and delivered my beautiful rainbow baby, Hailey at 5.33am new years morning.  We watched the fireworks out the window of the hospital bed all morning. She definitely was the highlight of 2014!

Just 6 months later, after being on the mini pill and exclusively breastfeeding, I went to my check up with the gp. They informed me of my impending pregnancy, again! This time, scared me- On contraception? Exclusively breastfeeding? What are my odds?!

 4 weeks later, at my scan, it showed TWINS!!!

My heart raced a million miles an hour, emotion after emotion, but mostly happiness. However that haunting feeling stayed behind. At my 12 week scan we found that one twin had passed, but twin 2 was going strong. How do you mourn or grieve when you are still carrying one child? I blocked out all emotions and focused whole heartedly on my growing baby. 20 weeks came and i found out i was having my little boy. The momma’s boy I always dreamed of. I cried and I cried and I cried some more. Not for my loss, but for my gain. I kept the pain and angst of losing his twin silent.

My little rainbow twin Jayden came 8 days early. After a 56 minute labour, I  just made it to the hospital- with him crowning!! My biggest baby at 7lb full term. The hospital discharged me 6 hours later. Both of his sisters and daddy were present at the birth. What an amazing feeling! I also remember feeling a touch on my shoulder whilst holding him in my arms for the first time. Then I saw Jayden give a little eye open and smile. I believe his twin was there that day and it offered that little extra comfort. The months passed as I busily chased after 3 beautiful babies.

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18 months later it hit me. I cried. I cried so hard about every loss I’ve experienced, at every angel whose name has rarely been mentioned since. How time just goes by and everyone but you forget- well that’s how it feels anyway.

So I wrote this to show my support and share my story, so every mother and father who have endured the pain of child loss knows our babies are never forgotten.

We are not silenced and we should not be made to feel that our feelings are unjust. May all angels around the world fly high till they reunite with their loved ones xoxox

Learn more about this series, a letter from the Breastfeeding World Team

Join us in Breaking The Silence

[col1]Robyn’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Becca’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Megan’s Story[/col3]

[col1]Anika’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Janice’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Randi’s Story[/col3]

[col1]Olivia’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Tasha’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Maegan’s Story[/col3]

[col1]Liz’s Story[/col1]

[col2]April’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Selena’s Story[/col3]

Be sure to join us in our social media accounts to be up to date with the progress of our project!

And… Don’t forget to share your brelfies using our HT #BreastfeedingWorld 

–

[col1][/col1]

[col2][/col2]

[col3][/col3]

Lauren Lewis

Lauren Lewis is no stranger to childcare development, having spent over 10 years as a nanny or family childcare provider. She’s the wife of a travel geek, mother of two vivacious children, and has an amazing talent for trailing lost things behind her a la Hansel and Gretel. Her passion for lifting up women and advocating for children pours out in her work as a Central Indiana Event Coordinator, Writer, and Social Media Relations Director for Breastfeeding World. Her life is full of busy, crazy and LOUD. It is full of love and hope, ups and downs. And coffee, always lots of coffee- but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

www.raisinglaurenslittle.wordpress.com

The post Jacinta’s Story- Love, Loss, and My Rainbow Baby appeared first on Breastfeeding World.

Understanding the layers of loss and challenges of mourning can help you embrace the depth of your grief.

When a baby dies, parents can experience a grief so profound, they wonder how they can survive it. If you’ve experienced the death of a baby, it’s normal to worry about your sanity. It can help you to acknowledge the many layers of loss and special challenges that can affect the course of your mourning. Layers which can make a baby’s death so very difficult to endure. Understanding why this is so hard can affirm your baby’s importance and validate the depth of your grief.

You may experience some or all of the following losses and challenges.

Death is taboo in our society

Rather than being seen as an inevitable and natural part of the cycle of life, death has become something we consider scary and distasteful—even disgusting—and best avoided. As a result, most people feel uncomfortable with death and dying. They don’t want to think about it, much less talk about it. When a baby dies, it is especially unthinkable and unspeakable. Unfortunately, this leaves bereaved parents alone and adrift, which only adds to their suffering.

A baby’s death violates expectations

Modern medicine and standards of living have greatly improved the prospects of having a healthy pregnancy and giving birth to healthy baby. As such, expectant parents are not likely to seriously consider the possibility that their baby may die, particularly after the first trimester of pregnancy. This assumption accompanies the belief that by “doing all the right things,” guarantees a healthy baby.So when a baby dies, the parents’ expectations are cruelly violated.

A baby’s death is a traumatic bereavement

Trauma happens when you experience an emotionally painful event over which you have no control, and it leaves a lasting imprint on your brain—and your life. A large part of what makes a traumatic experience is that everything is okay. But then suddenly, and unexpectedly, it’s not. So when your baby dies, the road of recovery is long, winding, and hard.

The weight of responsibility

Particularly as the mother, you may wonder about what you did or did not do that might have contributed to your baby’s plight. As the father or the mother’s partner, you may wonder what you could’ve done better to protect your baby or ward off this tragedy. All of these normal feelings originate from the natural and biological urge to protect your children. Particularly if you hold tight to the common belief that you have control over what happens to you, these feelings of responsibility can contribute to painful feelings of guilt.

Feelings of helplessness

It is normal for the mother to feel betrayed by her body’s inability to create or sustain a healthy baby or an uncomplicated birth. Your baby’s death can also undermine a sense of being masterful and able to fix anything or solve any problem. Many fathers, in particular, feel this keenly. Feelings of helplessness also go against the grain of an accomplishment-based life, and may contribute to a sense of failure or loss of control.

A loss of innocence and faith

When your baby dies, it makes you realize that bad things can happen to good people. You don’t have total control over your destiny, and you cannot shield your children from death. For many parents, a baby’s death triggers a crisis of religious faith or they may struggle with the senselessness of it all. You may also feel anxious or angry as you face your new knowledge that you are vulnerable to tragedy.

A loss of identity as a parent

When you found out you were pregnant, your identity as a parent to this baby began to form. When this baby dies, you have to figure out what it means to be a parent to a child who is no longer with you. Particularly if you don’t have any other surviving children, you may question whether you’re still a mother, or still a father.

Feeling uncertain and unsure of yourself

Before your baby died, you may have seen yourself as emotionally sound, responsible, in charge, and invincible. Now you must develop a new identity. Allow yourself to feel distressed, confused, unmotivated, and vulnerable. You may also have to redefine what it means to be a woman or a man—or an adult. Your role as a friend and family member may change too, as you may find it impossible to deal with the seemingly endless stream of new babies in your social circles. And if you quit your job, because you anticipated staying home with your baby, you may feel uncertain of your financial role, your career, or what to do about it. Finally, you may wonder about “trying again”. You may feel uncertain about whether or when to have another baby.

Feelings of isolation

You may feel abandoned by friends and family members who don’t understand your grief or your need for support. People may avoid the topic as they don’t want to upset you by asking about your baby or how you’re really doing. Some may feel so uncomfortable or unsure about how to behave that they simply avoid you. Even your midwife, doctor, or nurses may feel awkward and uncertain about how to broach the topic of your baby’s death or how to support you in your grief. As a result, you may feel like you’re the only one who remembers or cares about your little baby.

Not enough time spent with your baby

When the length of time spent with the infant is brief, coping with a baby’s death becomes particularly difficult. When you never or barely get to know your baby after birth, you may feel cheated. Cheated of the chance to learn about this child’s special qualities, or fully express your love and devotion. If you were blocked from spending sufficient time with your baby before death or before relinquishing the body, these are other losses to bear.

A lack of memories and mementos

Your baby’s brief life also means you had few opportunities to gather memories and mementos, which are important to the bereaved. When you have few memories or mementos, you may find it challenging to validate your baby’s existence, acknowledge your baby’s importance, honor your bond, and experience a more gradual goodbye. And when the “hello-goodbye” is so abrupt, this can add to your trauma and complicate your grief.

A lack of mourning rituals

Many parents are not sufficiently encouraged to engage in rituals of mourning. Spending time with the body, arranging a funeral, attending the burial, making formal public announcements of the death, and recognizing a mourning period—all of these rituals are designed to support the bereaved. Traditional rituals- taking the body home for many days, having a home funeral, and green burial are becoming more prevalent, but these rituals take time and run deep. This is at odds with fast-paced, skate-on-the-surface, modern societies. As such, these rituals are often denied, overlooked, or minimized- especially when a baby dies.

A loss of a part of your future

Not only do you grieve for your baby, you also grieve for your lost visions of parenthood. The moments you had looked forward to—parental leave, family gatherings, and holidays—can seem worthless or trivial without your baby. If you preferred to have all your children by, say, age thirty-five, or spaced a certain number of years apart, the death of your baby might mean that your family isn’t what you imagined. If you anticipated the birth of twins, triplets, or more, you will grieve for the lost chance to raise multiple babies together. And your baby’s death represents a missing branch of the family tree as you consider the prospective generations that might have been. All of these deficits in your future make it particularly painful to get on with your life. In fact, your baby’s death puts you on a different path.

 You can grieve and survive the death of your baby

As you identify and affirm your layers of loss, challenges, and trauma, please know- your baby’s death is a huge deal. You may feel deeply affected. Also, while your layers are unique to you, you share much common ground with other bereaved parents. You are not alone. And in spite of all these barriers and difficulties, you can grieve and survive the death of your baby. Just as other parents grieved before you. Indeed, you may find it immensely comforting to read about the experiences of other bereaved parents—or seek out their company, which can serve as a lifeline to you.

Read more about grieving, coping, and surviving the death of your baby:

https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/laugh-cry-live/201610/9-compassionate-tips-surviving-the-death-your-baby

Sources of bereaved parent support:

http://nationalshare.org/

https://pailnetwork.ca/

http://sands.org.nz/

http://www.sands.org.au/

https://www.uk-sands.org/

Experience the healing that comes from telling your story—or reading the stories of others:

http://carlymarieprojectheal.com/capture-your-grief-2016

https://grievingdads.com/tell-your-story/

Deborah L. Davis, PhD is a developmental psychologist and writer who has authored several books that support parents who’ve experienced the death of a baby. She is most well known for Empty Cradle, Broken Heart: Surviving the Death of Your Baby (the much-awaited Third Edition comes out November 1) and A Gift of Time (with Amy Kuebelbeck), which supports parents who seek perinatal hospice after receiving a life-limiting prenatal diagnosis for their baby. Since 2011, she’s been blogging for Psychology Today, where she writes about resilience, including coping with perinatal bereavement. http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/laugh-cry-live

admin

A photography project founded in late 2014 by Alexia Garcia, photographer a Alegares Photography. Breastfeeding World aims to promote breastfeeding and encourage new moms to nurse their babies through the art of photography and story telling.

The post When a Baby Dies: Why is this so hard? by Deborah Davis, PHD appeared first on Breastfeeding World.

As a social work therapist, I have spent the past decade supporting people through trauma, tragedy and all forms of challenge and change. But in 2014, I experienced first hand what it takes to survive the unthinkable.

My daughter Nora suddenly and unexpectedly passed away when she was one day old.

She simply stopped breathing in my arms.

At first, my pregnancy had been normal and healthy. There were no forewarnings or indications that anything was wrong. After all, I had every piece of her nursery and our home ready and waiting for our new life together. But just like getting struck by lightning, I suddenly found myself amongst a small percentage of rare and unusual stories. Everything I felt that was solid and certain in my life smashed into a million pieces in a single moment.

No Therapist Training Could Have Prepared Me

Later I remember someone saying to me in the early days of my grief “You might have an easier time getting through this because this is the work that you do.” I remember being aware of the good intentions behind their words at the time. Yet I also thought it was absolutely ludicrous to assume my position as a therapist somehow trained me to deal with the death of my daughter. In no way did I feel equipped to deal with this.

However, in hindsight I realized there were in fact some truth in what this person had said. My work taught me several important things over the years. I am very grateful, because I believe it helped me work my way out of the darkness of loss.

One of those things was this: I knew for a fact that this experience will change me. I saw enough as a therapist to know. There’s no way to come out the other side of something like this unaltered.

Emotional Crossroads

So I was very acutely aware that I was now standing at a crossroads. Either I could become bitter, hardened and spend the rest of my life feeling like a victim, or I could grow. I could expand. Find a way to come out the other side of this as a stronger, better version of myself.

I chose the later. Firmly,  I believe this will always be a work in progress. There is no final point of arrival.

I also knew I needed to fully commit myself to the goal of surviving. That there’s a very real risk that I could be swept away completely by the ocean of despair that I been dropped into.

And I knew I needed to fight my way through for one very specific reason. Moreover, if I crumbled and self-destructed- that would be the story told about my little girl. Later, in hushed tones within my circle of friends and family, she would be referred to as the reason why her mother was now a mess. So I refused to let that to become her legacy.

The Love and Loss Project

After her death, I began various projects. I started fundraising for maternity organizations. Then I delivered care packs to bereaved moms in hospitals. Compelled, I needed to share her love and light in some way. But I also knew I needed to offer something more concrete. To fill the gaps in the services and support systems which I participated in. So I created the Love & Loss Project, an online comfort and inspiration station. Here, as a therapist, I share tools, strategies and support for bereaved families.

I will always be Nora’s mother. To honor her, I am dedicated to living my life as brightly as possible, my little bright-eyed girl.

That is what I believe she would want for me.

That is what I wanted for her.

So I aim to live my life with as much purpose, passion, joy and adventure as I possible. In doing so, I help others to do the same. This is how I am refusing to let my daughter’s life end as a tragedy. Instead, I am turning her brief and beautiful life story into a love story.

Thank you for being a part of that with me, here.

April Boyd, MSM http://www.lovelossproject.com

For More information on April’s Love and Loss Project, please check out her youtube video.
https://youtu.be/JrqqU–E5kg

Learn more about this series, a letter from the Breastfeeding World Team

Join us in Breaking The Silence

[col1]Robyn’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Becca’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Megan’s Story[/col3]

[col1]Anika’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Janice’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Randi’s Story[/col3]

[col1]Olivia’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Tasha’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Maegan’s Story[/col3]

[col1]Liz’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Mandi’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Jacinta’s Story[/col3]

Be sure to join us in our social media accounts to be up to date with the progress of our project!

And… Don’t forget to share your brelfies using our HT #BreastfeedingWorld 

–

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[col2][/col2]

[col3][/col3]

admin

A photography project founded in late 2014 by Alexia Garcia, photographer a Alegares Photography. Breastfeeding World aims to promote breastfeeding and encourage new moms to nurse their babies through the art of photography and story telling.

The post A Therapist’s Experience- Losing My Daughter appeared first on Breastfeeding World.

Everything fell into place so quickly and so perfectly.

I took the test one December morning-the 29th to be exact. I went to the bathroom and knew it was positive before Matt even left for work. It was so difficult not to tell him, to try and hide my smile and excitement. But, I didn’t want him to have to leave right after finding out, plus, I wanted to do something cute to break the news. I did some brainstorming with my best friend and eventually landed on the idea of making cupcakes. (Even though hubby isn’t much of a sweets guy… Pinterest, where were you then?)

I went to the store, and with my mad baking skills (I am a much better baker now), bought some box cake mix, some frosting, and some pink icing in a tube. I drew a plus sign and a happy face on one of the cupcakes. When Matt got home from work, I gave him the cupcake. He immediately asked me why I would draw an “X” with a happy face. After I explained that it was a plus sign, it didn’t take long for him to figure it out and wrap me in a hug. I don’t think he even ate any of the cupcakes.

That night, we celebrated.

We couldn’t stop talking about all things baby, we even went to a book store to get me a pregnancy journal.

The very next day, the nausea and sore breasts set in. I remember feeling so hungry but only being able to eat pretzels. It didn’t even feel surreal. This was happening, and being so close to New Years, we kept saying “2011 is going to be our best year yet!”

We couldn’t wait to start telling people. I knew there was some sort of secrecy around the beginning of pregnancy and you were “supposed” to keep it hush-hush for a while, but I never really thought about why. Of course, I knew it was because of the risk of miscarriage but I didn’t think it happened that often. I was also pretty sure that my mother had never had a miscarriage and I ignorantly assumed that genetics were in my favor. And, it would never happen to me.

So, we told a few close friends here and there. I even went shopping with a great friend of mine and got a couple gender neutral sleepers from a consignment shop. I can’t remember exactly why, but we didn’t want to tell our parents just yet. Probably because we were still living at Matt’s father’s house while we were saving for our first home.

After a few more days, my symptoms started to fade.

Hell yes-I’m so lucky the soreness and nausea barely lasted a week! The next day, January 5th, which was exactly a week after I took the test,  I woke up to get ready for work. I went to the bathroom and noticed I was spotting. It was not a lot of blood at all, but I knew that it was not normal. Frantically, I started texting with my husband and my best friend, trying to understand what was happening. I was really freaking out.

I needed to call my mom.

For some reason, I had to be sure that she never had a miscarriage before. Again, I don’t know why I had this perception that miscarriages had to do with genetics. On the phone, I was crying. I hate that I had to tell her about my pregnancy through tears over the phone. After talking to her for a few minutes, I calmed down and justified it to myself that baby and I were fine. I figured, I wasn’t bleeding much. I needed to relax. Continuing to get ready for work, I went about my day. Throughout the day, the bleeding only got heavier. At this point, I knew it wasn’t normal and Matt and I decided to go to the ER when we got home.

We arrived there early in the evening, it was already incredibly busy. I had only been to the ER one other time before in my life. The first time I was called back, it was just to answer some questions, and get a history. When was my LMP, age, etc. There were so many questions that I don’t even remember, but I remember feeling that they were questioning my pregnancy.

I kept feeling like I had to justify it, and validate the tests I took.

“I took more than one test, I took a standard and a digital, and I’ve always kept track of my periods and they’ve always been regular”, I kept telling the nurses. There was no doubt, I knew I was pregnant and I couldn’t understand why they were making me feel like I wasn’t, even though that may not have been their intention.

They took my blood, gave me a few cups of water and told me my bladder had to be full so they could do an ultrasound.

Then we waited for two hours. Two hours.

For two hours I had a full bladder. I was bleeding very heavily at this point. But, I couldn’t even risk going pee because they would make us wait longer if my bladder wasn’t full. The uncertainty of what was happening, on top of my physical discomfort, was very taxing.

Finally, they called us back. Thankfully, the tech that performed the ultrasound was incredibly polite and comforting. She explained to us that she saw a sack, but no baby. It was possible it was too tiny to see because I was still so early. I was exactly 5 weeks along that day. She was done, and I could pee, at last. Then back to the waiting room we went.

I don’t remember how long we waited after that. I want to say it was at least another hour. The doctor finally came by, and in my heart I already knew what he was going to say. My hCG levels were a little low and I was in fact miscarrying. The moments between then and getting my discharge papers, are somehow a blur and clear as day at the same time. I just cried and cried. Matt hugged me while I broke down in that waiting room. I remember feeling people staring at me, but it didn’t feel like judgment. There was a woman there, and while she never said anything to me, I could tell she knew what was going on and I could feel her sympathy.

I called my mom after we left and told her we lost the baby.

She found out that I was pregnant with my first baby, and that I miscarried in the very same day.

The following morning, I called out of work. Matt went to work at first, but came home after a couple of hours. He told his foreman what happened the night before and he sent him home to be with me. I think, after he got home, his mom called to check up on me. I believe we talked to a couple of other people on the phone.

We sat in silence for a minute and his head fell into my lap and he started sobbing. That is a moment I remember most vividly. He held it together for me, up until that moment. No, he didn’t go through the physical loss, but he lost his first baby too. The image of my husband breaking down, just that one time, is burned into my memory and will forever hurt my heart.

I went to work the next day. I could barely pull myself together and I remember a coworker asking me what I was doing there, after losing our baby just two days before. Her support meant a lot to me.

By far the hardest part about it, other than the loss itself, was telling everyone that I wasn’t pregnant anymore.

I was mad.

I had Matt throw away my pregnancy journal because I didn’t want it in the house. Thankfully he took a picture of the one page I filled out, so I still have that memory.

Something I learned and would like to bring attention to with pregnancy loss, is what the father is going through. I will always remember how that loss brought us closer together and I’m glad that he felt like he could express his emotions too. I’m thankful that we had so much support, but he was my rock during that time. It was important for me to surround myself with friends and family. Even if I didn’t feel like talking about it, just knowing they were there to talk if I needed to, was enough to get me through. I don’t know if I would have made it, especially if not for my husband and my best friend.

Five years later, we have two healthy children.

Jakob Landon was born in April 2012, my rainbow baby. And he now has a sister, Marissa Willow, born in August 2015. Eventually we figured out that all the men in my husband’s family seemed to have girls first. Knowing that, and comparing how I felt when I was pregnant with our boy, then our girl, we know in our hearts that baby was a little girl, even though I was only pregnant for a week. Had she been born, she would have been named Ava. So that’s what we call her when we talk about her. Her due date was September 5, 2011.

All in all, it’s true that you learn some of life’s most valuable lessons during traumatic events. If you are a woman that has gone through pregnancy or infant loss, you are still a mother. You are not at fault, and you are not alone. You are nowhere near as alone as you feel like you are. If you are a father, you are entitled to your feelings too.

Don’t be afraid to grieve your loss.

Mandi Cohen

 Learn more about this series, a letter from the Breastfeeding World Team

Join us in Breaking The Silence

[col1]Robyn’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Becca’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Megan’s Story[/col3]

[col1]Anika’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Janice’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Randi’s Story[/col3]

[col1]Olivia’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Tasha’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Maegan’s Story[/col3]

[col1]Liz’s Story[/col1]

[col2][/col2]

[col3][/col3]

Be sure to join us in our social media accounts to be up to date with the progress of our project!

And… Don’t forget to share your brelfies using our HT #BreastfeedingWorld 

–

[col1][/col1]

[col2][/col2]

[col3][/col3]

Samantha Sykula

Born and raised in NY, I studied speech and language pathology at NYU. I am a stay at home mom to two beautiful children, Richard and Charlotte and wife to my wonderful husband, Rich. I have always had a deep love for learning, which has grown further since becoming a mother, I am always looking for new ways to enrich our lives. Becoming a mother changed my life, I learned compassion, caring and most importantly, true love. I hope to share the experiences of my breastfeeding, cloth diapering, babywearing, crocheting, full of love, life.

The post How Fast It All Went – Mandi’s Story appeared first on Breastfeeding World.

I have lost 3 babies.

Sometimes, I struggle to remember the years in which they happened. However, I do remember the pain, the grief, the agony and heartbreak that I felt. I remember the lack of compassion I felt from healthcare professionals. The things people said to me; I remember feeling alone. I remember feeling like a failure.

In 2010 my (now) husband and I decided to try for a baby. I was 21, he was 23 and we weren’t trying for long before we found out that we were expecting. We were overjoyed and were already discussing what sex we’d love the baby to be, the names we would choose, etc.

Then I was bleeding. I was 6 weeks to the day.

We called our local midwifery team who just told me to monitor the bleeding. That’s it. Just monitor the bleeding. We knew something wasn’t right. So, we went to our GP, who sent us to the hospital for blood tests and scans. They confirmed that I was miscarrying.

This terribly shaky male doctor had to break this news to a sobbing 21 year old girl. A girl whose dreams had just been shattered. I remember a few words that he said – ‘sorry’, ‘unfortunate’, ‘we can’t say why’. And with that, we went home. No answers, no ongoing support.

Family and friends said the usual ‘it wasn’t meant to be’ ‘at 6 weeks it’s not really a baby’ ‘these things happen for a reason’ ‘it’ll happen when the time is right’

It was a baby, it was our baby.

1 week, 6 weeks or 40 weeks, that was our baby and the time was right or we wouldn’t have started to try for a baby! I was hurt and angered by these comments but I just carried on. I didn’t have the mental or emotional strength to defend myself and my baby.

After grieving and trying to come to terms with what had happened, we decided we would try again. Being pregnant was constantly in my thoughts. I would take ovulation tests and was devastated each month that I had a negative test. It felt like there were pregnant women everywhere I turned. I was obsessed.

This time it was 2013. We’d married in December 2012 and found out we were pregnant just a few weeks after our wedding. Our honeymoon was booked but we were so scared of miscarriage again. Our doctor advised us that everything would be fine, that it’s the best time for a holiday as I’d need the rest. With that, we excitedly packed for our first ‘family’ holiday. Husband, wife and baby in my tummy.

Then I was bleeding. I was 6 weeks to the day.

Just like my previous pregnancy.

I knew instantly that we had lost this baby too. I was in Egypt with no doctor, no family. Just my scared husband and me.

My sister was my lifeline. I managed to message her daily explaining my symptoms and, even though I knew it was a miscarriage, she helped me through the rest of the holiday with some hope that it might not be. The flight home was horrific. I was tired, emotionally drained, bleeding and in pain. As the lights of England appear through the airplane window, I was so glad my honeymoon was over. So glad to be home where I could know if this baby was safe or not. That is not how my honeymoon should have been. It was over before it began.

As soon as we landed, we were directed straight to hospital. The same again, blood tests, scans, and then sent home.

I remember calling my mum and we both just cried on the phone. I was so scared of a second miscarriage that I hadn’t even told her I was pregnant again. She was devastated for me.

They asked me to return to the hospital for more tests, to see if my hormone levels were decreasing, to make sure I would not require medical intervention. I was directed to a long, cold corridor with hard, uncomfortable chairs; examined and then I had to sit, alone in this corridor.

Time passed and I was still there. Alone.

Nurses walked by and said nothing. Ladies came in for appointments and left again. There I sat, in a waiting room with other parents going in for their 12 week or 20 week scans, leaving the room with huge smiles on their faces. I had to fight back the tears as I watched ladies with beautiful bumps walking by, families looking at the first glimpse of their new baby. But I never offered a side room or a different ward. Never offered privacy or solace. This continued for 8 long, lonely hours. 8 hours of sitting in a corridor being ignored. The nurses eventually realized they hadn’t even sent my bloods down to be checked. No apology, no offer of a drink or food. Nothing.

A couple who had arrived for an appointment asked me if I was okay, how long had I been waiting. When I said over 8 hours, they spoke to a nurse for me. I broke down into tears. Someone that day had finally shown me some compassion. A complete stranger could see I needed help.

It was another miscarriage.

Family and friends said the same things as before. We wanted that baby. And the first one too. Instead, we just had loss and empty places in our hearts.

We struggled through, somehow. I remember sobbing daily, thinking ‘why me?’ The second miscarriage was harder than the first. My body wasn’t miscarrying as ‘efficiently’ as it should have been so it was a more drawn out process. Again, fortunately perhaps, I required no intervention. My overriding thought was that my body was really quite good at expelling pregnancies. At least it was good at something.

I was angry

Why? I didn’t want the risk of any more ‘failed’ pregnancies. There were no answers for me and I was still grieving my first baby. I gave up on the idea of having a family, I gave up on my dream.

That same year, my sister had her first born. Seeing her body grow this baby gave me a plethora of emotions. I was overjoyed and elated that she was having a baby, my nephew. She looked amazing. I was also jealous, envious, angry. That should have been me. Why wasn’t it me? Why could she have a baby so easily when I had failed twice? I struggled to feel sympathy when she had morning sickness or aches and pains. All I could think was ‘be grateful your baby is alive’. I forgot she was entitled to this pregnancy. She was entitled to feel poorly or to tell me she had pains. I was just too overwhelmed with my own grief to be as supportive as I should have been.

I was with her for the birth of my nephew and was so so happy when he was safely delivered. But then, all I could feel was resentment. Why wasn’t it me having a baby? Why was I supporting someone else through pregnancy and labor, when I should have 2 babies of my own by now?

I remember my dad walking in to meet his first grandchild. I was meant to be the one to give him his first grandchild. I’d been pregnant twice already and failed to provide him with something that my sister managed to.

It should be me he was coming to see. My baby he was coming to hold.

I saw the love in his eyes and it broke me. I had nothing to show him. No baby. No new life. Nothing.

He held his grandson. When he looked at me, he saw the emotions on my face. He hugged me tight and said ‘your turn next’. That gave me hope. I started to come around to the idea of trying again. Maybe he was right; maybe it would be my turn next.

I was pregnant. We were terrified. I was having some pains but no bleeding so I thought, maybe this was it. Maybe we would finally have our long awaited family. We went through the motions, knowing the dreaded 6 week date was looming. Would this be it? Would my dads comments come true? I prayed for good news.

At the same time, my sister discovered that she was also pregnant, with her second baby. She knew I’d be emotional. I had no living babies, yet, she had one already and another on the way. She was thoughtful and considerate of my feelings. I was rude in return.

At first, I felt overwhelming joy but very quickly, my thoughts turned. I was annoyed that we were pregnant at the same time. Our babies would be close in age. I hated that I couldn’t have something that was my own, I wanted to be pregnant on my own. Didn’t I deserve it? I should have been excited that I had someone to share this incredible experience with but I was still grieving and still angry about my previous losses. My mind was blurred and I couldn’t control my emotions and thoughts. I was being selfish.

I was 6 weeks.

Dad was wrong.

I was told ‘it would be a viable pregnancy if it were in the right place’. My baby was growing in my Fallopian tube. My baby was growing, was alive, only I couldn’t keep it. Couldn’t birth it, couldn’t hold it. My pregnancy was ectopic.

I was kept overnight in my own room and the nurses monitored my pain. I cried the whole night. Why me again? Back on the ward the following day, the consultant said the only option was to operate.

My world stopped right there. I would never have a baby. I signed the forms that would end this pregnancy, I signed away my family.

They operated and had to remove my tube, it was badly scarred – most likely from the previous miscarriages. I was in agony and could barely sit up let alone walk. My chances of conceiving naturally in the future were down to 60-70%.

How much more pain would I have to endure?

Again, I was given no answers. I was told my losses would not be investigated because they weren’t 3 miscarriages in a row. They were 2 miscarriages and 1 successful pregnancy that was, in the words of the unsympathetic midwife, ‘just in the wrong place’. If I’d have had 3 successive miscarriages, they’d have looked into things further. To me, the terminology was irrelevant. I had lost 3 babies regardless of how anyone worded it.

This time though, I felt true compassion from people other than my sister, parents and husband. None of this ‘it wasn’t meant to be’ nonsense. I think seeing my physical pain made them realize, I needed them.

You can’t see a person’s pain with miscarriage.

With the ectopic pregnancy and resulting operation, people saw my loss, they saw something was wrong.

My sister was incredible. She understood that I was not in a good mental state. She didn’t discuss her pregnancy much with me, didn’t make me feel uncomfortable at any stage. I have a lot of regrets about that stage in our relationship. I did not support her, didn’t offer her a baby shower. Honestly, I struggled to be near her even. While I tried the best I could at the time, I could have been better, could have done more.

I was emotionally and mentally struggling, trying to deal with so many emotions and trying to control my jealousy and tears every day. It was so hard to watch her body grow another baby to full term when I couldn’t even get past 6 weeks. I struggled to be supportive when she had morning sickness, I struggled to feel happy for her. Again I felt like a failure. I’d failed myself, my husband, my family. My emotions had failed to let me support my sister.

Along came January 2015, my second beautiful nephew was born and I decided I would focus on myself. I would become fit and healthy, I’d learn to love my body again. Maybe I wouldn’t fail at this. I worked hard and lost two dress sizes; slowly learning to like myself again.

But, I never stopped thinking about them.

I’d given up the idea of having a baby all together. I was convinced I’d never fall pregnant with only one Fallopian tube and so I focused on becoming healthier and happier. I worked on my relationships. Life was getting better.

Two weeks before we were due to fly out to Cyprus for our close friend’s wedding, something about me felt ‘off’. I was trying to work out what was wrong. I thought I might as well do a test. It’ll be negative but it’ll rule it out.

I watched the words ‘pregnant 2-3 weeks’ appear before my eyes

I could not believe it, I broke down in tears. Excited and nervous, I couldn’t wait for my husband to come home. For some reason, I felt less fearful this time, more calm. Perhaps I subconsciously knew that this was it. This pregnancy would be successful.

Throughout our 6 year fight for a family, my husband has dealt with an extremely emotional woman. He has held me through the tears, stood by me through the scans and the operation. Discussed adoption and fostering. Accepted when I gave up trying for a baby. He did anything to help me. This man has supported me all while trying to deal with these same fears. He has stayed strong even though, in his eyes, I could always see the hurt and pain.

Maybe, just maybe I could finally wipe away the hurt.

I gave my husband the good news when he got home and we cried together before heading to my sisters house to tell her, where we all cried some more!

I was 6 weeks. The same day as the wedding in Cyprus.

As happy as I was, there was a continuous undertone of fear and sadness that at any minute, I could start to bleed and lose my fourth baby. But there was no blood. No pains. Just a happy wedding day.

It was time for our scan. We were 8 weeks by now. I was shaking as we walked into the room where our fate would be revealed. The sonographer rolled over my tummy to try and find my baby. For the first time, the screen was turned towards me and I could see my baby’s heart frantically pounding.

The screen had never been turned to me before.

I hadn’t seen any of my other scans; never saw any of my other babies. I sobbed and for the first time in a long time I was happy. I felt whole again.

At 12 weeks, baby was still thriving. At 20 weeks we could see baby blowing bubbles, yawning, moving about. A sea of balloons revealed that baby was a girl at our gender reveal. My dreams were finally becoming reality. I wasn’t a failure. I was giving my husband his dream. We had prayed for a girl and here she was.

It was around 32 weeks when I had reduced movements.

In that moment, all of my fears and anxieties rushed back to me. I was going to lose another baby. I was going to fail again. We went in to the hospital. As soon as I was hooked up to the machine, our daughter began dancing the highland fling! We were monitored and scanned. Our baby was fine, just having a rest! Relief washed over us both.

I didn’t (and still don’t) know if I will be mentally or emotionally strong enough to try for another baby, so I fulfilled my dream of having a home birth. At 40+4 weeks, we welcomed Matilda into our lives. I had a wonderful labor. Quick and powerful.

I didn’t fail. Finally I didn’t fail.

We looked up the meaning of Matilda’s name after we had chosen it – strength in battle. I feel like this is so fitting. Through my battle to have a family, she was the strong one who survived, who completed our family.

I do everything I can to give Matilda the best. Unfortunately, I have battled through cracked nipples, mastitis and thrush all at the same time in the first 12 days of our breastfeeding journey. But, she adores breast milk and having struggled so much to feed her in the early days, we have an incredible bond.

While writing this, I had many pauses to feed or change her, or to simply hold her. I’m sure she’s aware of her significance in our lives. So, whenever I feel sad or emotional she gives me a smile and it makes all the pain I’ve endured wash away for a while.

She rolled over for the first time half way through writing this story and I look at her happy little face and know that I will give this precious little baby my everything. My daughter will be loved beyond belief and she will know of her brothers and sisters before her. This sweet baby will know how hard we fought to have her in our lives and she will know how she healed me.

She healed me.

She made me, and my husband, whole again.

I will never have an answer as to why my previous 3 pregnancies turned to losses and I think about them regularly. While I still cry, I can take comfort in knowing I now have my wonderful rainbow baby to hold in my arms.

Liz Martin

 Learn more about this series, a letter from the Breastfeeding World Team

Join us in Breaking The Silence

[col1]Robyn’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Becca’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Megan’s Story[/col3]

[col1]Anika’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Janice’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Randi’s Story[/col3]

[col1]Olivia’s Story[/col1]

[col2]Tasha’s Story[/col2]

[col3]Meagan’s Story[/col3]

Be sure to join us in our social media accounts to be up to date with the progress of our project!

And… Don’t forget to share your brelfies using our HT #BreastfeedingWorld 

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Samantha Sykula

Born and raised in NY, I studied speech and language pathology at NYU. I am a stay at home mom to two beautiful children, Richard and Charlotte and wife to my wonderful husband, Rich. I have always had a deep love for learning, which has grown further since becoming a mother, I am always looking for new ways to enrich our lives. Becoming a mother changed my life, I learned compassion, caring and most importantly, true love. I hope to share the experiences of my breastfeeding, cloth diapering, babywearing, crocheting, full of love, life.

The post I Lost 3 Babies – Liz Martin’s Story appeared first on Breastfeeding World.

A Story of Hope – A Stillbirth Story

“Looking for that blessed hope, and the glorious appearing of the great God and our Savior, Jesus Christ.” Titus 2:13

~November 16, 2011~

Our lives  changed forever that day. It started off like any other day. My husband, Nathan, left for work, and it was my day off, so I was having a relaxing morning at home. Right before noon, I realized that I hadn’t felt the baby move all morning. I thought it was odd, but I could have just missed it. I tried all of the “tricks” to get baby to move. Nothing. Beginning to panic, I push on my belly, expecting to feel little hands or feet push back. I feel them, but they aren’t pushing back. Now I know something is wrong. It was 12:30pm.

When I got to the hospital, the nurses hooked me up to a monitor to check for a heartbeat. Nothing. This whole time I was praying. Praying that the baby was really okay. I hadn’t given up yet. My doctor always had a hard time finding the heartbeat. After two different nurses tried, they brought in an ultrasound tech. Nathan got there as they started doing the ultrasound.

Still no one said anything, but I’d had an ultrasound done before. I knew what they looked like. There was no flutter showing the heartbeat. There was no movement at all. Our baby was gone.

It’s was one thing to know, but to hear the doctor say it out loud . . . I wanted to scream.

It was the worst moment of my life.  I wanted them out. Why was it taking them so long to leave the room? They finally left and we were alone. We couldn’t hold it in any longer. We broke down and cried. Cried harder than we had ever cried. How could this be? Everything was fine just a couple of days ago. I was less than a week away from my due date. Everything was ready for us to bring home our little one. We were ready. We would never get the chance to bring our baby home, though. She was already with the Lord.

I have a hard time keeping everything that happened after that straight.

It all seems like a blur. We were in shock. All we could do was sit there, heartbroken and empty, and cry.

Because I was hardly dilated, the doctor administered a medicine to help speed it along. During that time, Nathan made the necessary phone calls to our parents and a few close friends in town. God surely did bless us with great friends. For the rest of the evening, we were not alone. They were a wonderful distraction during this awful waiting period. When there was still no change after 8 hours and my contractions barely painful we decided that I’d try to get some sleep and we’d start again in the morning. It was a long night, and neither of us got very much sleep.

~November 17, 2011~

I woke up at about 7:30am, and at 9:43am. I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. She was 6 pounds, 12.7 ounces and 19 1/2 inches long. Hope Ann. It was not the original name we picked out, but it fit. The Biblical definition of hope is “a strong and confident expectation”. I know that one day I will see my daughter again. She is waiting for me in Heaven.

Lauren Lewis

Lauren Lewis is no stranger to childcare development, having spent over 10 years as a nanny or family childcare provider. She’s the wife of a travel geek, mother of two vivacious children, and has an amazing talent for trailing lost things behind her a la Hansel and Gretel. Her passion for lifting up women and advocating for children pours out in her work as a Central Indiana Event Coordinator, Writer, and Social Media Relations Director for Breastfeeding World. Her life is full of busy, crazy and LOUD. It is full of love and hope, ups and downs. And coffee, always lots of coffee- but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

www.raisinglaurenslittle.wordpress.com

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