*Disclaimer: I may be reading too much (nah, no such thing) chickydoodles as I have slipped in some profanity (not much, don’t worry).
Dear Boss from Hell:
When you asked me how my first day back went and I said “okay”, that was a lie. Here’s what I wish I could have said to you:
- I find it completely unrealistic that you expected me to jump right back into taking WIC appointments. I know this comes from a truly selfish place in your soul (wait….do you have one?). The excuses of being “short-staffed” due to “staff resignation and vacations” means NOTHING to me. I don’t give a rat’s ass that you are stressed out about how full the schedule is. FIGURE IT OUT. Today should have been purely about me transitioning back in–reacquainting myself with my office, my computer, checking my email, looking at the fuck-up of a job you did on the medical formula prescription log, and reviewing my high risk participants. Basically, you should have just pretended that I wasn’t there. Yes, I realize that would mean that you would need to see clients. SUCK IT UP. You have three living children to go home to.
- When you said that you wanted my transition back to work to be “as smooth as possible”, was that you pretending to care? At the time you said it, I thought that you were being sincere. I realized how insincere you actually were a mere hour later. Expecting me to take an appointment with a postpartum mom and her newborn on my first day back to work after delivering my dead baby was cruel. To respond with “there’s nobody else to take them” and “you want me to take that appointment?” was cruel and unprofessional.
- When you say “I can’t imagine how hard this must be,” that is a lie. You CAN imagine but you choose not to. Whereas most people choose not to imagine how hard my situation is because it is absolutely horrific, I believe that you choose not to imagine because you don’t know what empathy is. Let me explain it to you. Empathy is when you try to understand someone else’s situation from their perspective, the so-called “walk a mile in their shoes.” I would not expect you to say “I understand how you feel.” In fact I would find that insulting because in fact, you cannot understand how I feel unless you have purposefully become pregnant, carried a baby for 40 weeks, been told that baby died, then pushed her out of your body. You cannot begin to understand unless an urn containing your baby’s ashes sits on your dresser (or her body is buried underground). You cannot understand unless your breasts have leaked milk with no baby to feed. However, you can imagine. You can close your eyes and remember your own pregnancies, labor, and postpartum period. Now picture your precious baby without a beating heart, silent, cold, dead. Imagine planning a funeral for your baby. Imagine writing an obituary for a life that never had a chance to live outside your body. Imagine explaining to your living child that there isn’t going to be a baby sister after all. I have never experienced the death of a parent but I have experienced what it is like to have parents, I have experienced grief, and I have watched my parents plan memorial services and “make arrangements” for their own parents, therefore I can imagine what this might feel like. I will not know what it feels like until it happens.
- Expecting me to come up with an appropriate schedule for the future is unrealistic. I take each moment as it comes. In the beginning it was literally moment by moment. Then hour by hour. Then chunks of a few hours. Then one day at a time. Now I can take maybe three consecutive days at a time and imagine how that will go. I do not know how I will feel on August 10th, 18th, or 21st. Asking me to work a full 8 hour day is also unrealistic at this time. One thing I never understood before my baby’s death is how exhausting grief is. Part of it is the crying; crying takes a lot of energy. Part of it is the sleepless nights. Tossing and turning, thinking about how I’m supposed to have a crib next to the bed with a baby in the crib. I’m supposed to be sleeping because in a few hours I’ll be up nursing. Everything I do takes a tremendous amount of energy. I have a difficult time focusing because in the back of my head is a voice reminding me that I am the mother of a dead baby. You say you need to know my hours so you can schedule clients. How about this: schedule yourself for clients and if I feel “okay” (because “okay” is as good as it gets these days), then I will see those clients. You don’t know how lucky you are that I have returned to this job.
I am fortunate to work in a building with other people who are empathetic. Although most have not experienced the devastating loss of a baby, they can imagine (there’s that empathy again) how difficult it is for me to return to the workplace where I will inevitably encounter pregnant women and their babies. I welcomed hugs, kind words, flowers and chocolate from co-workers (friends) this morning. I am proud that I stayed for the entire four hours I was scheduled to be there today. And I plan to return tomorrow. But since I can only envision chunks of 3 days at a time, I cannot say whether I will be there on Monday.
Your Employee who Birthed a Stillborn Baby 12 weeks and 3 days ago