Do Not Pass Go

Fifty-two weeks ago, on a Friday night after a full day of work, I was  laying down with my 3 year old daughter. I turned to my husband and said “I don’t think the baby has been moving much today.” It was my 37th birthday and I was 37 weeks pregnant. I texted my midwife. Here’s our conversation:

April 21, 2017 at 7:07 PM:

Me: Today I didn’t feel much movement from the baby

7:39 PM:

Laura: Are you concerned?

Me: Not sure, it’s a bit unusual to not feel some activity after I eat dinner but I think I’m feeling light movement just not strong obvious moving.

Laura: Babies have less room to move as they get bigger. It’s not uncommon for there to be a gradual decrease in the strength of their movements.

(Um, NO).

Try lying on your left side and see if you get some movement

WRONG ANSWER.

I’ll admit I had no idea that my baby could die. In retrospect, that sounds so stupid, so naive. How did I think I was immune to this tragedy? I had never had a pregnancy loss, already delivered a full-term healthy child, my blood pressure was perfect, as were my blood sugars. I didn’t drink, smoke, or do any illicit drugs. Nobody had ever mentioned the possibility of stillbirth to me.

If only I had known. If any pregnant woman ever has an inkling of a doubt, do not pass go, do not collect $200, go directly to the hospital.

Of course it’s possible, that had I gone to the hospital, an ultrasound could have deemed my baby fine and I would have been sent home. But what if something was off? What if the decision was made to give me a c-section that night? I would be holding my youngest child right now, planning a first birthday party.

Why risk it?

I will regret, for every second of my life, that I didn’t follow my instincts. I will blame myself, of course, regardless of what others say.

The thing is, nobody ever mentioned kick counting to me. Nobody ever told me to monitor my baby’s movements. How can this be? There’s an entire organization dedicated to kick counting instruction.

There are even apps for kick counting.

One part of me feels I should have known better, like it’s a “duh” concept. Another part of me blames my midwife. The letters after her name, CPM, stands for Certified Professional Midwife. And yet she acted unprofessionally multiple times. She let me down. She spoke with me in-depth about baby-wearing and eating dates to induce labor but somehow she left out the importance of kick-counting?

I just can’t.

I have to live with this for the rest of my life. My only consolation is that she does too. Three months after I delivered my dead daughter, she delivered a  living son. I hope that every time she looks at him she remembers the terrible advice she gave me that cost my daughter’s life.

(Yes,  I am still stuck in the ‘anger stage’).

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Living in Darkness

The sun rose at 4:18 am on Monday May 8, 2017. I awoke several hours later, though I’m not certain of the exact time. I was in labor, excited to meet my baby girl, oblivious to the fact that her heart had already stopped.  And although Corva was born at 3:24 PM it was the darkest moment of my life. Ever. On that spring day,  in the drizzly mid-afternoon, I was submerged into my own winter solstice. The sun set three hours and seventeen minutes after delivery, the world’s darkness emulating my own.

Sun standing still. The winter solstice occurs today, December 21 at 11:27 AM. It is the shortest day of the year where I live, which makes it the darkest–only 8 hours and 47 minutes of daylight.  This morning the sun rose at 7:09 AM and tonight it will set at 3:57 PM. But tomorrow the daylight extends by six seconds. And the next day by eleven seconds. And the next day by sixteen seconds. Bit by bit, the days lengthen, the sun burns later into the evening hours.


I have been living in darkness for 32 weeks now. In the very beginning, those darkest of days, I couldn’t even imagine light. I couldn’t fathom how I would survive such pain. But, gradually, light re-enters my life. It isn’t very much light– a candle as opposed to floodlights–and yet I am beginning to feel a little bit of hope. Some days.


And in 20 weeks, on Tuesday, May 8, 2018 there will be 14 hours and 35 minutes of daylight, reaching toward the summer solstice. 


I still believe in summer days.

The seasons always change
And life will find a way.

Therapy: Part 1

In most Western countries, our healthcare focuses on the physical–we comply with the recommendations for annual physical exams, biannual dental cleanings, and yearly eye exams.

But we neglect our mental health. The times I’ve sought counseling were for a specific purpose and usually the event was abrupt, leaving me little time to thoroughly investigate who might be a good “mental health match” for me.

My husband is the one who found our first counselor post-loss. Because he was aware of my history of depression, and concerned about the effect of our baby’s death on our marriage,  he sought recommendations from coworker and found Meryl (not her real name). Meryl has a PhD in clinical psychology from Ohio University. She completed a predoctoral internship at Harvard. (Impressive). Her website maintains that she has been in practice for twenty years and specializes in stress/trauma and PTSD, anxiety and depression, and women’s issues.

Our first session with Meryl was June 8, a bit over 4 weeks post-loss but exactly one month from the death, delivery, and birth of my youngest daughter. (The delay in securing an appointment sooner, having to do with the fact that Meryl practices part-time and also had been on vacation). Meryl had been briefed on the trauma, yet she was clearly uncomfortable with the topic. She wasn’t familiar with the language around pregnancy loss, she never used our baby’s name, and at times, she seemed to be looking my way for direction on how to counsel me.  She couldn’t seem to identify what I needed (and I certainly didn’t know).  Her ideas about helping me ease back to work were ridiculous.  My husband and I met with Meryl twice as a couple and I met with her three times individually, then never called her back. Meryl didn’t bill insurance so we paid upwards of $200 (USD) per counseling session.

Now what?

Several people had recommended that I seek a therapist certified in a type of  treatment called EMDR . I searched on the Psychology Today website and another therapist-search site specific to the state I live in. I found this process to be frustrating. On the Psychology Today website I could filter by town/zip code, insurance, treatment modality (cognitive behavior therapy, EMDR, trauma-focused, hypnotherapy–among others) and issue (grief, depression, trauma and PTSD, women’s issues–among others). I WISH there was one titled “perinatal loss”. Even a quick google search “perinatal loss stillbirth name of state” got me nothing. So I went with trauma/PTSD and grief.

That’s how I found Mindi, my second therapist. Her credentials weren’t as impressive as Meryl’s, but at this point I had little faith in credentials. Mindi is an LCSW with an additional credential in EMDR therapy from Boston University. She has been practicing as a therapist for over ten years. And great news–she did bill my insurance and my copay per session was $6 and some odd-cents (USD).

I had high hopes for Mindi. Our first session was 9 weeks post-loss and it seemed like she was going to be the counselor to help me move through this.  We met for a total of eight sessions, our final session ending a little over 18 weeks post-loss. Five of the eight sessions involved EMDR therapy. And then I felt like I had run out of things to talk about. We’d covered the initial trauma of the loss, my transition to my new job, parenting a living child post-loss, triggers, some coping mechanisms and tools….what else was there? Plus, there were the sad pitying puppy-dog eyes and pouty lip that frequently dawned Mindi’s face when I shared a particularly heart-breaking thought. While the EMDR seemed to help (I think?) initially, I couldn’t foresee myself doing much more of it. (EMDR involves reliving the trauma). So we concluded our counseling with the understanding that I could call for a future appointment if needed. (I won’t call her). (One of the interesting things about Mindi’s location was that her office was upstairs from a bridal boutique. Everytime I went, I wondered if someone seeking counseling post-divorce would find this to be a trigger).

Am I better? Well, I suppose I am better than I was on May 9th. Am I well? Cured? No longer in need of therapy? I don’t know. I still cry daily. But maybe this is how it will be for the rest of my life. The most difficult thing about counseling for me, as an introvert, is expressing myself verbally. This was one clear advantage of the EMDR therapy.  I didn’t need to explain anything to my therapist. She didn’t need to have my life story or know every detail of the trauma. By default, the modality of EMDR took care of it. What would therapy for introverts look like? I think a written journal, email sessions, better yet–here’s the link to my blog–read it and know everything I’m thinking, then help me.

I knew I couldn’t be the only person with this frustration, so I decided to complete an informal poll.


Did you try therapy? What was great? What was awful?