(There is candor in this article. You have been warned.)
I am writing this article to give a father’s perspective on a situation that by and large is very difficult for most men to emotionalize…
Women, and women alone, bear our children. Men; fathers, brothers, friends, associates, can never understand the full implications of childbearing.
This is an indisputable fact that has been true for humans since mankind was an inkling in God’s mind. Pregnancy: Along with the physical implications, emotional stress and professional distress come the impacts of all types of events in all of our lives.
Many men like to think that the emotional side of the entire process is primarily female based and oriented. We like to think that we can detach ourselves to help mitigate the hormonal roller coaster and estrogen infused rage or depressions (the extremities of course). Men are fixers, try to be the foundation, and go out of our way to comment and give advice and support to others whether it’s asked for or not.
If you happen to be one of the folks who read or commented on my wife’s blog post, Always Trust Your Mommy Instincts, I hope she helped to explain something that she searched for weeks and weeks to find other mothers that were willing to talk about these things, but ultimately she failed and decided, after healing, to write an article of her own. Along with the hope that I can propagate her story, I’d like to give my perspective so hopefully fathers to be out there (whether first, second, or fortieth), can relate.
In case you haven’t read her article, I recommend it. It is regarding an experience we had together, losing an unborn child.
I will begin. Off with the shroud. The following are events as I emotionally recollect them:
August, Weekend of the 27th, 2011
My wife Harmony expressed a concern about some brown discharge she’d experienced vaginally during a few bathroom trips that weekend. I remember being largely indifferent regarding these events. I chalked them up to her propensity for dramatic rhetoric. I reassured her that “It’s fine, that is normal during the first trimester of pregnancy” along with a smile and a stroke of her hair.
She wasn’t convinced. She insisted that the discharge was in excess when compared to her pregnancy with Kieran (our first son). I inquired as to how much in excess and she couldn’t give me a measurement. So, I was back to dismissal.
I turned and asked her just now if she remembers how much more and she expressed that it was easily “A fingers worth during the first pregnancy, a palms worth during the second.” That doesn’t sound like much relative to what bleeding/spotting could be, but is easily 300% more comparatively. This is all after the emotion, when we have the facts, when the perspectives aren’t skewed.
August 29, 2011
Pretext… We had sex on the morning of Monday the 29th. No excessive vigor, just normal.
The morning of the 29th, when Harmony checked herself, she noticed more discharge. Granted, we’d just done our husband-wife dance, but something she carried on her shoulders became aware to me. I could see this affecting her more than it normally would so I went along with the notion to contact a professional. She called the doctor’s office but was told not to worry unless the discharge was actual blood (red).
Well, that night she came home and after a bit, went to the bathroom, and informed me that she discovered “actual blood” on her toilet paper.
We went through two days of this cycle of “there’s blood but…” Most of the “but” was instigated by me, her husband. I denied her the possibility of it being anything but random circumstance. I denied that it could be anything more than the typical pregnancy misgivings.
Again, the next night, she had the same occurrence. I, the husband, kicked immediately into explanation mode. I took the form of the wise old oak tree advising the apple tree on how to deal with apples budding from its branches. It would, I remember it distinctly “all work out just fine, don’t worry”.
As you may see on her blog, she called her wizened principle (boss) who told her to follow her “mommy instincts”.
If I’m to be honest, I resented the move. She was placing faith in someone other than her husband, whom she trusts and relies on for care and love. As the situation unfolded, I felt pushed aside and jaded about the whole thing. In all honesty I wasn’t sure why she didn’t trust me on this point when we had such a functional, communicative relationship otherwise.
The next several events, Harmony going to her physician’s PA, learning that the previous development they’d seen in the fetus resulted subsequently in the realization based on her waning hormone levels that there was no possible way the pregnancy would be viable.
I treated the last few sentences in much the same way that I treated the previous news…
My wife was pained. I am the fixer. I am responsible for her emotional wellbeing. I charged myself with those responsibilities when I married her. I will not hurt. I will not bleed. I will not thrash. I will compromise myself. I will compensate for her deficiency, try to make her whole through words. I will force her to reason through these hindering emotions.
Mostly, I denied reality. I remember a moment thinking, “How do hormone levels prove this? Show me the rationale. Show me the science.” I called her doctor’s office and got the PA on the phone and asked plain as day “Are you sure these facts are definitive and undeniable? I want you to tell me straight, do not sugar coat or beat around the bush with me.” The answer was “yes.”
My child was dead. He/she was still in my wife. There was a medication which would instigate a period-like event, supposedly to help her shed the dead fetus, and another medication which could potentially make her bleed out, but would “complete the process.” We were given a choice.
I demanded that Harmony not consider the dangerous medication, something I don’t normally do (flat out demands, that is). She went instead with Cytotec, a less pervasive med. We dealt with that for a week. I had to take a slotted spoon into the bathroom each time she passed tissue to try and scoop my child out of its porcelain tomb. Eventually, the medical professionals determined that they needed to perform a D&C on her to “clean her out” as they say.
She went in for the surgery with the knowledge that it goes well 99% of the time, but there was a slight chance of the necessity of an emergency hysterectomy.
I tell you, I knew at some point around this time that the process by which we would bring her back to level playing ground emotionally was going to be long and drawn out.
It subsided in much the same way it began. A loving mother and father hoping that their second conceived child would miraculously reappear in her mother’s womb, but without any child between them except…
Kieran. I believe wholeheartedly that he helped her through some of this. His bright smile and eyes, even despite his condition, made her laugh and giggle with him during even some of the most difficult times.
To fathers out there who may not be able or want to verbalize/write their stories, rest assured that the emotion may be concealed by a wall, but it is there.
What did this father go through when a baby died that I never met? I can sum up my experience…
To my wife and to my lovely child, who died after his heart did beat, but not before she was loved
When I cry, she will not see it.
When I mourn, she will not feel it.
When I find the pit of despair, I will not share it.
When I cry for God, she will not hear it.
My wife, There is no parallel to my love
My son, I love you undeniably
My unborn son, I love you decidedly
My lost daughter, you are so lovely
I love you all.
I have nothing more than I can feel
As your father, I’m one who fought the emotion
As your husband, my heart is ripped from my chest
I hand it to you to replace yours.
Please replace yours,
I can never know the whole of your loss
but I know that a whole heart is at least a piece of what is missing.
