Minnesota Birth Network                    Infant Loss Home

 Pregnancy Support Group for Depression/Anxiety 
(they also call it the antepartum group) offered through Fairview Healthwise 
--
 612 672 7272. It meets every other week (1st and 3rd Tues from 6:30 - 8 PM) 
and costs only 
$5/grp (with a sliding fee available if that's too much). (Kelly Grosklags, a social worker, and Karen Larson   CNM[used to be Hangsleiben] --  612 672-2900)

www.nationalshareoffice.com
SHARE is a nonprofit group helping parents with infant loss and
miscarriage for 25 years.  They have a great free newsletter to bereaved
parents, and local groups in some places.

RESOLVE of Minnesota 7455 France Avenue,  Suite 267 Edina, MN  55435.   Phone 651-659-0333

If I had a baby die, I would want the gentlest care possible. I have never had a baby die who was big enough to give birth to, but I have known several women who have- and from what they went through, I think I know what I would want.

I would want my baby born at home. I know that if my baby were truly meant to die, she would die at the hospital just as readily as she would at home- and I know that my little baby would be happier being born at home, where it1s gentle, dark and safe... she wouldn1t want bright lights, steel equipment or gloved hands to mar her gracious entrance into the world... even if her world will only be with her shortly- her gentle entrance is the most important thing I can give her as mother.

If my baby were meant to die I would push her out gently, then bring her up to my heart. I would hold her between my breasts, and weep into her hair in gratitude for the awesome gift of birth she had given me- I would thank her for the beauty and joy of holding her tiny sweet form... I would cuddle her softly, breathe in her precious scent- I would feel her fuzzy curls with my lips, with my nose, I would cradle her tiny soft bum with my hand. I would shudder my love into her- I would give her all I could give.

I might think it is best to take her to the hospital: if I see she is not breathing too well- if I think there's anything that can be done to bring her to life- I will do it. I will not cut her cord, I will keep her attached to me through her placenta- this is how we will transport. And once I am there I do not want us to be treated like a catastrophe waiting to happen- I want us to be handled carefully, delicately. For if it is obvious that my little baby is not meant to hang onto Life, then I want her not to be taken from me- not to be handled roughly... I want doctors and nurses to mind their humility, and not try heroic rescue efforts when it is obvious that my little baby is not going to survive.

I want from them what my friend Leslie Ann had gotten, just a few ago, from the doctor when she had gone in shortly after her daughter Paris1 birth. He was kind to her, he advocated for her, he let her know he was there for her- he gave her unconditional care- he was an angel for her, one whose love will provide him with great blessings for the rest of his days. He was not rough with her... it was not 3her fault2- he did not make her suffer for having a homebirth... and this is so very much to his credit.

I would want my placenta safely delivered back to me, after it was examined- then I could bury it. I would want to take my baby home with me to die... if it were plain that she were going to die, I would want her to die as she was
born- into my arms, under my chin, me holding her in my love, in my precious, sacred weeping. I would want to hold the little bum in my hand, nuzzle her soft hair- have her cling to me as Death took her gently, and left her sweet form in my hands. Between my breasts I would love her... cover her with my milk, with my sweet love...

Then, I would want my best friends to come help me. I would want help with taking care of my little daughter1s form- help me live with her for a little while... take her for a walk in the sling, give her a bath... cuddle with her in my bed, prepare her for her grave. If I had a little baby die, I would want to continue her physical time on Earth as it had been in my womb- dark, holy, gentle, secret, safe- and I would not want to have to worry about feeding myself, or keeping myself clean. I would want my sacred friends to help me, to feed me, to make sure I have clean clothes to wear because I won1t have the energy or heart to do these things for myself. I would want them to brush my hair, and rub my tummy... I would want them to remember that I had just given birth, and need special nurturing. I have just given birth...

If I were in labor, and if it were plain that my baby had died, I would want a gentle birth. If I were a VBAC mom, I would continue to birth in the way I had planned to- even if my first thought is to have someone please take my pain away, please just give me another cesarean. My friend Tami thought, after she found out her dear little Emily had died before giving birth to her, that she just wanted another cesarean... she could not bear the thought of going through a long birth when she was in such immediate, intense grief. But, the OB at the hospital said no, I think it would be better for you to give birth to your baby... you were planning a waterbirth, so- maybe you should have a waterbirth. We'll call your midwife too, so she can be here with you.

This is what I would want. I would want my midwife with me, even if she was one the hospital didn't 3like2. I would want them to keep their petty politics to themselves, and keep my dear ones with me- for they know me best, and know what I need to keep me comfortable and feeling safe. I want my midwife; I want my husband; I want all the people I wanted to involve in birth be there for the birth, no matter where my birth ends up being. I have only once for this birth... please understand that for you it's a 3day at the office2- but for me, it is the most important thing that will ever happen to me. To give birth to this little dead child...

If I am in the hospital to birth a little one that is dead, I want my experience sacred. I need it to be holy... please don't talk about yourself, or your life if it does not relate to me directly. Please do not treat me roughly, not in any way. Please don1t be pestering me about epidurals, orother things to numb my pain- I need my pain- my labor is my last living connection with my child; this is what my friend Jo found when she was giving birth to her little Sienna. I need to feel the life in me of giving birth to her... she needs to feel the life that birth will give... even if her body is dead.

Please do not take her from me, you don1t need to, she must remain in my arms. Dim the lights for me, cover me up so I'm warm... give me food and drink, I will not think to ask for these things myself. And leave us alone. Please don't make me cater to you, I cannot open my mind up to see you as a person if I am holding my dead child... I am holding my own death in my arms, part of me lies dead in my arms and I cannot see you even if my eyes are looking right at you. Don't take me out of my secret ways of pain.

Keep my baby with me, if I want her to be, at all times. And if I need to be alone for a while, please handle her gently as well... and keep her warm, not cold. When it is time for me to go home, attend to me gently- have someone drive me home safely- and be sure my baby is with me too, she does not belong anywhere other than in my arms.

Then... when it is time to say goodbye... leave me to weep and cry out if that is what1s right for me. For I am burying the richest part of myself... and while I may know in my mind that my baby is happy and flying, free and alive in the cosmos and in my heart, she is still dead to me... a dead little one, that is flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood... spirit of my spirit, I am dying here as well. Respect that please...

If you are my friend, handle me tenderly, and feed me and keep me warm. If you are my midwife, put yourself aside and serve me in the ways you know are right, and instinctual. If you are my doctor- save your God trip for another time, you are humble before me, before death. And if you already know that, and keep me safe and loved, I thank you- even though I may not have the words or heart to say it. If you are my nurse- how you treat me and my baby will affect me for the rest of my life. I have a dear friend whose nurses were harsh and cruel to her baby- after she was born, and before she died. They spoke about the baby as a 3thing2 that hung around; they were waiting for her to die. This wounded my friend sharper than a slap with a whip- they seared her very heart... and she still is raw, so many years later, from their rough, cruel treatment of her baby.

But I know other nurses who were beautiful to the dying and dead babies... they spoke of spirit and love, they tended my friends and their babies with reverence and gentle caring. These friends felt safe and protected... their hearts weren't multiply hurt- they had their grief to bear, yes- but more wasn't added on due to callousness and lack of caring.

If my baby were to die I would want lots of love... I would not want to be forgotten... I would want my friends to show me their love, and bring me food and hugs. No words that aren1t needed... not staring at me in my pain- the gentleness and caring that I need from them I want given tenderly, because in my grief I am dying inside.
 

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