DEALING WITH LOSS: STILLBIRTH AND MISCARRIAGES

 Welcome to our first in your face tête a tête.

As I said to those who watched my video, Chanty’s Banter will discuss difficult issues head on as best as I/ we can.

This first discussion comes from my personal experience after the birth of my daughter who was born asleep. Born asleep means she was stillborn. It has been 10 years and I feel slightly strong enough to talk about it.

This is my Story:

After going through a very healthy, no complications pregnancy, the baby at every midwife's appointment and scan was doing very well, until a fluke phone call from Nigeria turned my life around.

Sadly that caller is now with our maker. May her soul rest in peace. The call came out of the blues from an old friend who had never called me before. Living abroad, away from your family, calls from Nigeria at odd times sets our hearts racing. And that call was wrong!

After exchanging pleasantries, the next sentence was "sorry oh for wetin happen to your mama dem" What was my next response. Wetin happen to my mama dem? And then the phone went dead! I tried calling her back, no way. I called everyone in Nigeria no answer. Panic then set in. My aunt I lived with at the time was very upset that lady called because my waters broke not long after.

I later found out my mum's house was robbed. Thank God no one was hurt, but things got stolen, like mobile phones, so communication was grounded. Because I had only just migrated and trying to find my feet, everyone was told not to let me know. My family members were furious when they found out I was informed without their knowledge, and the eventual outcome.

In the panic after my waters broke, the ambulance was called in, my blood pressure had shot through the roof. A condition that had been controlled all through the pregnancy. It became apparent I had gone into premature labour.

You know that confidence you have, because you are in a UK hospital they can treat anything? Well that was short lived because Rochdale Infirmary where I registered for convenience told me they had closed their premature babies ward. Even if she came out ok, they will do nothing to keep her alive. Looking back, I wish I had chosen Oldham Royal. Maybe we'd have had a better chance.

At the time, if I had been advised by a professional to have the baby immediately and she will be transferred to a bigger hospital I would have done. All I was told by a midwife was, if she can hold on till your consultant arrives on Monday (this was weekend mind you) to transfer us to Oldham Royal. And I was "holding on" through serious labour pains. Doctors came and went to take me into the labour room, I objected. Until a heart monitor was done and indicated she had stopped breathing. I could not hear that strong rhythm anymore then I realized to stay alive, I had to go into the labour room. My thought process was anything but rational at that time.

She was born naturally, a very beautiful girl I named Shauna-Mae. I was begging the midwife and doctor, crying desperately to please wake her up when she was put on my chest, nothing was done at all. Then I had to undergo surgery for the placenta to come out, as it was a difficult one. My word, pushing a baby out is one, nobody told me about the placenta.

I woke up in recovery with Shauna-Mae in a tiny Moses basket, dressed up as if she was asleep. You do not know the meaning of grief until this hits you!

That day, I was anticipating hot fish pepper soup as is traditional in my part of Nigeria. Sadly it wasn't! It was cold, scaly and unpalatable. The one thing I expected to give me brief comfort fell short! That was the start of internalizing my pain. At that point all I needed was my mother, my family or anyone who truly loved me.

It was the onset of serious grief. Grief that I cannot describe because it came with emptiness and shame. Shame because I felt like a failure. I failed at the one that being a real woman means and I failed to save my child.

Being member of a Nigerian church, I had to put up a brave face every time, because the next thing you hear after explaining, you lost the baby. "Don’t worry the one that will stay will come" Stop crying for the one that's gone it might hinder another child wanting to come bla bla bla.

In my head I was screaming. I want to cry, I need a hug, I need someone to tell me it is going to be ok even if you grieve. Cry and mourn your loss it is natural. No! It did not happen. The one person who gave me that support is a girl called Eve. I met on a Facebook interracial marriage group. She spoke of her loss, and I opened up to her, she was the only one who encouraged me to cry it out and not play that game the community has set for us to believe in, or else I will end up depressed. She even sent me a poem. A very sad but encouraging lines.

Did I feel supported by the church community I thought I was part of? No! Did the pastor call me to pray with me if he had heard of my bereavement? No! Except for the few people around who knew. I got NOTHING! No comfort whatsoever. I was even ashamed to cry in front of them.

No questions how I am doing, just those same "another one will come". I had to keep up the face of the strong black woman. But I was dying, crying, screaming. I needed to grieve in the arms of my mother, my aunty, a friend or even a church counsellor.

When I eventually did cry my eyes out, I did it well away from where I was staying. I followed Eve's advice, read the poem she sent me. I was on own at my nephew's while he was away in Nigeria. Did it help? At the time, yes.

I have learnt to live with it, I have learnt to cope with the emptiness losing a pregnancy brings. That is one aspect of grief women try to deal with, most people do not understand.

As members of the African community, we must learn to accept that miscarriages and stillbirths are as great a loss for us women as losing a child. Because we did not know that child alive or get to full term does not mean there was no bond. There were plans, made, names given, dreams of holding those babies and even what their future might be like. To face the emptiness is indescribable. Clothes that they will not wear, toys they will not play with, an empty crib. These reminders that are in our homes till we are ready to let go.

My advice is, please allow any mother to mourn her loss the best way she can. Unless she says leave it be, please give the mother of a stillborn baby and a miscarriage the same kind of emotional support you would give to the woman who lost a grown child or baby. Mentally, such support helps us move on a lot quicker. We are only playing strong black women at such times to please members of our communities and families.

 We must try to phase out those tiny judgemental comments, e.g. "e never do?" "na she be the first?" etc.  Comments that sees women internalise pain, only to end up depressed and deeply unhappy. If this happens, most of us will heal sooner whether we go on to have children after or not.

10 years is a very long time for one to feel confident enough to open up. Shauna-Mae is buried here at the Rochdale cemetery. We visit her grave now and again with fresh flowers as I did on her would have been 10th birthday. I remember how shocked my midwife was to see it was only me at the funeral as she expected a lot more people to be with me for support. I saw so much sadness and pain in her eyes for me that day. I can only imagine what her thoughts were.

Feel free to share your experiences, ask questions and make suggestions. This is Chanty's Banter join in….