If you read my first post about my placental abruption, you’ll know that I arrived in the emergency room by ambulance in the middle of the night. The paramedics had been back and forth about which hospital to take me to, and I pleaded with them to take me to the hospital I was registered with, and where my midwife was at the time. She met me there with two L&D nurses and the OB/GYN on call. I received the gold standard of compassionate care at that hospital. My nurses and midwife had obviously dealt with pregnancy and infant loss before I came along, and they knew what to say, and what not to say, to grieving parents. A gentle hand on the shoulder, steady eye contact, no assumptions made, no asinine questions or platitudes – these made all the difference to me. They made sure to tell me that I didn’t do anything wrong – I didn’t cause my placental abruption. This was not my fault. It was not fair. They made sure to repeat everything they told us because we could only hear or comprehend half of what was said amidst the haze of shock. One of the nurses asked if our baby had a name yet, and unsure if I could bring myself to use the name I had wanted to use for our daughter I said “well, it was going to be Sloane, but….” and she replied “Then that is her name.” It wasn’t meant to be pushy. It was more like a confirmation. From that point on, our baby was referred to as Sloane, and not “the baby” or “your baby”. Sloane. I didn’t realize how meaningful that was until much later.

Every step of the way, we were asked what we wanted, what we needed. Did we want Sloane to be bathed? Did we want her to be bathed in the room or should they take her to another room? Did we want her to be weighed, and did we want to know her weight? They confirmed the spelling of her first, middle and last name before we left so her records were accurate. We were told that we could stay as long as we needed to, and that we could keep Sloane with us however long we wanted, and when we were ready a nurse would come get her – but if we wanted to see her again before we left, we just had to ask.

We had a social worker come see us to explain what our options were as far as maternity leave, burial arrangements, support and services that were available for us and for our son. She provided some reading material and asked if it was ok for her to follow up in a couple of days. I really appreciated that she checked in afterwards. She was the one who suggested we arrange for a photographer to come take photos of Sloane, which we had originally declined, but later agreed to. She said “even if you never look at them, you should have them taken.” She was right. The professional photos are so beautiful, and I am so grateful to have them.

The typical postpartum care period is six weeks. When you’re under the care of a midwife, most of those visits occur in the comfort of your own home. This is a major benefit of midwifery care, as it means parents don’t have to bundle up a newborn in all kinds of weather and get to a doctor’s office for an appointment. When you’ve lost your baby, it means you don’t have to go to an office where there might be pregnant women or newborns in the waiting room. Because I didn’t have a newborn who needed to be monitored, I wasn’t sure if I would still be considered a client of my midwife’s, or if I would still receive that postpartum care. I was, and I did. Thankfully. My midwife was sure to check in every day at first, then every few days, then every two weeks, and she was always available by phone if I needed her. She made sure I was eating, resting, receiving support, and taking care of myself. She made sure I knew that my milk would come in even though there wasn’t a baby to feed, and what my options were when it happened. She let me cry without telling me it was going to be ok. She explained grief and loss to me in a way that made sense, and told me that everything I was feeling was normal. One of the best things she did for me was provide a debrief a couple of weeks after our loss. Hearing her version of events filled in a lot of the holes in my memory.

In speaking with other bereaved parents, I know that not everyone receives the same standard of care, or the level of compassion that we were shown. I have heard from parents who were not treated very fairly, or were brushed aside, or rushed out of the hospital with no information on how to get support for their physical or mental health. What my husband and I went through on that day was traumatic and heartbreaking, but we were treated with genuine compassion, respect, care, and concern. Our experience would have been so much worse had we not felt seen or heard by our care team. I have spoken on a few parent panels as part of compassionate care workshops offered to healthcare providers, because I feel that it’s important that they understand how much of an impact they have on bereaved parents and their experience. I have found that I can get through telling Sloane’s story without crying, until I speak about my midwife and nurses and how they treated me. How they made the worst experience imaginable better for us. How they somehow made it easier. For that, I am eternally grateful.