The Darkness and Dawn of Miscarriage - Day 14

Day 14 (Thursday 14th December 2017)

14 - the age of James Lord Pierpont when he ran away to sea and joined a whaling ship. 

Pierpont was the composer of "Jingle Bells", the only Christmas song that doesn't mention Christmas.

(That is because it was commissioned by his father in 1857, for a Thanksgiving Service.)

"Jingle Bells" was the first tune played live in space. When astronauts Tom Stafford and Wally Schirra 

were preparing to re-enter Earth's atmosphere on 16 December 1965, Stafford contacted Mission Control 

to report a UFO. ‘We have an object, looks like a satellite going from north to south, probably in polar orbit . . . 

Looks like he might be going to re-enter soon . . . I see a command module and eight smaller modules in front. 

The pilot of the command module is wearing a red suit.’Before Houston could reply 

Schirra started playing "Jingle Bells" on a harmonica he had taken into space, 

accompanied by Stafford making jingling bells sounds. 

Pierpont, the composer, was the uncle of J.P. Morgan, the successful financier. Pierpont himself died in penury.

I am starting today with a four hour session on culture within Financial Services business - like most sectors, it is a mixed bag. Increasingly culture is being seen as important - my friend Tim Pointer (the former global HRD who founded Starboard Thinking - a consultancy that helps organisations enhance performance through leadership and cultural change) was the brains behind the establishment of the Business Culture Awards - due to his appreciation of culture's role in underpinning performance and engagement. I am proud of the fact that I work for a business and CEO who has been recognised for the work we have done to lead by example and enhance our organisation's culture and approach towards its people, clients and communities in which we operate. Just because you are in financial services it does not mean that you have to behave in an inappropriate and unethical manner. Being fair, caring and respectful should be the norm.

Today's piece is written by a highlyrespected HR expert - Janet Webb. Janet is an Associate Lecturer in HR and L&D for Chichester College's CIPD programme and is also a highly competent and valued consultant; she works via her own firm - Janet Webb Consulting, which she founded in September 2012, having previously worked within the public sector. She specialises in helping people to learn and grow. Janet uses "audacious" as a way of describing her work - it could also apply to her Advent Blog post. She is prepared to speak what few will say aloud. Like Day 9's post, this is a useful read both for those who have suffered a miscarriage but also for those around them who may not know what to say or how to react. She is active on social media and will, I am sure, be pleased to hear from you - her Twitter handle is @JWebbConsulting . 

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Darkness

Miscarriage is not the happiest of subject matters but a topic that affects so many people - about one in four pregnancies. I have written this in the hope of answering two questions:

1. Why is it quite so upsetting?
2. How do I support someone going through this?

I worked in a hospital at the time of my miscarriages. The obstetrician was fantastically supportive and kind, but many of my colleagues said the most appalling things to me; not from malice but from misjudgement. It was really confusing. It was hard enough to get my head around the fact that I had been a mother who had never held or kissed her child. To be subjected to pseudo-medical guesswork was just more than I could bear. After the first miscarriage I went into a form of shock. I was back at work on the Monday, apparently fine. By the Friday I was in pieces and I didn't really understand why. Now I do understand why but it took a while to work it out.

For those going though miscarriage one of the hardest things to deal with is other people's reactions. The problem, I believe, is created by a difference of perspective. For friends and family the miscarriage is a medical event - the pregnancy has stopped - but for the hopeful parents, what is lost is not the pregnancy but the baby in their arms. And it is this baby, fully imagined, fully cherished, that is lost. I have many friends who have also had this experience. Loved ones wanting to support but unsure of what to say, because of their perspective getting it horribly wrong; the very people who should be pouring love and support, just end up pouring more darkness.

So How Do You Be Their Dawn? - for the mothers and the partners.

1. Understand that you are helping someone who is grieving (as well as dealing with chaotic hormones and probably having undergone a fairly grim, clinical procedure.)

2. Don't assume that when someone says "I'm fine" that they are. Don't assume that the "I'm fine" from yesterday is still true today or even in a month's time.

3. Don't keep going on about it. Don't get frustrated when they do.

4. Do NOT say:

·     it was for the best (it wasn't - it really, really wasn't the best)

·     at least you have your other child (they are not consolation prizes)

·     well at least you know that you can get pregnant (this was not a dress rehearsal; this was the real thing.)

5. If you notice anyone saying the above, have a word.

6. DO say:

·      I'm so sorry.

·      How can I help?

·      This is really sad news.

·      I'm sorry that I don't know what to say.

7. Hug them. Remember to hug the partner; they're grieving too.

8. Help. If you can, turn up and do the washing up, hoovering, making tea for visitors. They'll be mortified that you did their washing up etc. but will also be relieved that it's done. You have to play this one really carefully so have empathy dials up to max.

9. Turn up with food; my friend Sarah turned up with a casserole and jacket potatoes already cooked and still hot - I just needed to put them on the plate. I sobbed.

10. If you are their manager, treat them as you would after any bereavement. Take particular care to remember point 1 and 2.

I had a very spiritual experience a while ago that helped me deal with my own miscarriages. I share that here in the hope that it brings some peace, clarity and hope.

One final point; if this is you then you are not alone. The miscarriage association have a fabulous website. Speak to your friends and family; there will be people close by who have been through exactly what you are going through. Lean on them. Say yes to help. Be difficult. Rage. Love. Grieve.

With Thanks to the Coal Dust

Day 47 (Saturday 16th January 2016)

47 AD, the year in which Vardanes I of Parthia (which later became known as Persia and
is now parts of both Iran and Iraq) was assassinated by his brother, Gotarzes, whilst out hunting.
Vardanes was praised by Tacitus for being a young and highly gifted ruler. During his reign he reimposed Parthian
control over the city of Seleucia on the Tigris. His brother claimed the throne after Vardanes death, but Gotarzes II
was cruel and debauched, resulting in the Parthians rebelling and petitioning for aid from Rome to
depose him - this area of the world has a tradition of civil war and unrest over the past millennium.

Today's deeply personal and powerful post is anonymous. Once you read it you will understand why. It has been published today at the author's request, as today is her 40th birthday. I am sure you join me in wishing her a happier and easier year ahead.

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The Context

I am forty today.  It’s a moment of sorts.  I drafted this blog in 2015, hoping the advent series would run until 16th January so I could write about the threshold of turning forty.  I drafted this blog to contain words about having courage to overcome fears, drawing strength from the love and support of family and friends, and daring to achieve our dreams as we live our lives.  I took that approach because 16th January 2016, in some sort of indescribable twist, was also the day I could tell everyone I was pregnant for the first time.

Except I’m not pregnant anymore.  

My miscarriage started on Christmas Eve and it was in a Holby City Christmas that my love and I found out that “there is no heartbeat”.  The complications that ensued resulted in emergency surgery which meant, even in the depths of what was A. Nightmare. we were able to prioritise.  Our minds turned to my health above everything else.  

That paragraph has taken me two weeks.  

It has taken me two weeks to find courage to write about something that is awful and common.  Common, yes.  But not common to me.  Common, yes.  But hidden away in rooms with two-seater sofas, a high backed chair and pastel coloured leaflets. Common, yes.  But so difficult that we don’t speak about it. Common, yes.  But if I tell others about it does that mean I am weak, not smart anymore, not hire-able?  I chose to rewrite this blog because as it turns out, it is still about overcoming fears, drawing strength from the love of family and friends and achieving our dreams.  

The Theme

Comets.  For me it’s about light.  The light we leave as trace in our connections with others, whether we are aware of it or not. It is also the light we turn to when we need it. Perhaps spiritually or perhaps quite literally.  When I walk in nature with the sun on my face, my shoulders don’t just drop, I become aware of them in a different way.  I am light without what I had been carrying with me.  In its absence it becomes noticeable.  In that light, as I walk, I can see more clearly, examine more accurately and understand differently.

Comet McNought, 2007

Coal dust.  For me it’s my family and my lineage.  My family are coal miners. One granddad was out on strike, whilst the other worked in HR for the National Coal Board.  One a steady and smart man, packed to the brim with a sense of fairness and family values, and the other exactly the same.  I picture a dense grey sparkling matter, as vast as space, that I lean in to when I need it.  A substance that accommodates me and that provides resilience.  It is a rebooting space to go to.  My personal Etch-a-Sketch.

The Point

It is the strength I find, in my moments in the light and the dark, that is carrying me now as I get used to being two people for a while.  The one that says “Yes, it was lovely thank you, very restful.  No, we never do much for New Year.  How was yours?” and the one that is woken by sweaty panic every morning because the anaesthetic isn’t quite out of my system and I don’t know where I am or what time of day it is.  I just know to breathe and it will become clear.

Some of the Moments

The sun on my face the first day I was babysat by my brother.  I found him to be a bit more lenient than my folks and my other half, so I made my escape. With my laces trailing I shuffled down the driveway to lean against the fencepost.  I tilted up like a sunflower. I let the sun pour over my face and I let myself cry.

The darkness in the night where the fear is high.  It’s a place where I don’t know what will happen to me. Even though I know none of us really do know. It is where vulnerability courses through me.  The hand I reach for holds me and keeps me steady.

The smiles I get from scanning Facebook.  At its best, it is a gentle Elvish nurturer, connecting me to my loved ones around the world.  At it’s worst, it is a game of demonic roulette, as it can conjure up images that close up my throat and squeeze out my lungs.  Painful and critical reminders that life is going on.

How relaxed I feel in my body when I dream of a holiday.  My mind palace is a different place to that of Holmes', and I like to go there a lot at the moment.  I spend time in a place where I am well and free and where I can make plans for some devilish fun.  Those times will come.

The voices of the women in the recovery room.  Gentle lady after gentle lady emerged from the fog to hold my hand, to share their words of connection; “I have been where you are”, they said, one after the other.  “Fruit and vegetables, and plenty of sunshine.” And when I cried, the lady that leaned in and whispered slowly in my ear “Breathe, long, and deep”. She stayed close to my ear and breathed with me for a while.

Some sort of conclusion

We control very little.  We are in an industry where we long for authenticity, for showing up, for openness, humanness, purpose and mindfulness.  Yet there are times when we need to know we don’t have to show up at all.  Times when we need the world to hold us and contain parts of us that we can’t contain for ourselves. We need our protected places to go to in solitude and with loved ones where there is strength in the light and the dark.  We can put a little bit of ourselves here and a little and different part of ourselves there.  For now, I choose to show up in words.  I understand in a new way what it is to say; “this writer has chosen to remain anonymous to protect their identity”.   There is a part of me that needs protecting on my 40th birthday. That is my trace today.  With thanks to the coal dust.

Anon.