Yesterday around 11 a.m., I received a phone call asking me to be a part of a parent panel for the Star Legacy Foundation, dedicated to stillbirth research and education. The foundation was hosting a retreat in Toana, VA and their goal is to educate health care professionals on stillbirth. The audience would comprise of mostly labor and delivery nurses. They needed me to be there at 5 p.m. A family had an unavoidable event leaving them unable to attend and a bereavement group counselor referred me {see can't stop talking in groups, see internet ramblings}. In a knee-jerk reaction, I agreed. I thought how lovely a room full of strangers is going to let me talk for an undetermined amount of time about my beautiful child. And they can't leave. Then I hung up and had a panic attack in my car. How am I going to stand up exactly ten weeks to the day I gave birth, share my story and answer questions? I'm going to ugly cry. I'm going to faint. More panic. Then I knew I'd do it for Piper. I had vowed to live my life and celebrate hers. I showered, dressed and debated mascara.
Upon my arrival, I was introduced to two more brave families on the panel. I fought waves of anxiety as we were escorted to the front of the room then introduced. I was so thankful there was a chair. I thought if I fainted from the seated position rather than the standing I was less likely to have a head injury. First tears then the story. I told them I am the statistic. I am the 1 in 2,000. [To clarify 1 in 160 births do not result in a living child but Piper's rare umbilical cord accident is seen in 1 out of 2,000]. The more I spoke the louder my heart sang. I hope I did her justice. I led them through my pregnancy and entire hospital stay. I fielded questions and answered them as frankly as possible. They thanked me but it is me who should thank them. This public forum was another therapeutic outlet to share my girl's short, beautiful story. Parents experiencing perinatal loss need the opportunity to separate their child's birth experience from their death. There is already too much overlap. Birthing, holding and saying good-bye to our daughter has allowed me to begin my grief journey on sturdier ground. We encouraged the nursing communities to allow families time to mourn before making big decisions about what is to follow. To celebrate their child's life by making the only memories you'll have of your baby. As I finished speaking, one nurse stood and told me I was the reason she was there. She had been the nurse to walk me teary-eyed in to labor and delivery the day my world stopped. She told me how we live in her heart. In by doing this, she handed me back a piece of mine. Rest easy Piper Kai.
1 Comment
Therese
9/29/2016 09:36:12 am
Love love this...having another friend go through a similar unspeakable tragedy. My heart breaks and aches but I am so happy for the steps you make to live your life even if it wasn't how you ever saw it. You are truly amazing.
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