My Baby (Loss) Announcement

Written April 15th, 2020 by Ayako Gallagher

I'm not looking for sympathy but I am sharing this for the selfish reason of making a blanket statement so I don't have to have the same awkward conversation 100 times.

In short, on March 21st, I had a miscarriage at almost nineteen weeks pregnant. We lost our precious daughter, Emiko Katherine Gallagher, and our hearts have shattered into a thousand pieces.

But the long of the short of it, is that I actually do want to talk about it. I want everyone to know my daughter but the random conversations caught in the street are not fun. So if you'll indulge me I'll get into it.

My experience made me realize how the word "miscarriage" draws such a heavy curtain in front of all the realities of what actually entails within a miscarriage. If that's the end of the conversation, it so easily hides the pain, isolation, anger, fear and crushing reality of a lifetime of memories lost. Everyone grieves differently and some mothers may want to keep that curtain drawn around their hearts. I completely respect that.

But I want to pull back that curtain a little because I wish I knew all hidden realities before so I could have been a more understanding friend to those who had been through this.

Or maybe it would have helped me navigate my own miscarriage. And maybe next time you hear that someone you know had a miscarriage, you can be more empathetic than I ever was. Finally I share to keep myself from suffering in silence, I share to honor my daughter and give her the space to be known, if only for a moment.

I learned that I became 1 in 4 women that go through a miscarriage in their life. A pretty high statistic that apparently is supposed to be comforting. But this is not comforting. One, it breaks my heart that so many women go through such loss. And secondly, just because it is common in society, does not make it a common or easy experience for me. Or for baby Emi. This has been the most uniquely heart wrenching experience of my life.

Losing her has been devastating beyond belief. Please keep all the cliches and silver linings for later. I hope one day they will help with the healing. For now I try to navigate wrapping my head around that not only did I lose my baby, I lost every single memory and moment in her life to come. No new born cries, no first steps, no birthdays or boyfriends, no hugs or fights. I never get to know who should would have become, what she looked like or hear the sound of her laugh.

On "Day 5 of no sports", [covid had just hit and all major league sports had been cancelled] March 15th, we cheekily announced our pregnancy of baby Emiko Katherine Gallagher to social media. We thought that by sharing the news at eighteen weeks gestation we had waited long enough; the scary period of first term unknowns were behind us. Four days later we find out we are part of the 2-4% of pregnant women that find out they had a late term missed miscarriage and that our baby's heart had stopped beating. And on Day 10 of no sports, March 20st, I am induced, labor for 16 hours and "give birth" to our dead daughter the following morning on March 21st. I was eighteen weeks and five days into my pregnancy and about half way to term.

But that would be it for me. In that sterile hospital room, we were able to spend a few hours with our lifeless baby. We met Emi, hugged and kissed her, sang to her and said good bye to her. We talked of her relatives who had sent their love and those who are already waiting for her in heaven. She looked like she was at peace: sleeping, all tucked up with a slight smile on her face. She had my high cheekbones. It was healing and heartbreaking. I'll never forget the image of Paddy cradling his tiny daughter in his hands, staring out the window, while swaying and singing softly to her.

This unique time in the world caused by Covid19 added so much extra stress. During labor I had to choose between my mum and Paddy as I was only allowed one support person. It breaks my heart knowing that Takeo never even got to meet his sister that we had been preparing so much for. By the next day, policies had changed in the hospital and when I had to return due to blood loss and infection symptoms I had to take a covid swab and was denied all visitors. While waiting for my results in an isolation room, I envisioned what it may look like to grieve in quarantine for two weeks without my husband and child. Luckily I tested negative and was only alone for two further days in the hospital. This is while I dealt with excessive blood loss which resulted in a blood transfusion and an iron infusion, an infection resulting in an extra surgery and iv antibiotics, and a d&c to remove the left over tissue. By the end of the whole ordeal, it I spent almost a the week in the hospital.

However, as much I want to crawl into my bed and wither away in my grief, I carry on for Takeo. I carry on in the memory of Emi. And when I feel like I can't carry on, Paddy carries me through. There are so many things I am proud of Emiko's short existence. Emiko died silently inside me, without cries for help or tears. She is stronger than I'll ever be. I am so grateful she waited to come until the day after Paddy stopped work; the first day we were all able to be together as a family. She clung on for us. For our family. She is braver than I'll ever be. Im thankful she brought the sunshine during these dark days. And Takeo is grateful (well I force him to say "Thank you Emi") each time he gets nourishment from all the milk that flows from me that should have been hers.

I love you Emi.

We love you Emi.

You will always be my daughter and I will always be your mum. We will always be your family.

This isn't the relationship with you I expected but it is the one I will cherish forever.