You know the stigma must be bad if an awareness month passes by without a peep.
Such is October, which is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, although you’d probably never know it unless, like me, you’re a part of this unwanted club.
I’ve been sitting back the last few weeks, watching and waiting, for something — anything — to surface that would reflect the physically and emotionally grueling experience of losing an unborn child.
I’ve been on the lookout since last November, when I had my first miscarriage and was shocked by how little I knew about pregnancy loss, a heartbreak like no other.
I was already a mom, steeped in the world of parenting, and with all the privileges, including access to regular health care and a solid education. Yet I was completely clueless about what lay ahead once my baby’s heart stopped beating.
Nobody talks about the gut-wrenching decisions that have to be made or how to grieve a loss that doesn’t seem to be recognized by anyone but you.
Loads of women going through this tragedy similarly describe feeling blindsided, even though pregnancy loss is remarkably common. Some research suggests more than 30% of pregnancies end in miscarriage, according to the March of Dimes.
So why is there such a disconnect? How could the information gap be that bad?
October, I thought, would unveil the coverage I’d been craving all year. But October is nearly gone, and those of us bereaved are still far too deep in the shadows.
It only goes to show how desperate we are for more awareness. The pain, after all, persists long after the pregnancy comes to an end.
Drawing attention to pregnancy loss would bring better support and connection to families who are suffering. It would bring more knowledge and understanding to women facing these traumatic events. And it would bring more funding and research on a subject that is still largely mysterious to medical professionals.
October is also Breast Cancer Awareness Month. That one you’ve probably heard of before.
Buildings across Chicago light up in pink, athletes sport pink apparel on the field, and survivors share their stories in the media. It’s a wonderful and necessary campaign to educate the public, improve support and promote screening for the disease.
But breast cancer, too, was once woefully stigmatized. Nobody talked about it. Women who had it often felt shame and isolation. And it was generally dismissed as incurable.
Of course, things aren’t perfect today, and more still needs to be done for breast cancer. But we have come a long way.
I hope that someday we can say as much about pregnancy loss.
Katie Drews teaches journalism at Loyola University Chicago and is the founder and author of Miscarriage Stories Matter, a newsletter about pregnancy loss.
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