The following was written during my time working
with Sands Australia. It was published yesterday in The Adelaide Advertiser.
FOR nine months I let a seed of doubt fester into believing I would never get to hold my child. It overwhelmed the confidence I wanted, so I felt guilty. The end result was that I barely let myself get excited about the prospect of becoming a father; that was until my son was born healthy last year.
I suppose a small amount of concern for the wellbeing of my then-developing son was understandable and expected. Shortly after conception, most soon-to-be first-time fathers make a noticeable shift into protective parent mode.
FOR nine months I let a seed of doubt fester into believing I would never get to hold my child. It overwhelmed the confidence I wanted, so I felt guilty. The end result was that I barely let myself get excited about the prospect of becoming a father; that was until my son was born healthy last year.
I suppose a small amount of concern for the wellbeing of my then-developing son was understandable and expected. Shortly after conception, most soon-to-be first-time fathers make a noticeable shift into protective parent mode.
I was no different, but what I couldn't escape
were the all-too-present recollections of grief and lost opportunity my partner
and I endured early in 2012. Twice, two months apart - both miscarriages and
both devastating.
In Australia every year about one in five
pregnancies end in miscarriage and about 2000 babies are stillborn or die
shortly after birth. In the majority of these cases, the causes are never known
- there are 10 times more unexplained stillbirths than there are cot deaths.
In many cases bereaved parents spend the rest of their lives wondering what went wrong.
We were so diligent we conceived rather quickly.
A missed period tipped us off, and the required three-stick test confirmed it.
I was on a high for days. I let myself celebrate by buying parenting and names
books. Our families learnt the news, and I couldn't help let it slip to my
close friends.
Biologically, I had fathered a foetus. But,
significantly, in mind and emotion, I was a parent. I imagined our child
growing up well-educated and part of a loving family. More than a fortnight
later, I hated myself for getting excited and carried away. The joy turned sour
when scans revealed that at eight weeks, our baby had died. It happened again
in August of 2012.
Fortunately, I don't shy away from sharing
feelings - no matter how vulnerable they make me - so I sought support from
those close to me.
I grieved openly. Like most men would, I felt a
practical need to take some of my partner's grief away, though I knew I
couldn't, and processed the news pragmatically. Importantly, though, I
acknowledged the pain I felt, and shared it my own way.
To get through a crisis, men traditionally
forego tears with a stiff upper lip. Bereaved fathers too often turn to
rigorous exercise or a vice for emotional support. They opt to muscle-up, drink
up or bottle-up their emotions, rather than speak up and reach out for help.
There seems to be a conspiracy of silence
surrounding miscarriage which needs to be broken, especially given how many
people it affects.
If miscarriage and pregnancy loss were discussed
more widely and openly, bereaved fathers may feel more comfortable talking
about it and looking for support to manage the grief. It's not unmanly to need
help and find it. In fact, it's the opposite.
Dan MacDonald is employed by
Sands, which provides peer support to parents whose babies have died.
If you've been directly affected by the death of
a baby, contact
Sands on 1300 0 SANDS (1300 0 72637) or click here.