WELCOME TO THE VILLAGE FOR MAMA POSTPARTUM STORIES SERIES, WHERE WE CHAT WITH SOME OF OUR FAVOURITE MAMAS ON THEIR BIRTH, POSTPARTUM EXPERIENCE AND HOW THEY GATHERED THEIR VILLAGE.
No mother should have to answer these questions but I am beyond grateful for Caz and her willingness to share her story in honour of Jean for Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. Still birth is such a deeply unfair and earth shattering experience that impacts around 2000 families each year in Australia. It leaves mothers like Caz navigating deep grief through postpartum. A strange grey zone of postpartum recovery without a babe in arms.
Firstly, would you like to introduce yourself and share a little about you and your family?
Hello! My name’s Caz and I’m a Chinese medicine practitioner in Melbourne. I mostly support folks with fertility / menstrual health / pregnancy, but also I just LOVE optimising general health and mental health. Without sounding twee, I genuinely love my work.
My family is made up of my partner Matt, our 8 week old son Freddie, our kitty cat Enid and golden retriever Pam – Pammy was our grief-pup who we got a few months after losing our daughter. Jean, although gone, is very much our first child and every present. We keep her ashes in a beautiful pot next to our coffee machine with recipe books and plants in the kitchen. It feels right keeping her in the busiest room in the house.
We so often prepare for the birth and forget to prepare for postpartum. Something else we don’t tend to acknowledge is how much the birth can impact your postpartum experience. What type of birth did you have with Jean?
Man, I could write an essay on this question alone. We had a planned homebirth with Jean. She was born not-breathing and as our midwives had not arrived, Matt called 000 and I was administering CPR about 90 seconds after she was born.
Leaving aside the trauma of her death, her physical birth was quite simple. I was physically very well. However, the mental toll of not being listened to by my care-providers has been deeply painful and is a scar I carry with me to this day.
You announced the birth of your beautiful daughter Jean on instagram with a tile that read:
‘A post no one wants to write postpartum. A post no one wants to read’.
It simultaneously announced the heart breaking arrival of Jean who was born at home not breathing, whilst acknowledging the two big elephants in the room. It struck me as the most brave, generous, resilient and heartbreaking post I have ever read. Do you want to share anything about this post and why you felt these two ‘elephants’ had to be addressed? How you managed to be so generous in that moment?
I’m not going to lie – reading this question makes my heart flip and dip. It really takes me back to that time. I remember the fear, sadness, grief, shame that I felt when I said to Matt that I had to write a post to say that she had died.
The first “elephant” was regarding people showing me photos of their babies. I didn’t want people to feel that they could no longer celebrate with me – that’s a part of my job that I LOVE. The joy emanating off people about their pregnancy / babes.
The second was regarding home birth. I suppose I had spent my pregnancy advocating for home birth and didn’t want people to think she died BECAUSE we birthed at home. Home birth is not unsafe. I will say that time has shifted my feelings regarding our care, as I realised that what we received was subpar.
The generosity didn’t feel “generous.” It was just my frank feelings at the time. I was so frightened of becoming a pariah who people avoided re pregnancy and babies. It all actually had a lot more to do with me and how I felt. And this is the least glitzy thing I will say on the topic – I was scared about how losing my daughter would impact my career. That may seem hard hearted, but it was a very real fear on day one.
One thing about grief – you never know what feelings it’s going to serve you from moment to moment. It’s interesting, looking back at that post today, I can see that I was very concerned about protecting people from the awful thing that happened to us.
Did you feel like you could embrace or even acknowledge the fact that you were postpartum amongst the grief? If so, how did you honour your postpartum?
I’m not sure that I would use the word embrace, but I VERY much acknowledged my postpartum. I think that in some ways applying what I know about postpartum care HELPED me process my grief. Looking back, you could say that I mothered myself.
On day two, I contacted my (now passed) herbal mentor and asked for an appointment. He fitted me in quicksmart and I had herbs on my doorstep by day 3.
My goal was to mostly remain horizontal for a month, because my theory was, if I’m going to have a dead baby* I’m certainly going to protect my pelvic floor as much as possible!
* apologies for being so blunt, but the truth is that after this great loss, you don’t necessarily noodle around with gentle terms. The worst has happened and there is no sugar coating that.
I shared my birth story to ANYONE who would listen. Having no baby in my arms, I think I wanted to create her as a reality for others whenever I could.
Matt learnt so much about birth, so he played a huge part in caring for me as a postpartum woman. There’s more, but these were the big players.
As a TCM doctor, you deeply understand the importance of the first 40 days. How do you feel loss changes or impacts the care needed for mothers during this time?
In Chinese medicine we describe pregnancy and birth as both requiring an incredible amount of resources. When a mother loses her baby, this goes doubly. The strength of emotions, the literal rewiring of the brain that occurs as she comes to understand something so life changing is breathtaking.
A mother who loses her baby, may need to be reminded that she is in fact postpartum. I think that the care really pivots to being directed at her grief, and so it’s really important to remember that she has just grown a baby. We know that both pregnancy AND grief have profound impacts on the brain and so I really think she needs to be held delicately and with a lot of understanding. She also needs to be given agency to grieve the way that she wants. I had a number of people message me on instagram telling me that I didn’t need to share like I was. It came from a good place, but it actually just made me feel shame – like I was doing it wrong and that it was TOO private or something.
As both a TCM doctor and from experience, what things should mothers implement to support their postpartum journey after loss?
Whatever the hell they want. Haha. I say this in jest, but the reality is that it is a difficult road and what is right for one person, will absolutely not fit for everyone. Things to consider is whether you LOVE the woo woo things, or if you’re entirely practical. How has grief hit, what were the circumstances of your loss. The list goes on.
Practically speaking, my number one priority was healing my body and finding tools and resources as soon as possible. I wanted to be on the front foot. In hindsight, I went too hard too quick – I personally think I started therapy too soon after. I was trying to “fix” what had happened by fixing myself and that’s not how it works.
The thing with postpartum after loss is that there is a high chance that woman is going to want to be pregnant again soon. This is not the case for everyone, but there is a chance. IF this is the case, then she DEFINITELY should be caring for her body. So postpartum care becomes preconception care and it is SO important, because we’re now looking ahead to a future postpartum. That might sound insane, but it’s the reality.
It’s hard to answer this question because there are so many possibilities and I want to avoid using the word “should”.
It’s important to close out the birth with the usual care – a 6 week check up to look at your bloods and the more immediate things with the hospital. I definitely recommend having someone go over your bloods who is looking for OPTIMAL ranges – this might be a naturopath or a suitably qualified Chinese medicine practitioner. I would also really recommend working with a women’s health physio if you can – particularly if you had a vaginal birth.
This isn’t covered a lot, but knowing that all the usual postpartum things apply to the mother of a stillborn child – their milk will come in and the after pains of the uterus contracting back to size are two particularly insulting things after loss. The baby blues may hit (as opposed to sadness and grief). Brain fog and also rage can be both a symptom of grief and postpartum.
And then there are the other things to honour your child that are all on the table – a memorial or funeral, sharing your story, potentially writing down as much of it as you remember – particularly the fond parts. A closing of the bones is another beautiful thing. I got SO much out of my birth debrief that I had with Jane Hardwick Collings.
And I’m going to sound like my Non (grandma) right now, but EAT EAT EAT. Eat warm foods, eat frequently, eat nourishing foods.
And if ever there was a time to find a good therapist, now is the time.
I believe the foundation of postpartum wellness is support. A village to hold the mother. How did your village hold you through this time?
The question is, how DIDN’T my village hold me through this time. My doula friend set up a meal train for me – something I had avoided when she first suggested it to me before Jean was born. Postpartum, I just KNEW that we couldn’t do it alone. That was all there was to it.
Another friend set up a gofundme, to cover medical / funeral / unexpected costs.
One close friend dropped by on day 2 with warm socks, a bag full of frozen quality meals, and a hot water bottle. Another friend cleaned our bathroom.
The thing about the village that I learnt, is that it’s not just your friends that you go camping with – it’s actually much broader. It’s your friends, family, acquaintances, colleagues, people you crossed paths with once – it’s also people who know someone who knows you and feel touched by your story.
A friend of a friend who has been through a similar experience sent me a book and a hand-written letter.
Another friend of a friend got in touch via Instagram – still, 18 months later she will message me asking, “how is your grief.” We don’t speak often, but touch base every so often.
Other instagram friends told me that they had prayed for us. I’m not religious myself, but found this extremely touching. That they had set aside time in their relationship with their god to think about us was huge.
There are so many ways to hold a loss mum – the sky’s the limit!
Saying hello and “I’m sorry” is a great start.
Do you have any advice or wisdom to share with women who have experienced a still birth?
Whatever you’re doing is correct. We can course correct our grief at any point. If you need to be alone for a while – great. If you throw yourself into work – great. If you launch off into a yoga retreat – great.
But I will always recommend being gentle with your body along the way – truly – if you have to have this shitty experience be a part of your life, I think keeping the repercussions off your physical body as much as possible is important.
And if someone tells you that “you’re so strong” you have my permission to tell them to fuck off – even if it’s just inside your head.
My number one tool in the early days in particular – when booking appointments I always emailed ahead or added a note explaining that I had lost my daughter at full term, so that I didn’t need to say it for the first time in person. If they knew ahead of time, it reduced the chances that I would cry.
I have heard some of the most beautiful wisdom after losing my daughter. My partner and I both allowed our spiritual side to reassure ourselves that her soul’s journey only needed to be here for this long. Rhetoric like this helped us heal… BUT to date, one of my favourite messages was from an acquaintance who texted me about 5 days in and said, “it’s just so fucking unfair.”
Hearing it put so bluntly actually lightened my mood more than anything else.
Do you have any advice or wisdom to share with the friends and family of women who have experienced still birth?
The first thing I want to say, is that if you’re reading this, you can be the friend of a friend who does something lovely. You don’t just need to be close to heartbreak to offer support – you can be part of the village.
- Do their dishes, clean their bathroom, make them tea, watch a movie with them.
- Ask about their baby.
- Talk about their pregnancy – this precious time in their life might be bulldozed by tragedy, leaving them feeling like it never happened, or that it wasn’t important. Sure, they may not want to talk about it, but if they do – talk about it with them. And if you cry, that is fine! It’s really sad. You don’t need to keep your eyes dry and by “strong” for them.
- Use their baby’s name, if they have one.
- NO silver linings!!!!!!! They are allowed to create them if they want, but don’t you dare start a sentence with “at least.”
- Vice versa to the above, I grew to resent when people said to me, “you don’t need to find a silver lining.” It sort of is good advice, but I was clinging to them to keep me afloat at times.
- Follow their lead.
- If they don’t want to talk about it, move on! We are more than the mother of our lost child. We still like to laugh and joke. We still like to talk about other things. Goss with us, talk about your own shit (maybe don’t go too hard on this one haha). Allow us to be normal.
Something else we don’t discuss is postpartum after miscarriage. For those who aren’t aware, missed miscarriages are defined by loss before 20 weeks and stillbirth is from 20 weeks. Even before 20 weeks there has been such a transformation as your body grew new life. From your work with women on their fertility and postpartum journeys, do you think women would benefit from honouring a postpartum period after all loss?
ABSOLUTELY! I’m so glad you brought this up. And again, this will depend on the person. I think that loss occurs on a huge spectrum. If a person miscarries after trying for 3 years, this may hit harder than what happened to us.
You should honour your experience as much as feels good. I know mothers who held funerals for babies they lost as early as 8 weeks – just with their partner, but all the same.
Your body has still grown a human for a period of time. Your body has gone through huge changes. Some early losses can be quite traumatic, either physically or emotionally, and that should be addressed. And the same rules apply – if someone says to you, “at least you know you can get pregnant” chuck them in the bin. There is no “at least”. You lost your child.
I suppose the short answer is yes – your postpartum can be honoured after a miscarriage and the list above applies here. The practical and the ‘woo woo’.
You have launched an instagram account and online community in honour of sweet Jean, to help educate health professionals around how to support bereaved parents. What do you want to see change the most?
Ooof, you know, I did so much work in my postpartum in terms of educating people around grief – the instagram page and I also created a webinar for a Chinese medicine fertility conference. I went hard.
I became pregnant with Freddie 6 months postpartum and for me, I just couldn’t remain in the grief space while directing my physical and emotional energy to growing another child, so I gave myself grace to step away.
I think the biggest thing I’d like to see changed is that health professionals who work in the pregnancy and fertility space should be putting in at least a little bit of professional development towards managing grieving patients. So many people just have no idea and it can be SO damaging.
If this is you – the two things I have to say are NO SILVER LININGS. Never. And allow your patient to be normal. You don’t need to coddle them. You don’t need to over emphasise their loss or make them seem “other”. Just offer your condolences and move on.
And, you have recently welcomed your sweet baby boy Freddie. Do you want to share anything about your pregnancy, birth and postpartum with Freddie?
Aaaaaaaah where to START! First and foremost, I never want Freddie to feel that he is a salve for the loss we experienced. He is his own person, with his own story. But after 2 years worth of pregnancy, I mostly feel an overwhelming calm hanging out with him. As I write these words, he’s 8 weeks old and his coos and goos and wriggly shoulders are an absolute honour to witness.
Every person who experiences the loss of a child / pregnancy is different, and I sometimes think I’m a bit more of a hard-arse than others, but I have to say – I became SO sick of people saying, “pregnancy will be hard.” I felt that I rebelled against this rhetoric, because I was like – “don’t tell me what my pregnancy will be like!” It felt like people painted it as a foregone conclusion – that I would be miserable and anxious for 9 months.
I became nervous as birth approached, because I came to attach the trauma of not being heard in my birth with Jean to all care-providers. I birthed Freddie in a public hospital and I was induced. I had a lot of fears around HOW the staff would speak to me or touch me and so on my birth plan, I made it clear that I didn’t want their reassuring hands on me. I didn’t want too much verbal sweet talk either – Matt was my support person and I just wanted their grounding presence.
They took EVERYTHING on board, down to not giving us too much congratulations after he was born – they gave us space to be together first. It was such a deeply healing experience.
This isn’t to say that people should say otherwise – but I would suggest approaching it with curiosity – “HOW is your pregnancy?” Or even saying, “people say it can be hard at times – what’s your experience like?”
Is there anything else you would like to share. Or if there is a mama reading this who has experienced the loss of her baby, is there anything you would want to tell her?
For me – it was the early days, when I was drowning that I was desperate for answers and support. Grief is like a birth of its own – you’re like a foal, finding its feet and your own process. But I sure as shit didn’t want to hear that. I wanted concrete answers as to HOW exactly I was going to get through the intense, unending pain.
So if you’re in those early days and looking for a crumb of hope, here’s what I can offer. There are genuine neurological changes to the brain’s wiring when a person experiences grief. And while the pain doesn’t go away, your body and brain learn how to live with it a little better with time. You don’t need to do anything to make this happen either – your body will just do it. So for now, just do whatever you need to do to get through each minute.
Take care of yourself. Allow others to take care of you. And while it won’t pass, it will get easier – as impossible as that sounds.
Today, as I write this is exactly 18 months since Jean was born and died. I still weep into Matt’s shoulder on occasion. I wonder a lot of things. I regress and have “why me” feelings, but in my own way, I try to find meaning, to learn and to be present with my life and now, with my little boy.
And as Glennon Doyle says – ‘we can do hard things.‘
If you or a loved one have experienced the loss of a baby and need support, please check out these incredible resources. We are so deeply sorry for your loss.
You can find additional support and resources through Red Nose , The Pink Elephants.