Sometimes pregnancy doesn’t end in a living baby. And sometimes there is simply no way to know that there is any danger until after your baby has already died.
I used to lean pretty naturally, thinking that everything in nature was naturally the best. Natural living; natural birthing–these things made sense to me. Humanity had been doing them for millennia. Who was I to question them?
I’ve learned more about stillbirth and prenatal care in the years since then. I’ve learned enough to be angry, both at the things they said and the things they missed. They presented themselves as trustworthy and they weren’t. They presented themselves as comprehensive, and they missed things.
These tools were available to me and I chose not to use them. I didn’t choose for you to die, but my choices did not save you. I wish that I had saved you.
Almost eight months ago, I stood in your shoes. I was nine months pregnant; overdue. I was committed to doing everything naturally. It seemed like the most important thing to me. I wish I had known then what I’m sharing with you now.
Sometimes I need comfort, and I lash out instead. I am not your typical victim. I am so very angry.
One hundred years ago, many pregnancy interventions didn’t exist, and I let myself believe that was the best way. I didn’t consider the other side of this story—one hundred years ago, without interventions, mothers and children often died. Nature isn’t perfect. Nature is pretty deadly.
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