I was recently selected to participate in Narrative Inquiry in Bioethics’ call for stories of pregnancy loss. Narrative Inquiry in Bioethics is a journal of qualitative research and I’m honored to be one of the twenty that were selected to write for this particular study. My 300-word proposal explained how I want to highlight the lack of support I’ve received from my care providers throughout our miscarriages. I don’t believe that the lack of support has always been intentional; recurrent pregnancy loss only affects 1% of the population and is incredibly misunderstood. That, on top of the fact that early pregnancy losses aren’t taken as seriously as they should be by both physicians and the general public, I can accept that my personal feelings will sometimes fall through the cracks. But at the same time, a little extra compassion from my care providers shouldn’t be too much to ask.

Here’s a little story that I’ll be discussing in my submission to Narrative Inquiry of Bioethics’ call for stories of pregnancy loss:

By my third pregnancy, I knew the drill- call the OBGYN and schedule the first blood test, “educational” phone call, and our first visit with the doctor. These calls were usually fun and exciting, you’re congratulated a handful of times as you get the appointments scheduled.

This time was different, though, and not only because the congratulations meant less to me the third time around. The nurse I spoke to was cold and rude. She apparently didn’t have time for me that day.

Having an idea as to what she’d ask, I was ready to get the call over with so I could go back to obsessively worrying about if (when) I’d start spotting.
“Is this your first pregnancy?” she asked.
“No, it’s my third, but I miscarried the first two times.”
“So three pregnancies and no living children.”

I mean, yeah, that’s exactly what I just said, but thank you for phrasing it that way. What a gut-wrenching thing to be told, no living children. Did she think I was misusing or misunderstanding the word “miscarriage”? Was she filling out a form that asked for boxes to be filled with “number of pregnancies” and “number of living children”? Is a simple “I’m sorry to hear that” too much to ask for from a medical professional I’m supposed to trust has my best interest at heart?

Phrasing matters. Words matter. Compassion and empathy matter.