According to the American Psychological Association and many other valid resources, death of a loved one while pregnant or postpartum is a risk factor for postpartum depression. Grieving the death of someone near and dear to you, especially if this person would have been a support to you during your pregnancy or with your child, seems obvious. But, for me, this realization only came much later...in hindsight.
Our pregnancy with L was a surprise. We had been married for two and half years when we conceived and had never used birth control. We had had some fertility testing (though hadn't opted for any interventions) and had basically been told that like 10% of other "infertile" couples we had what doctors call "unexplained infertility". There's more to that story, but that's not what this post is about.
Anyway, it was such a shock that we had become pregnant at all. And because I didn't learn I was indeed expecting until six+ weeks into the pregnancy, it took a little while to adjust. By the time we'd shaken off the surprise and begun some planning I was nearly into my second trimester.
Right around that same time, I traveled to Virginia for a weekend with my college girlfriends in anticipation and celebration of our friends' wedding in just a couple of months. On Sunday morning, just before most of us were awake, I got an unusual call. My husband rang to tell me that he'd heard from my parents early that day and that my aunt, with whom we shared all major holidays and who had been the Matriarch of the family since my grandmother had passed away, had died suddenly at 62. This news took us all completely by surprise and shook the family to the core.
Then, just a month and a half later, while shopping for supplies for a church retreat in the mountains I had planned for that weekend, I got a call. My grandmother, the one with who I had lived during my Senior year of High School, had become suddenly ill and the outcome was unknown, but looking grim at that point. I had just talked with her recently and she seemed perfectly fine! Being in another state and having work obligations I felt extremely out of control and unsure of how to proceed. Throughout the weekend and into the next week her condition worsened and the meningitis and strokes that she was experiencing as a result of it would certainly prevent her from ever truly being present and herself again. At best, she'd likely be physically alive, but mentally would never regain any real consciousness. Over the course of the next week or so the entire family decided to grant her well-known wish and allow her to pass and not to "live" solely by the aid of dozens of machines.
I flew into Pittsburgh the day that we would take her off of life support and held her hand, talked to her and stroked her face during the 2-3 hours from the time she was unhooked from the ventilator to the time she gasped her last breath. I had an almost surreal presence about me during those days and barely even cried or mourned, even as we buried the woman that was in so many ways my rock.
Looking back, I don't think I ever grieved properly for my grandmother and even now I live in denial of her death and the circumstances around it. They say there are stages of grief and I am certainly stuck at the anger stage...so much so that I have to push thoughts of her and her passing out of my head or else I become enraged or overcome with tears.
The summer following those Spring deaths of two of the most important ladies in our family was filled with the busyness of the third trimester when expecting your first child. Baby Showers, Nursery decor, childbirth classes and "to-dos" allowed me to focus on everything but my grief.
Then, early in September, the phone rang. It wasn't even 6AM on a Sunday morning and we knew the call was unusual. Hoping it was just a wrong number, my husband stumbled half-asleep to his cell. Just moments later his sleepiness was replaced with sadness and shock and he began wailing. "No, no, no, not her", he cried. His best friend had just called to tell him that his little sister had died of meningitis. What were the chances??? Two people we loved dearly would die of a disease that kills just 250 people per year in the United States. The odds were astronomical and winning the lottery would have been more likely. This young woman, a college student, just 19 years old, had contracted what the doctors called a virus and sent her home to rest. Within four hours, her brain literally burst from the pressure of the disease and she had died. In front of her brother. A tragic and utterly senseless loss of a brilliant and beautiful person, and someone who had been like a little sister to my husband. And I, in fact, had grown closer to her myself when we shared a hotel room at her brother's wedding at which my husband was the best man just months before. We both cried and prayed at church and even as we tried to go about our day and week, covered with the pall of her death and our inability to travel to her funeral because of my impending due date.
Three years later, I am still in awe of the losses we suffered in a period of 5 months in 2007. I am saddened and angered that so much of my pregnancy was filled with loss and that my memories of it (even before I knew a thing about PPD or how it would rock me to the core) are woven with grief.
Knowing risk factors for perinatal mood disorders and being aware of signs to look for in pregnancy and postpartum so that extra support and early interventions can be planned for are imperative. Let's talk about one of the hardest things to face so that we can help others...
Did you experience a loss during pregnancy or the postpartum period? How did it impact your mental health? Did you know that death of a loved one was a risk factor for PPD? How could you have planned differently for the postpartum period if you had known that you were at greater risk?
