Helping Loss Parents Heal After Miscarriage: The Critical Role of Medical Professionals

I have lost two children early in pregnancy: Scout and Hank. These losses took a significant emotional toll on my husband and me, and our experiences were worsened by well-intentioned but ill-equipped, uninformed professionals. I hope the medical community can learn from my experiences to better support other loss parents.

Scout

In early 2019, when pregnant with my third child, I opted to get the 13-week ultrasound, a non-routine test to detect potential genetic anomalies. During the test, the technician asked if I was aware I had a twin pregnancy. I was not. My OB had told me this was a singleton pregnancy. The technician explained that there had been a twin who passed away, probably around the 6-week mark, and that my body would reabsorb the remains of the twin. Shocked and uncertain, I calmly asked her to elaborate, and she detailed the signs that there had been a twin rather than a blighted ovum or placenta outgrowth. She mentioned she was willing to give these details because I seemed "very reasonable," unlike moms in the same situation who "really freak out."

I was surprised at the intensity of my grief. If I hadn't opted for the 13-week ultrasound, my husband and I would have never known this child existed. As it was, we didn't learn the child existed until weeks after he or she had died. Nevertheless, my grief was sharp and painful.

I found myself craving ritual and acknowledgment but not knowing how to fill those needs. We chose a unisex name: Scout. I bought an engraved memory box, but I didn't have much to fill it with. I have the one blurry ultrasound photo of the gestational sac long after the child had passed. Otherwise, I filled the box with cards, pressed flowers, and other memorial tokens sent by loved ones.

I felt confused and untethered, my mind filled with catastrophic thoughts. I decided to seek grief counseling. Our health insurance provider required that I get assessed before referring me for counseling. At the mental health clinic, the psychiatrist assessing me explained that bereavement isn't a mental health disorder, and so the clinic couldn't offer me many resources. I countered that I wanted only to see a grief counselor. She said a referral would take a week or two to go through, after which I would have to call clinics myself to find a good fit. I agreed and asked her to start the process. She added that it was normal to be upset since it had been only a week since the miscarriage but that it sounded as if I already had a good support system. She seemed to be trying to talk me out of pursuing counseling. I reiterated that I wanted to see a grief counselor, and she gave me a referral. Still, I was taken aback by how aggressive I had to be to get help.

The referral went through weeks later, but I still wasn't able to see the counselor I chose because she required an authorization number from my insurance provider. I left multiple voicemails and emails requesting the number but getting no response until I filed a formal complaint. The entire process took months of persistence, all when I was already psychologically exhausted.

The first counselor I saw noted how early my pregnancy loss was, a common remark that tends to undermine loss parents' grief. The counselor also repeatedly suggested that my grief over Scout might be only a surface emotion for deeper, longerterm issues in my life, seemingly implying it was abnormal to grieve this hard over just a pregnancy loss. Near the end of our first session, she remarked, "Well, I'm glad to work with you on processing your . . . well, I guess it's like a miscarriage, isn't it?" I did not continue to see her.

I did join pregnancy loss groups online, which helped significantly. However, it was disheartening to see so many grieving women also struggling with profound feelings of isolation. They reported countless...