These are the worst days for us. The ones when we tell a parent that they are going home without their child.
They're the worst because we know how hard it is for our patient. When all they want is for us to tell them it's just a nightmare, that they will wake up at any moment, that this isn't real, but we have to keep them grounded in their new reality.
Grief is a complicated, horrible thing. In the first days, it can feel like things will never be ok again, that no one will ever understand how awful this is, that we won't be able to get through this.
Comfort kits are a tangible way to send grieving parents home with something to hang onto. They provide a reminder of their child.
Because their child existed and exists. Their child deserves to be remembered and honoured. We need these parents to know that their grief is seen and that care.
I carry every child that has been lost by my patients with me. It makes me feel helpless some days, that I can't ease the parents' pain, because that's why I became a doctor. To help people. Medical school can't prepare you for the devastation of pregnancy and infant loss.
The only ones that I trust to teach me about this are those who have gone through it. My sister and brother in law have experienced this loss and allowed me to walk beside them through it. I wasn't able to fix it, or heal them, but I could bear witness to their grief and heart ache. They didn't have a comfort kit when Bridget died. They figured it out on their own with the supports they already had around them.
Now they want to ensure that other parents don't have to navigate this without help. Please consider making a donation to help purchase more comfort kits for the parents who go home with empty arms.
(cross posted to BulletproofMD.com)
