I first came across the term “empowerment” in an academic sense during my Social Work studies, where I learned about the difference between helping someone and empowering them. It’s the classic giving someone a fish versus teaching someone how to fish. (That one, I got from Civilization V, a video game.) Both things are extremely important, but there is a time and a place for each.

We are fortunate enough to be well-resourced, both emotionally and in general. That already gives us a decent start to our grieving process. We are resilient people. We have means, a place to live, and food to eat. We have each other. We have supportive families and friends. We have understanding workplaces with supportive colleagues.

Many people don’t have all or any of those things. I cannot imagine what it’d be like going through this without even one piece of our equation. We are lucky. We are privileged. This has been a devastating experience for both of us, but we know we will be okay in time. Not everyone is that fortunate.

In our search of meaning-making in the wake of this awful tragedy, I happened upon two avenues through which to make our loss mean something. Discovering them was a great, empowering feeling fueled by grief, both uplifting and validating at the same time. I’m mindful that this possibly comes across as a bit self-indulgent, like I’m trying to show everyone how fucking amazing I am. Oh well. Writing helps, so that’s what I’m going to do. This is my process.

The first of these 2 avenues, I travelled for me. In the days leading up to hospital, I contacted the same emergency number twice. I was given 2 different sets of information. On Sunday afternoon, I was told that no concern was needed, and it was only under certain circumstances that I needed to worry. I did not need to go to hospital and I could go see my doctor if I wanted to. On Monday evening, I was told that what was happening was definitely not normal at my stage in the pregnancy, and that I should go to my local hospital as soon as I could.

I’m wary of sharing too much information, but basically: on Sunday I was told that I only needed to worry if O > P. Well, at no stage before our tragedy did O > P... it never even came close. In fact, O was very much < P right up until the second it actually happened, in the early hours of Tuesday morning. Luckily, I was an inpatient in the hospital by then, admitted for observation.

If I hadn’t called back and gotten the advice on Monday, it could have happened at home instead of in hospital. This was something that kept coming back to me in the hours that followed. What if I hadn’t called that second time? What if I didn’t get that advice when I did call again? The entire experience could have been so much more traumatic than it already was.

It was instinct that had me call back, and luck that I got told to go to hospital. These are not things on which I’d gamble actual life.

I called the emergency line’s feedback number earlier today (Wednesday, 10/10/18). I calmly and (if I do say so myself) articulately provided my feedback - one a complaint, one a compliment. As is in-character for me, I gave exact dates and times of both calls, because I had them recorded and I memorized them before I contacted the feedback line. The person who took my call was surprised at how quickly I was able to provide feedback, and I simply told her that it was part of my process. I did not want another woman to get given bad or mixed advice, but I did not offer feedback under any sense of obligation or duty. I did it selfishly, to help with my own grief and to ease my pain. I get to be selfish right now.

Doing something felt better than doing nothing. No one suggested it to me. I did it because I was able to, wanted to, and saw no reason not to. I need outlets, and this was one that helped me recognize my power. I found a power outlet. [PAUSE FOR LAUGHTER]

Finding power in such times is rare, but it is acknowledgment that even now, I have some. Some people have even less, or none at all. So with what I have, I will do something. It’s a nice feeling.

The second avenue and the next step, we will do for our baby. During our hospital stay we were told by a sweet and wonderful O&G Registrar (I plan to give very positive feedback about her and all the nurses who looked after us), that there is no bereavement midwife at our local hospital. Basically, this is a midwife at the hospital for people in our situation to call if we need support or guidance after we have gone home. It is a common service in other countries and is available even at the local women’s hospital to have someone in such a role. After all, you don’t want women in my position to call the same number where babies are being born; it opens the door for potential, accidental triggers. I could call the women’s hospital for more appropriate support, but they don’t have a record of me there. The Registrar was angry and disappointed that such a role didn’t exist at my local hospital (we really like her, guys) and promised she would investigate further and get back to me.

I decided before I fell asleep at home on Tuesday night that if no such role exists at my local hospital, that I would ensure one is created. I know the health system because of my work and I have a voice. I will do this, I promised myself, in memory of our baby.

I got off the phone with the Registrar early on Wednesday, because she called as promised. She confirmed that there is no such service at our hospital. She said that during her conversations today, the O&G Consultants agreed to work on creating one. I immediately offered my help - I know these things progress further with a consumer on board. We agreed that if it doesn’t happen before she finishes her rotation this December, that I would be more than ready by then to step up and take it on. I implored her to contact me as needed even before then, because it gave me something to do without feeling like I was trying to ignore my grief. I intend to take this as far as necessary, because I can.

This one will be for our loss to mean something. For our power and privilege to effect change. For people with no supports to have a place to go to get it. For me to practice what I preach and remember that even now, I have power. This one is for our baby, who left us far too soon.