The Voldemort of Women's Health

Photo courtesy of  FlickrHiveMind

We've got a problem in this country, and no one's talking about it. In fact, we're pointedly not talking about it. Discussing it means over-sharing, making people uncomfortable, or, -- dare I say it? -- publicly showing emotion.
Let's get serious for a moment and talk about facts: between one fifth and one third of all pregnancies end in miscarriage. 

I know. I should have warned you that this would be sad. But the truth is, I have some questions, and someone's got to hear them -- someone's got to listen to these women.
Let's start with this: where is the public support for the women and their partners who are suffering the effects of this trauma? Why isn't it okay to tell people you or your partner miscarried when they ask you what's wrong? Why is it more socially acceptable to tell them your aunt passed away, or your grandfather has cancer? 

What are we so afraid of?

Defined by the brave and brilliant Laura Benanti as "the Voldemort of women's issues" in an article for Huffington Post, miscarriage is perhaps the most taboo of women's health issues. Truthfully, no one wants to discuss women's health at all: it's easy to make big claims about it (looking at you, Jeb Bush, who thinks $3 per person seems like too much money to keep all us pesky women safe and healthy!), but harder to actually confront. And it's true: no discussion of health care is easy because being sick is messy business.
But this is not about the state of privatized health care in the United States, or even the attacks on women's health care services (which is an enormous enough topic to deserve its own post). It is about the uneasiness and stigma surrounding miscarriage.

Think of the mothers you know. Of every ten you can name (and I'm sure you know three times that many), anywhere between one and two have miscarried. According to some statistics, 10-25% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage. That's a huge percentage; why aren't we talking about it?

Is it our uneasiness when it comes to women's health care? Is it because we're afraid of hurting those women who have miscarried by bringing up a sore subject? Is it because we don't know what to say?

With this many women standing in solidarity over this common experience, maybe it's time to figure it out.

For one thing, we can no longer pretend this doesn't happen. Erasing the stigma is the first step, and the only way to do this is to be vocal. When we have conversations, topics are normalized. When topics are normalized, they become socially acceptable. When they become socially acceptable, women and their partners do not have to hide their grief over their lost pregnancies.

That's not to say that every couple wants to talk about their grief; it just means that those who do want to should not feel forced to avoid sharing the reason for their sadness in fear that it will be met with an inevitable cringe or awkward pity.
An easy claim, sure, but realistically, what should we say to these people?
Try beginning with, "I'm so sorry."
Or, "Is there anything I can do for you?"
Or, "My sister miscarried last year, and it hurts your whole heart, doesn't it?
Any one of these lines may work, or they may not. Ask any woman in your life what she would have liked to hear after she miscarried (remember that one-fifth of them did). But the cycle of silence must end if we ever want to create a world in which these women and their partners can openly feel their emotions. The problem is too big to ignore any longer, and these couples deserve our attention. They deserve our sympathy, and they deserve our care.

In the words of Albus Dumbledore, fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself
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