Born in a pandemic: a lesson in love, patience and perseverance for a new mother
- Having gone through the trauma of an earlier unsuccessful pregnancy, the bittersweet journey to motherhood is a reminder that, even today, the conversation about losing a child remains taboo
- It is by sharing our personal experiences, the losses and the triumphs, that we heal and grow
On April 5, my husband and I welcomed our first child. The baby arrived one month early, weighing only 2.5kg, but was healthy and strong. The thrill was beyond words as I heard his first shrill cry, a sound that symbolised the beginning of my motherhood after a long, bittersweet journey.
Even as I was savouring the moment, I could not help thinking of the baby I lost in 2019 after 22 weeks of pregnancy. For a woman in her upper-30s like me, conceiving her was a blessing. I bought tiny clothes and toys in preparation for her birth, and shared the exciting news with friends and family. Unfortunately, things came to an unexpected and sudden end, and I didn’t even know how to grieve.
I could relate to what Meghan Markle, Duchess of Sussex, wrote in The New York Times last November, that “losing a child means carrying an almost unbearable grief, experienced by many but talked about by few”.
My friend Linda Kasonde, a lawyer and civil society activist in Zambia, wrote of her own experience of losing her baby – and nearly her life – during an emergency caesarean section when she was 28 weeks pregnant in 2016, after suffering a severe form of pre-eclampsia and placenta previa.
Linda suffered post-traumatic stress disorder from the ordeal, which kept her in the maternity ward for two weeks, recovering from organ degeneration amid the wails of other mothers’ healthy babies.
She cried for hours the day her baby died, and was urged to stop crying and “be strong”, or risk falling into depression. “Like millions of mothers before me, I had to pull it together and life had to carry on,” she said.
“When women get pregnant, they assume that their pregnancy will go smoothly and that nine months later both mother and baby will emerge glowing and ‘cherubescent’.” That’s not the reality for hundreds of thousands of women across the world, she noted – and it’s true.
And just as Markle said, even today, the conversation remains taboo, riddled with unwarranted shame, perhaps even more so in Asia, where nobody feels comfortable talking about this kind of heartbroken sadness. All I could do then was perpetuate a cycle of solitary mourning, accompanied by tears and nightmares.
Luckily for me, I got pregnant again in the middle of last year, this time amid a once-in-a-century global pandemic when many people all over the world were facing unprecedented hardships. Pregnant women were among the most vulnerable yet under-reported groups.
In the first days of the outbreak in Wuhan early last year, a pregnant woman from the rural area in Huanggang, Hubei province, died of Covid-19 complications after spending more than a week in the intensive care unit at the Wuhan University South Central Hospital.
Her condition had actually been improving, but the money her family borrowed to pay for her medical treatment ran out and they had to give up. The next day, the Chinese government announced that all Covid-19 patients would receive free medical care, which, unfortunately for this family, came too late.
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Coronavirus: Wuhan family struggles to get confirmation of infections and receive treatment
In the US, Erika Becerra tested positive for the coronavirus eight months into her pregnancy. She died shortly after giving birth to her first child, and never got the chance to hold her newborn in her arms.
The US Centres for Disease Control and Prevention, after finding in a study that pregnant women were 70 per cent more likely to die from the disease than nonpregnant women who were also symptomatic, added pregnancy to the list of conditions associated with severe illness or death due to Covid-19.
My pandemic pregnancy, besides the usual morning sickness, headache, sciatica, sleep problems and the risk of getting infected during routine check-ups, was also exacerbated by the pressure I face at work.
The pandemic has led to pay cuts and job losses in many professions, not least journalism, and freelance journalists have been among the hardest hit. Throughout my pregnancy, like so many fellow freelancers, I experienced rate cuts and the unexpected termination of part-time contracts as publications tried to cope with declining revenues and navigate their way through these difficult times.
Covid-19 jobs squeeze forces some to take the leap into unfamiliar new careers
Nevertheless, I tried hard to stay engaged in the work I love, as much as I could. In the meantime, knowing that today’s free time can be used to build the foundation for a dream job tomorrow, I spent mine reading, learning and looking to pitch the kind of stories I hoped to add to my portfolio. Music and exercise also helped me cope with the stress and strengthen my immune system.
After going through the setback of an earlier unsuccessful pregnancy, followed by a nine-month arduous ride that required love, perseverance and collaboration, finally I am holding my baby in my arms, and I feel compelled to share that experience.
As Markle put it: “Some have bravely shared their stories; they have opened the door, knowing that when one person speaks truth, it gives licence for all of us to do the same ... In being invited to share our pain, together we take the first steps towards healing.”
Having prevailed over the physical and mental challenges brought on by pregnancy and childbirth during a pandemic, I now feel hopeful about the future, and more than ever truly believe that “tough times don’t last, but tough people do”.
Audrey Jiajia Li is a Chinese journalist
