I had written this letter to Beaumont hospital with request to discontinue the celebratory playing of the lullaby throughout the hospital after a child is born. This seemingly innocent gesture celebrates births for some but is an extremely triggering and traumatic experience for others. 

After three months the hospital decided that my singular petition was not enough to consider requested actions, so I would like to receive additional support to illustrate to the hospital, that even though 25% of women suffer a miscarriage, and roughly 24,000 women will deliver a stillborn baby, we are still important and our emotional wellbeing should still be top of the hospital’s priority. 

I would like for you to imagine being pushed through the hospital hallways in a wheelchair by your husband in excruciating pain, knowing that my “at home medically induced miscarriage” is causing this pain. I knew the side effects of Misoprostol were severe cramping and heavy bleeding, but I did not know it would bring me to the ER, and later require an overnight stay which was somewhat of a blur due to morphine and whatever other medications I was on. But one thing I distinctly remember through the medicated haze was that lullaby, cruelly celebrating someone else’s baby, while I was grieving the loss of mine. That story is from April of 2019… Fast forward to January 31, 2021 – I am still childless because infertility is brutal and I have been battling it ever since I married my husband in 2016. I am in the ER yet again, this time with Beta-hCG of over 10,000 and an empty uterus. I have acute pain in the left side of my abdominal, possibly coming from the fallopian tube or the ovary. After a myriad of tests, and again with an empty uterus, I was being prepped for the surgery to remove the ectopic pregnancy. That lullaby keeps playing reminding me of what I do not have. After my surgery I stayed in the hospital, alone due to COVID - my husband was not allowed to visit and console his grieving wife, with only that lullaby to keep me company, sending me into hysteria.  Later that day, at 37 years old, after numerous losses, one failed IVF round, two unsuccessful frozen embryo transfers, and then an ectopic pregnancy, I was scheduled for a full abdominal hysterectomy. This was the grand finale to my infertility story. I could not have my husband with me to hold my hand and to tell me that our marriage would survive this, to kiss me on the forehead and to tell me he loves me. I had to endure the post-op alone, except for the company of the lullaby. But this time it reminded me that I am forever infertile, and there will never be a lullaby playing to celebrate my baby. 

I am a single example of the trauma associated with that lullaby, but 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage, and 1 in 8 couples struggle to get pregnant. Anyone can be challenged to grow a family – infertility defies race, religion, sexuality, and economic status – infertility does not discriminate. It is clear this lullaby caused a great deal of pain. While I understand we celebrate the births and honoring those mothers, we inadvertently hurt those who are currently grieving their losses, shattered hearts, and empty arms. More so, those who are in the hospital for a non-birthing or loss procedure, but childless by circumstance are once again reminded by that one simple lullaby how empty our wombs and hearts are. 

I would like to point out that after googling this lullaby playing occurrence, I stumbled upon an article in Chicago Tribune from March 17, 1997 with the headliner “AFTER COMPLAINT, HOSPITAL STOPS PLAYING `LULLABY'” and that was a single woman after a single miscarriage.The hospital mentioned in the article realized the negative impact their choice had and immediately stopped the birthing lullabies. I had made numerous complaints while in the hospital and after my discharge, and I was brushed off because to everyone else I am just a single incident. However, in the time of that lullaby playing my visceral response was to wail and sob, which leads to believe many women did just that. Now that I am weeks after my surgery and coming to terms with my losses, including the one of my uterus and the ability to ever have a child, I have a strong need to speak up. Thousands of women feel utterly powerless and full of despair from infertility and will not have the strength to say anything. But the emotional pain I felt in the hospital with each lullaby is indescribable, and I wish no woman ever experiences that. There is no greater pain then the loss of a child, and then to be repeatedly reminded every time this little song plays. 

I also need to point out that while my husband was forced to go home without seeing me after my hysterectomy, I learned that women who were delivering babies were able to see their husbands. The hypocrisy is terrible. A woman losing her ability to become a mother, feeling so alone, heartbroken, guilty, etc. forced to endure while a woman who gets to bring a new baby home, probably having no idea how lucky she is, also gets to have her husband by her side. I would like to understand why and how these sorts of decisions are made and hope to drive change. This policy, like the lullaby, is another example of how women who bear children are celebrated and validated, while women who do not are marginalized or forgotten.

I believe the emotional damage caused by this practice is unintentional, which is why I compel you to discontinue it. After all, you can no longer claim ignorance now that I have shared my experience with you. I am available and open if you would like to discuss this matter further and educate your staff on what infertility looks like, and what happens to families during and after those grueling infertility treatments. I am a very active online member of the infertility community and know too well how often we are pushed to the side and discarded in favor of a happier story. I ask that you please do not push this issue to the side.