Grieving dad starts organization to find answers

Janie Magruder
The Arizona Republic
Jul. 17, 2003 12:00 AM

When Camille Rayana Olsen was born dead Aug. 17, 2000, her father bathed and dressed her tiny, lifeless body, kissed her rosebud mouth, then placed her in the arms of his stunned wife.

He telephoned family members and friends with the incomprehensible news of his stillborn daughter, planned her funeral and remained outwardly strong, though his heart was shattered.

"Camille was our miracle baby," says Richard Olsen, who was 60 when his first and only child, 8 pounds and 21 inches, was delivered at John C. Lincoln Hospital.

His then-39-year-old wife, Sharon, had become pregnant despite having had endometriosis and only one fallopian tube; he was married three times before but had never become a father.

The death of Olsen's perfectly developed infant in the seemingly perfect cocoon of his wife's womb brings tears to his eyes.

"I'm a father," he says. "I'm no less a father because my baby is not here."

It also made him angry. Angry that he'll never know why his girl never took a breath, opened her eyes or made a sound. Olsen searched for answers, but when he came up empty-handed, he founded the National Childbirth Society Inc. (www.stillnomore.org), two years ago this month.

"Ours is not grief support," says the real-estate broker from his central Phoenix home office. "We're putting on the gloves."

About 26,000 babies are stillborn in the Unites States every year, according to the National Institute of Child Health and Human Development. Stillbirth, defined as death at 20 weeks or more gestation, claims between five and 12 babies per 1,000 live births, according to institute estimates.

Although known causes include problems with the structure, positioning or functioning of the placenta or umbilical cord, maternal illness and birth defects in the baby, more than 50 percent of stillbirths are unexplained.

"To be able to understand, we need a better ascertainment of cases and evaluation of them," said Dr. Catherine Spong, chief of the institute's pregnancy and perinatal branch.

The institute will spend an estimated $15 million over the next five years to establish clinical sites around the country, Spong said. It will collect, analyze and compare information about stillbirths in hopes of finding answers.

The National Stillbirth Society has been "very influential in saying that this is an important area," she said.

Olsen is skeptical that much will get done. His organization is pushing for federal legislation to create a uniform postmortem protocol for stillbirth deaths and promoting the development of an affordable home fetal heartbeat monitor. It started a public-awareness campaign on "kick counting," in which a developing baby's activity level is tracked to help the mother identify potential incidents of fetal distress that could lead to stillbirth.

The society also helped introduce the Missing Angels Bill, which requires states to offer stillbirth, rather than death, certificates to the parents of stillborn babies.

The bill became law in Maryland in June, partly due to the testimony of Grant Deaver, a retired postal worker whose son, David, was stillborn 33 years ago in November. The loss is "an old wound that still hurts," especially because Deaver, who has another son, 31-year-old Grant, will never know why his firstborn died.

"All these years later after I lost my son, and there are still thousands of babies born still and very few answers."

Reach the reporter at (602) 444-8998.

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