Our Stillbirth Story
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On June 14, 2023, I delivered our third child, stillborn.
These past six weeks have held some of the deepest pain I have ever experienced. And while writing, for me, has always been therapeutic, I began to sense God’s leading to share our story. I just hope a mom out there - somewhere, anywhere - feels less alone about miscarriage, pregnancy loss, and/or stillbirth upon reading this.
Early pregnancy & symptoms -
I discovered I was pregnant in late February. We were a bit in shock, Abner hadn't even turned one year old yet, but we were happy to add another to the crew. Josiah was too.
While I never officially announced the pregnancy on social media, we told family and friends. I had routine appointments with my doctor, and we began picturing our lives with a newborn again.
My symptoms were textbook. Like my previous pregnancies, I had extreme morning sickness and fatigue, gagged at the smell of coffee, multiple food aversions, pregnancy congestion, and the occasional bloody nose. All these things were very normal for me while pregnant.
Up to this point we had seen baby twice at different appointments and had heard the heartbeat at my 16-week appointment. A baby bump was starting to show so I snapped a quick picture at that appointment, my first belly pic.
20-week anatomy scan -
On June 13, I had my standard 20-week anatomy scan. My OB outsources the 20-week anatomy scan to an imagining center just a floor below her practice.
The anatomy scan was quiet from the start. We mentioned we didn’t want to see the sex of the baby. We had a gender reveal party with close family and friends in the works. The tech assured us she would ask us to look away when we got to that part of the scan. To start, she measured my cervix and said it all looked good. Then the ultrasound began, and things got quieter. She only said, “There’s the spine” at one point, but she moved quickly as she took some images, mostly without addressing us or saying a word. Nothing looked weird to me as I looked up at the tv screen displaying the images, but then again, I’m no ultrasound tech and wasn’t sure what I was looking at as she moved quickly through some of the measurements.
Just minutes after, she said, “Okay, you can get dressed, and the doctor will be in shortly to go over the anatomy scan with you.”
I turned to look at Calvin after the tech and her student tech left the room, “that was weird,” I told him. “Yeah, that was weird,” he replied immediately.
My heart began to ache, and I grew nervous.
Upon getting dressed, we were asked to be moved to another room so they could get the ultrasound room we were in cleaned up for their next patient. We agreed to move and followed a nurse down the hall into a counseling room. A room we’ve sat in before.
When Josiah, our firstborn, had his 20-week anatomy scan, a cleft lip and cleft palate was detected. Following the scan, we were asked to move into the counseling room, where we spoke to a counselor as she shared more about the diagnosis. This room looked similar to that one, and I immediately knew something was wrong.
When you are waiting in a medical room, and you know something is wrong, time seems to move slower there than anywhere else. Each second felt like a minute, and each minute like an hour.
A doctor (remember, not mine, since my OB outsources the 20-week anatomy scan) walked in, closed the door, and sat down in front of us with paperwork in front of her.
“I don’t know how well you were able to see the baby and the images our tech took in there, but, unfortunately, there is no heartbeat today. I am so sorry to tell you this.”
The words every expecting mother fears hearing were now hanging in the room where Calvin and I sat. All I could bring myself to say was, “Okay.” In shock and with tear-filled eyes, I then did my best to answer the doctor’s questions that followed.
“Has there been anything off this pregnancy?”
“Did you get genetic testing done?”
“When was your last ultrasound?”
“Have you had any cramping or bleeding?”
”When was your last appointment with your OB?”
No.
No.
12 weeks.
No.
16 weeks.
“Everything about this pregnancy has felt normal. With my previous pregnancies, I experienced a lot of morning sickness, and with this one, it has been no different. I’ve had all the same symptoms,” I explained.
I added, “At my 16-week appointment, we checked the heartbeat. The heartbeat was 164.”
I couldn’t hold the tears back any longer as they started streaming down my face.
”I’ll get in touch with Dr. Johnson, and I’m sure she’ll want to see you today to discuss the delivery process. She didn’t answer when we called earlier, but I will go try again. Take all the time you need in here.”
The moment the door closed behind her, I let go. It would be minutes before Calvin or I said anything to each other. He just held me as I cried. What broke the silence was the doctor coming back in to tell us she got a hold of my doctor, who wanted me to go upstairs to her practice and see her immediately.
Talking w/my doctor -
We took the elevator up to my doctor’s office and went straight back to see her. When Dr. Johnson walked in, she expressed her deepest condolences. She then began explaining what would happen next. We’d be checked into the hospital, and I’d be induced to begin laboring and deliver the baby. I cried as I asked further questions. She hugged me and answered every single one. We agreed to return at 6 o’clock that evening to begin the induction, and Dr. Johnson would call the hospital to arrange everything.
Calvin and I then drove home, knowing we’d need to arrange care for the boys, contact employers, share with family, pack hospital bags, and eventually… tell Josiah. It was a weird combination of both shock and numbness, yet with our minds racing with so many thoughts and tasks needing to get done. I would go ahead and say that from the moment we sat in my OB’s office to just recently, we’ve been in fight-or-flight mode. I wish I could say I’m exaggerating, but I’m not.
Telling family -
My sister Jessica was at our house with the boys while Calvin and I were at the 20-week scan. So, naturally, she’d be who we would see first and who I told first. I tried collecting myself before going inside our house. Calvin went ahead of me, and before greeting the boys, I called out for her and had her follow me into Calvin’s office and close the door. “We lost the baby,” I said with a choked-up voice. “There’s no heartbeat,” I went on, crying as she embraced me. I realize now what a bomb that was to drop, but I can’t express enough how grateful I am that she was there immediately after the bomb was dropped on me, to hold me and cry with me. God knew she needed to be the one to watch the boys for us that day. God knew I’d need her help, her hugs, and her presence with me.
Calvin called his parents on his way home from the hospital (we had driven separately to the 20-week scan), and Jessica sat with me as I called our parents to break the news to them. After telling parents, we shared the news with the rest of our siblings.
When a mother loses her baby, so does the family. Grandparents lose a grandchild, and aunts or uncles lose a nephew or a niece (we still didn’t know gender at this point). It’s awful to have to be the one to pass along the heartbreaking news that the grandchild or niece/nephew they were expecting is no longer alive inside of you. I don’t have to share their reactions or their words in response to us. You can fill in the blank, and I bet you’d be right. It’s devastating. All of it. For all of us.
Packing for the hospital -
Both of our parents told us they’d pack up within the hour and drive to us. (Thank God for them. We’re so blessed.) Calvin’s parents are about 2 hours away, and my parents are about 5. Jessica took the rest of the day off to help us with the boys and to help me pack for the hospital.
It’s a sad reality to have to pack for labor and delivery and the post-delivery recovery day or two your doctor may have you stay and not pack for your baby. It all felt wrong. It all was sad, but it had to be done. No baby outfits were packed, no car seat or swaddles or birth announcement stickers/plaques for the perfect photo op. Just my clothes and toiletries.
Calvin’s parents had arrived as I was wrapping up packing my things. My mother-in-law came into our bedroom and just hugged me and held me. Josiah was excited to see Mimi and Grandpa, though we hadn’t told him yet why they had arrived. Eventually, everything was packed and it was time to head to the hospital.
Telling Josiah -
I want to preface this by saying, Josiah, nearing 4 years old when this all happened, understood fully that there was a baby in mama’s belly again. He was over the moon about having “another Abe” (Abe is our second son who just turned 1 in March). He wanted baby to be a boy and Josiah would kiss and hug my belly often. With every greeting of, “Hi mama!” he would add a “Hi baby!” while hugging my waist and kissing my belly. He did this for every good morning, goodnight, hello, goodbye, see you later, i love you, etc. - every single time, he included baby. Josiah loved this baby from the second we found out we were pregnant.
When telling Josiah that mama and dada needed to “go to the hospital to see mama’s doctor” he ran up and gave me a kiss and hug goodbye, then, unquestionably, proceeded to hug and kiss my belly and added, “bye, baby!”
My heart sank. I held back tears and Calvin grabbed Jo’s hand and we led him to our bedroom to talk to him about it.
I’m choosing not to give details at this time, but in short, he didn’t quite understand when we attempted to tell him at this point. Honestly, I think he was more excited about the family in town and wanted to go back out to play with Abe, his tia and his mimi and grandpa. We didn’t push it. Instead we kissed and hugged him one more time and left to the hospital.
(We would later tell Josiah again upon arriving home from the hospital. That’s when it sinked in for him and it was the hardest conversation we have ever had with him. It was devastating and again, I’ll be sparing details, but our little boy cried and cried. And it hurt us to see his pain knowing there is nothing we could do to take it away, because we too felt that great pain. I just held him and cried with him, assuring him it was okay to be sad and that we’d see baby one day.)
Hospital Arrival & Induction -
We arrived to check-in at at 6 PM. We were led to our room and introduced to our first Labor and Delivery nurse. Her name was Kelci. She shared her condolences and went on to instruct me to take a shower, use the antibacterial soap to cleanse, and change into my gown. She would give me an IV following that.
I did as she had asked and shortly after, Calvin’s parents had made it to hospital. Before they had left the house I realized I had forgotten flip flops to shower in, a speaker to play music in my hospital room and a blanket.
Being in that hospital room not even an hour yet, I knew I needed something comforting to tangibly hold, so I asked Calvin’s parents to bring a blanket I had just purchased as a throw blanket for our spare bedroom. Something told me, “ask them to grab a soft, comforting blanket, you’ll want it.” They arrived with all my forgotten items and the blanket. The blanket you see in the photos I’ve shared in this post. We talked for a bit and then my father-in-law prayed over me before the induction process started. Then my mom arrived at the hospital. Nothing beats a hug from your mami. I held her a little longer and started to cry. We all talked and then said our goodbyes as we knew we’d have a long night ahead of us and getting rest would be good.
My room had the bed I would deliver on, a couch for Calvin, a radiant warmer and monitors. Kelci began to strap my belly with a monitor that would track my contractions. “Isn’t there suppose to be two,” I thought quietly to myself. The answer is yes. Another strap would have had a monitor on it to track the baby’s heart rate. Upon coming to that realization on my own, immediately a wave of grief hit me as she pointed to the monitor’s screen to show me where I’d be able to see the frequency of my contractions. This screen would have also displayed the baby’s heartbeat right above my contractions. However, nothing was there. My heart ached.
We started the induction process and I was able to sleep for about 4 hours. I woke up around 2 AM to some discomfort. Having to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I would pass the radiant warmer each time. Another wave of grief brushed up against me each time, knowing it wouldn’t be utilized.
The nurse came in at 3 AM for the second dosage of medication to induce labor, and within the hour my contractions began to pick up. I no longer wanted to lay on my back but felt every urge to lean forward over something.
Labor -
I labored through contractions on my own for about an hour, sitting up on the bed or on the edge of the bed. Then I woke up Calvin around 4:30 AM to assist in rubbing my back with each contraction. The back pain began to intensify as did the contractions.
The nurse came in around 6 AM, and I asked for the epidural. As we waited, contractions continued to intensify, and my nurse also helped rub my back as she spoke positive affirmations over me. I also asked Calvin to play Will Reagan worship songs on my phone. As he did that, my nurse took over rubbing my back as she continued affirming me. Kelci’s care for me radiated love and sincere condolences. I’m grateful for the moments her genuine care carried me through the delivery process.
Everyone seems to talk about childbirth these days - what plan or method is best, where or how to deliver, who you should hire, etc. But hardly anyone talks about birthing a stillborn. With every contraction, I lamented. With every contraction, I cried - not from the physical pain, but from the growing ache in my heart knowing how this would end. No perfect birth plan would have made this less heartbreaking.
Lay It All Down by Will Reagan came on and I sensed the Holy Spirit telling me to do just that. To let go. Let it all go. Everything I was expecting with our third child, everything I thought would be, to just surrender to the moment that was. So, I did. I wept through contractions, laying more and more of it all down each time.
My nurse stepped out briefly and then returned before her shift ended. The anesthesiologist came in just a minute or two after 7 AM. She helped prep me for the epidural and held me as the anesthesiologist began. Afterward, I laid back down, and while still holding her hand, she introduced my next L&D nurse.
“Before you go, can I ask you a question?” I said, looking up at her with growing tears in my eyes and a shaky voice.
”Of course, anything,” she replied.
“After I deliver the baby, what happens?” I asked.
Knowing this would be difficult and different, I just wanted to know ahead of time what was to come. Already heartbreaking and painful in every way (physically, emotionally, psychologically, etc.), I wanted to know what happens after a stillbirth - to both the mother and the baby. I just needed to know what to expect.
Kelci went on to share how the moment the baby came out, they would place the baby on my chest. She said they would give me all the time I’d need with the baby. When we were ready, our nurses would take the baby or we had the option of keeping our baby in our room for as long as we’d like. Kelci also told me social services would come by to ask about arrangements for the baby. I began to cry. No mom thinks about this while pregnant, so I hadn’t. Arrangements for my baby? While it hurt to hear, I’m glad I asked. She shared more and squeezed my hand the entire time. After she finished, she hugged me goodbye and left.
Delivery -
The administration of the epidural went well. I laid back and Calvin and I were able to talk about names and as painful as it was, arrangements. We did land on a boy's name, one he had been thinking about since the day before, however, we still didn’t have a name for a girl. About an hour after that, my doctor came in to check how I’d progressed. Dr. Johnson then broke my water at about 9:30 AM. I was still pretty comfortable after that, but after an hour or so, I began to feel some discomfort along my right side. The discomfort grew and I knew, the epidural had to be wearing off on my right side. (This happened during Josiah’s birth, too.)
I began to feel more of each contraction on my belly and lower abdomen, again, mainly on my right side. Pushing the epidural button didn’t help much. I could tell things were progressing so I asked Calvin to get the nurse. The nurse came in and had me turn on my right side so that if I needed another epidural boost, once I pushed the button, the medicine could flow to that side. She had checked me as well before I turned and said I was getting pretty close. So I turned and pushed the button, and my nurse said she’d notify my doctor and return to check on me shortly. Music was still playing on my phone at this point. A random playlist on Spotify, I think.
I had about two big contractions and felt something come out of me - possibly fluid or blood? I quickly told Calvin to go get the nurse again because I was pretty sure it was time. I could feel the baby coming, so I began to push while on my side. As the nurse entered the room, I felt the baby coming out. She rushed to the end of the bed and asked me to push again.
I did it. I had delivered our stillborn baby.
Our nurse quickly wrapped the baby in a blanket and placed the baby on my chest.
I wept. I wept and wept and wept.
”One of the hardest parts of any stillbirth comes at the moment immediately after delivery. We are conditioned to listen for that first cry as soon as a baby is born. In stillbirth, the silence is heartbreaking.”
^ No better words could describe that moment.
Catching my breath, I asked the nurse,
”Is it a boy or a girl?”
”Let’s take a look,” she replied as she walked over to my chest and unwrapped the blanket."
”Baby is a girl.”
I sobbed.
Looking up at Calvin as he held my hand, I finally spoke:
"I think I know what her name is supposed to be," I whispered.
"What's that," he replied.
"Naomi," I answered.
I’m going to be completely honest with you and share that I was scared to see our baby in such a tiny, fragile state. Calvin saw and held our baby in his arms before I did. Even when they placed her on my chest, I couldn’t bring myself to look down at her, instead, my gaze was towards the ceiling as I sobbed with my head leaned back.
Watching Calvin with her helped give me the strength to see her. I knew I’d regret it if I didn’t. So he brought her over to me and asked if I was ready. I said yes. He placed her in my arms and I looked down to see our daughter. I fell in love with her sweet little face and my heart broke into a million pieces in the same.
By the end of it, I couldn’t stop staring at her, studying and memorizing her precious little body. She was our daughter, our little niña, mi hija, nuestra princesita. I’ll never forget her round, chunky cheeks, her perfectly plumped lips, tiny fingers and fingernails, and her round belly and sweet little toes. Though I feared holding her and meeting her in this way, a stillborn in my arms, after just moments with her, I realized, I didn’t want to - I couldn’t - let her go.
It was the hardest thing I have ever done, the darkest hours I have ever experienced. Now, it seems as though it happened all too quickly, yet in the midst of it, time seemed to have stood still.
Six weeks later, and I still can’t believe this has happened. I feel the effects of this reality every single day. However, I also wonder when we’ll wake up and get back to regularly scheduled programming. When will we get back to what was and awake from the heartbreaking nightmare of stillbirth?
Leaving the hospital -
We left that hospital room without our daughter. All I was given to remember her by was the tiny pink cardstock pictured above with her tiny footprints. No moldings of her hands or feet, no professional photos, no onesie she wore, no socks or mittens or newborn cap she wore, no blanket she was swaddled in. Nothing else.
And it felt so wrong. So wrong to leave empty-handed; so wrong to leave without anything else to tangibly hold in the very hands that were supposed to be cradling a newborn in a few months.
I felt empty, broken, alone, and negligent to the idea of leaving the one place where it all happened. This was the room where I met my daughter, created my first and only memory with her, and then had to let her go. It all happened here and to walk out of that room ached because it would mark the start of our lives without her everywhere else.
But God saw and knew my broken Spirit. And in his sweet grace, throughout our entire time in the hospital, He kept drawing my eyes to that framed photograph of pink Peonies on the wall of our room. Before leaving, I felt a nudge to take a picture, because they made me think of her for some reason. I even recalled a slight moment as I labored and glanced up to see the framed photograph and thought in my head, “I wonder if it’s a girl?”
The day after getting back home from the hospital, I received a floral arrangement from dear friends and co-workers. As I trimmed the bouquet to place in a vase, I noticed the pink peonies in the center. It’s as if God was saying, “Here’s a reminder of her.” So from that moment on, Peonies have meant Naomi to me. Even while we were out of town (in my newsletter I shared how we had a trip already planned to Europe), God would show me Peonies nearly everywhere we went. And what I didn’t know then was that God was just getting started…
Peonies are no longer in season, so while I was able to hunt them down at Trader Joe’s for about two weeks once we got back from Europe, I can’t any longer.
I learned that peonies have a short blooming season. Peonies typically bloom during the late spring and early summer months. While it’s a short season, it’s beautiful. Naomi’s life was short, yet I pray, the story of her life would be a beautiful reminder to others even that which lasts but for a moment, can still be cherished and celebrated, honored and remembered.
I think in a separate blog post I’ll share how her name came to be and the meaning behind it. For now, this is our stillbirth story, Naomi’s story and I can’t thank you enough for reading.
Please continue praying for us.
