Author Archives: Brittany

Stillbirth

Mari’s Story

I remember writing our life story a few months ago, and reading it now, I see the progress and the setbacks. I read about the hurt and the pain I went through and still do but with a different perspective. This is our story because it is my husband and I’s story, not just mine. 

Everything I had dreamed about and prepared for fell apart. December 21, 2022, was the day I died while still alive, if that makes sense. I am a 30-year-old female who lives in California. I am married to my high school sweetheart, and we have one beautiful dog named Bella. Our 2022 had been a rough year in general, with work and personal lives, but everything was turned upside down, more than it already was, on October 21, 2022. I had a routine appointment with my OBGYN every year since I was diagnosed with PCOS at 18. During this appointment, my OB was conducting an intervaginal ultrasound, and to our surprise, I was roughly 12 weeks pregnant. Shock has to be an understatement. The panic started to settle in, and the fear of the unknown also started. 

How is this even possible? First, I have had a period every 28-33 days, been on birth control, and even on other medications to help with the PCOS. The baby’s heartbeat was great and was measured at the needed measurements. As I left that office, I was nervous about telling my husband. We had not talked about when we would start trying for babies, and this, by far, was not the best time either. He was leaving his job and starting a new one. This was the same day he was scheduled to be done at the old job. I went home, dressed, and left for a concert my girlfriends and I had tickets to. I would have to talk to my husband after. 

When I told my husband, pure panic and shock came from him. He was nervous and lost. We both knew we were being careful, so he exhibited the same shock I felt. I remember him trying to make light of the situation with comments but was still lost. It took a few days to settle with the idea of what would happen. 

Fast forward to November 12, when we received the NIPT results and our baby’s gender. We did not want to do a gender reveal as we had not told our family yet since we were waiting for my sister-in-law to have her baby, and we also wanted to make sure our baby was okay. So while sitting in our garage and washing cars, we discovered we were expecting a little girl. I remember my husband always wanted girls, and I was happy. That weekend we told our families, and it was pure joy. For his parents, this would be their third grandchild, but for my parents, she was the first. We announced to the rest of the world that upcoming week and that’s when it finally hit; we were having a baby. 

The next few weeks, we spent picking nursery colors, themes, strollers, activities, and anything and everything we could think of. We had planned soccer for her as her first activity, Disney for her first trip to a theme park, and so much more. My husband showed excitement and was already getting called Dad at work. I was excited and knew that, at least for the next 18 years, I would not be alone again. My husband is a first responder and has very crazy work hours, so she was going to be my companion. 

December 16, 2022, everything changed. I got a call from the lab that my fetal protein was higher than usual. They gave me various reasons why it could be high such as twins, placenta problems, or the baby releasing the protein. I told my husband, and he was as scared as I was. I ended up in the hospital on Saturday due to my high blood pressure. While I was hospitalized, an ultrasound was performed. At the end of my visit, I was informed my baby was doing well and, not to worry, she was fine. That calmed us down, and I felt like I could breathe. 

Well, during our specialist visit, reality hit. My husband and I arrived at the center. Our appointment was at 8 am, and we waited for an eternity. When we were finally called, we were taken into a lunchroom with a genetic counselor, who asked every possible history question. I was confused about why we were being asked all of this. Well, the lab technician gave us the wrong fetal protein number. We were told it was 5.8, but in reality, it was 15.8, which a normal fetal protein for one baby is 2.4. My heart broke. I couldn’t answer anything; I was just so numb. I remember being pressured to complete some tests and procedures, but I would not consent to them. It was until my husband told her we would not consent to anything until we saw the specialist, even if we had to pay out of pocket. When we finally were done, we were placed in the waiting room for another 45 minutes, where all I saw were happy pregnant women coming in and out, and I started to feel like I was not going to be one of them.

Finally, we were taken back to the ultrasound room, where it all was looking good. The technician showed us our little girl’s head, hands, face, and heartbeat, and everything went quiet. She said, “There is a problem with the spine,” and that was the last thing she said. For the next 20 minutes, I lay there wishing it was a terrible dream. Well, the specialist came in and confirmed our worst fear: our baby would not make it. Our little girl has a severe spine problem that did not fully develop, and her little tummy never closed. My first question was about quality of life and what did that look like, and he said there wasn’t one. She would most likely not make it through delivery; if she did, it would be for a few minutes. Bringing her into this world was only going to cause her pain and suffering, as well as put my life at risk. His concern was the spine being a genetic problem, which we recently learned was not a genetic issue but rather a lack of development. Much more was discussed during the visit, but I can’t even begin to explain. The pain is what I remember and still feel.

The specialist left and gave us some time. I remember my husband helping me off the bed and just hugging me. All I could say was sorry to him. I felt so guilty and responsible for putting him and her through this. It has taken me a long time to feel less and less guilty, but I would be lying if I said the guilt was gone. We both knew what we had to do. As much as we wanted to be selfish and bring her into this world and hold her a little longer, as a parent, our job is to be unselfish and do what is best for our child. In this situation, we did not want to cause her more pain. 

The next few days were just full of numbness and pain. We let our immediate family know what was happening and when our baby would grow her angel wings. Christmas Eve came and went. This was our favorite holiday, and it was now full of pain and suffering. My husband was so lost. I remember waking up in the middle of the night while he hugged me and held my stomach crying. The pain in his eyes I will never forget. The fear of losing his new job as he had no time off available to him, thankfully they were very understanding and have always believed family comes first.  

On December 27, 2022, the first part of the D and C was started, and I was already struggling. Because I was about 20-21 weeks, I had to get some assistance to dilate. The following day, I was admitted at 9:30 am. My husband stayed with me through the entire process. He held my hand, tried to make me laugh, and helped me sleep. And at 2:30 pm, I was wheeled away, and I said goodbye to my husband. I feared what would happen, but the pain in my husband’s eyes was the same pain I was feeling. I knew that when I woke up, my baby would be gone, and she was. I woke up at 4:30 feeling panicked, and all I wanted to do was cry. The nurse and anesthesiologist tried calming me down, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t until my OBGYN came in and handed me a piece of paper with my baby’s footprint and a recording of her heartbeat. That is all I will ever have of her. Next time you see your babies, hold them tight because some of us will never be able to do that. 

As time has passed, we have gone through a rollercoaster of emotions. I have received support from many and have heard nasty remarks from others. People who I believed to be close to me have said things that have hurt me as they could never understand. With the help of a therapist, my husband and I have been moving forward and grieving in the healthiest way possible. The way we grieved has been different. I grieved immediately and felt every emotion possible, depression, anxiety, hurt, suicidal thoughts, and so much more. But now, seven months later, I feel a little better. My husband did not hit the lowest point of grieving until recently, I feel it all started around May when I was due. Right now, I am trying to be there for him and help him through the same way he was there for me, unconditionally.  As a couple, we are the strongest we have ever been, which I am grateful for. At the moment, I do have good days and bad days. And on my low days, I try to remember what a dear friend told me “Your little girl forgot something up in the sky, and she will be back.” I pray she does. 

This experience has changed me forever. I will never be the same person I was before. As the days pass, I miss my little girl more and more, but I am learning to move forward. As we talk about trying for another baby, the fear of losing them is there, and I don’t think that will ever go away. My innocence of pregnancy has been taken away, and all it has left me is fear and anxiety. But even with it all, I pray and hope that one day, we will soon be blessed with a baby who can make it earthside healthy. I will endure anything I have to bring a child into this world because, at the end of the day, holding him or her and seeing my husband hold them will be worth any pain and suffering I must endure. 

Termination for medical reasons is what I am labeled as now. Growing up, I remember saying I would never have an abortion. I was one of those people. But it is true; you don’t know until you are in those shoes. Now, I am thankful I live in a state where this is possible. I am aware some people will not approve of what we did, but it would have been selfish of us to put our child in a position to suffer. I pray and hope one day, people will understand the pain we go through and have to endure. This pain will never go away. We are told to move forward and forget by very close people, but all I can say now is let us grieve our way. We lost someone who was very innocent and loved, with no explanation. We will forever have a piece of our heart missing. I want to thank those who have given us our space and been here for us, from family, friends, and employers. Having support has been a big part of our healing process. To my dear husband, thank you for being my support system and showing me so much love; if it were not for you, I would not have made it through this. Our little angel and I love you unconditionally. We will remember her and hold her things close and very tight until we meet again. 

KMT 12/28/2022

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Coping With Loss

A letter to my baby

December 27, 2023

Every year, near the anniversary of my miscarriage, I write a letter. The first year, I was pregnant with my oldest daughter and made a video for her. In 2021, I wrote it to my pre-miscarriage self. You can read the 2022 letter here.

Here is this year’s letter.

—-

Dear Anthony,

Hi bud. Today is four years since you started to leave. Four years since I knew something was wrong and no one listened. Four years since I cried for grandma (your sister calls her “Mima.” Maybe you would have too) because I saw blood. Four years since that awful ER visit where the ultrasound tech told us stories like ours “didn’t have a happy ending.”

And it didn’t.

But somehow, after four years of mourning you, carrying your sisters, and feeling the ebb and flow of this awful grief, I’ve been able to find joy again.

Don’t get me wrong, the missing you doesn’t go away. My heart still aches whenever I take out the Christmas decorations and think of how your dad packed them all up while you slowly slipped away. I still feel lonely when I’m surrounded by family during our yearly beach vacation, but am thinking of you on what should’ve been your birthday. I still run to the window when the sun comes out after a rainstorm, searching for a rainbow. Looking for a sign of you.

But the thing that has surprised me the most is the mother I’ve been able to become despite that grief. Despite the worry and frustration and waiting. It made me strong.

You made me strong.

You did this.

I will never understand why you couldn’t stay. I wonder when your sister K will start to wonder who you are, who this “Anthony” is that we pray for every night. Why we have books about babies that don’t make it earth-side and brothers who are angels. This year, she saw your ultrasound picture on the Christmas tree and asked. I told her I had another baby in my belly named Anthony before her. He was her brother. She said her usual “oooh!” and then moved on to the next ornament. I know the questions will continue (as they always seem to do with her) and I look forward to continuing to talk about you. I want them to know how special it is that they made it here. How wanted they were. All three of you were so, so wanted.

And you, my boy, are so, so missed.

I hope you saw me heal this year. Your littlest sister helped, I had no idea it was possible to be that calm during a pregnancy. Maybe you helped too.

But no matter how much I “heal” or how much time passes, I want you to know that the space I have in my heart for you sits right next to the space I have for those girls. All three of you changed me in a way I never knew possible.

I am a better person because of all of you.

I am still so grateful for those 10 weeks we had.

I am so grateful to know you.

And I love being your mom.

Love you forever,

Mommy

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Pregnancy After Loss

Life After Pregnancy Loss: Rachna

Rachna previously shared the story of the loss of her son, Rohan. This is another piece written by her of a more introspective look into her life after loss and her pregnancy after loss journey.

—-

The test is positive. I’ve been waiting for this moment for the last year. And even though I thought this moment would be “the moment”–the moment where my grief would at least be mellowed, and I could breathe a sigh of relief– it’s not.

I am in disbelief when I get my confirmation blood tests. I didn’t believe the ten pregnancy tests I took, and I don’t believe this test either.

My heart sinks when I start bleeding at 6 weeks. I demand an early ultrasound. I expect to see the worst, only to be told that everything looks perfect.

When I get the indeterminate results of my early genetic screening, I assume my baby has a high risk defect, even though follow up testing is normal.

I nearly break down when I am in the operating room at 13 weeks pregnant, feet in stirrups, a cerclage (cervical stitch) newly sewn into my cervix. The stitch that is somehow supposed to prevent the devastating loss I had last year.

I am frozen in disbelief at my 20 week scan, when my OB tells me to go on bed rest “just to be safe”. I essentially lay in bed for 8 weeks, scared that every shower, bathroom break, cough or sneeze is the beginning of another end.

A friend from college texts me that she is pregnant. I haven’t shared my news with anyone yet, and I am angry that she casually mentions her perfectly healthy pregnancy when she knows about the loss I went through. I block her texts and never speak to her again.

My heart fills with hope when I find out the precious baby I am carrying is another boy.  A boy who will never replace the one I lost, but who I am protecting with every fiber of my being in order to hold him alive, in my arms.

I have new strength when I make it to viability, further than I have ever been in pregnancy. It is immediately shadowed by worry. I just continue to count the weeks and days, looking up the statistics that my baby will survive if he’s born at 24 weeks, then 28 weeks, then 32 weeks…

There are moments of happiness, such as when I am allowed to go back to work. Yet my pregnant belly is also the prompt for heart-breaking questions like, “Is this your first?”

I find out my sister is pregnant too, three months behind me, happily buying things for her baby’s nursery, while my husband hides our necessary purchases in the garage, knowing even the sight of a crib may set off a panic attack.

I lay awake at night and try to feel my baby’s kicks, certain that there were more yesterday, and that something is terribly wrong.

The end of my third trimester should be celebratory, but I have more anxiety as time passes. It’s almost as if the further along I am, the harder it is to accept that if something goes wrong–this far along–I don’t/won’t/can’t have the strength to do it again.

It feels like I stop breathing.

I don’t breathe when I go in for the additional growth ultrasounds and heart monitoring I “get” to have because of my high risk pregnancy, I just wait to hear the words “I’m sorry” or “The baby’s not moving”. Those words never come, but I still wait.

I don’t breathe when I make it to 36.5 weeks and my cerclage is removed. The doctor shows me the thick band of surgical suture that has brought me this far, given my baby this chance, but I still don’t breathe.

I don’t breathe when I make it to my scheduled induction, in the hospital where I lost my first son.

And then, they lay my warm, wriggling baby on my chest, and I finally breathe. I cry tears of joy, then anger, grief, and fear. I cry every emotion I have felt in the last nine months–the last two years. Maybe that’s why they are called rainbow babies, because we experience the full spectrum of emotions while we grow them.

It doesn’t end there. Being a loss mom, there’s not a day that goes by where I don’t think about my lost son. I think about how I would have had two under two. How cute Rohan would look helping out his younger brother. How my family would feel complete.

I also spend some part of every day worried about my living son. Will he get cancer? Will he be in an accident? Will he get shot at his pre-school? Is this what being a parent is? Doing your best to protect your children, but reconciling with the fact that we live in a world where keeping them forever is not a certainty?

Pregnancy after loss is a special kind of hell. Everything is tinged with sadness and thoughts about “what may have been”. It’s just the way it is.

Shortly after I lost Rohan, I listened to a podcast about the idea of “meaning making” in grief. In the episode someone quoted, “Loss is what happens to you in life, meaning is what you make happen.”

I use Rohan’s loss to make moments of meaning with Sam. Enjoying his laugh, cheering on his first steps, gazing at his dimpled smile. I never shy away from holding him or kissing him, telling him I love him. I try to experience each moment fully–for the son I have and the one I lost.

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Our Story, Pregnancy After Loss

Labor & Delivery After Loss

CW: mention of live birth, living children, birth trauma

My first daughter K’s delivery was peaceful, until it wasn’t.

I was almost 38 weeks and my water broke. I was contracting every 4 minutes and made it to the hospital in time. When I was triaged, I was 6 centimeters and 100% effaced. The next thing I knew, I was being wheeled to my epidural, put in an L & D room and given a popsicle while I waited for things to progress. 12 hours (and 2.5 hours of pushing) later, my daughter, my first earth-side baby, my rainbow, was finally coming into this world.

“I see some hair,” one of my nurses said.

My heart skipped a beat. All these months, years of waiting and I was finally about to see what my baby would look like. After a miscarriage at 10 weeks a year prior and months of trying to conceive before that, the journey to growing our family was finally coming to an end.

I would finally get to hold my baby.

I choked back tears, “what color is it?”

The nurse assessed and replied “I think it’s brown!” Tears streamed down my face. “Like me,” I thought.

“No, wait…” the nurse changed her mind, “blonde!” I cried harder. Even better. “Like my husband,” I thought. I couldn’t believe I would have a blonde baby.

I was having a baby.

A few more pushes and I felt the room stop. There was a silence and an intensity that grew. In that moment, exhausted and overwhelmed with anticipation, I felt myself separate from my own body, as if I were watching what came next from the other side of the room.

I felt an incredible amount of pressure. My husband wasn’t speaking. The feeling made me lose the rhythm of my breathing and made me sick. A scream climbed through my chest but nothing came out. What was happening? Was she okay? Why was no one saying anything? Could someone please say something?

And as quickly as the moment came, it went.

I was told my daughter got stuck, but she was okay and on her way. The process continued, everyone skirting past this thought as if it were a small hiccup in the day’s events. I followed suit and moved forward. Moments passed, people started to speak again, my breathing fell back into place and before I could manage to wrap my head around what had happened, my daughter was placed in my arms.

Crying,

Safe,

Here.

Finally.

—-

My care team had explained what happened in that out-of-body moment as a shoulder dystocia. A shoulder dystocia is described as an “obstetric emergency” where the baby’s shoulder gets stuck in the birth canal by the pelvic bone. This event can be harmless with some quick maneuvers by the doctor (as mine was), but has the potential to have dangerous complications for baby, such as nerve damage, bone fractures, and reduced oxygen. This isn’t including the side effects for birthing parents such as hemorrhaging, uterine rupture and separation of pubic bones.

At the time, I didn’t know any of this. I just knew it was a tough moment during delivery and moved on; my baby was here and safe, that’s all that mattered.

At my two week postpartum appointment, my doctor checked in as she “knew shoulder dystocias were traumatic” for both mom and baby, and even asked if my husband was okay. I wasn’t sure what to say – I truly thought nothing of it.

Later, when I asked my husband (who intended to stay by my head but was told to “grab a leg!” early on in delivery and couldn’t look back) if he saw her shoulder get stuck, he said he did. He shared it was a really scary moment and recalled the silence of the room. He told me how quickly the OB acted in a moment of crisis. He said K didn’t look good and – wait for it – that sometimes he had nightmares about it.

I couldn’t believe it. How had this been mentally affecting my husband for weeks and we were just now talking about the severity? How had we glossed over this event during delivery and our stay in the postpartum room? How had my baby faced this type of birth trauma and it wasn’t discussed further?

—-

Flash forward to March of 2023. I am pregnant again and at my first prenatal appointment. As early as I was, my OB brought up the shoulder dystocia again and said because I had experienced that, I could opt for a c-section to prevent another shoulder dystocia, or try to deliver vaginally again and hope the outcome was the same.

I was truly torn. For weeks, I went back and forth on what made the most sense. I had such a beautiful delivery with K; after so many months of fear and deep anxiety, I felt like my labor experience was the final moment of a marathon, sprinting to the finish with everything I had, because that’s what she deserved. It was empowering and beautiful. I will forever be thankful for that experience.

But as I continued to contemplate my options, I thought about Anthony. He seemingly may have nothing to do with this, but at the same time, he had everything to do with it.

When you lose a baby once, you never want to go through it again. You never want to go through it in the first place, but as we all know we don’t get the privilege of that choice.

Here, I had the privilege of a choice.

It came down to this: if I could prevent my daughter from going through pain or an unsafe situation, even if it was at the cost of my own discomfort and fear, I would do it a thousand times over.

I’m not afraid to admit, was terrified. I didn’t love the idea. Not that I judge anyone for having a c-section – quite the opposite. C-sections are no joke. Birth is no joke. But the whole process scared me. It was so different from my previous experience and there was so much I didn’t know (and if I’m being honest, didn’t want to know) going into it. The recovery, the pain, the sterility of it all.

But the thing I never questioned is why I was doing it – because the thought of losing another child scared me more than any operation. The pain couldn’t even come close.

—-

After much thought and consideration, I scheduled a c-section for October 24. The morning of, my nurses were prepping me for the OR. Among the IV pokes and vitals checks, they asked questions. When it came to why I was having a scheduled c-section after a seemingly routine vaginal delivery, I told them about the shoulder dystocia.

“Oh, so was your shoulder dystocia traumatic?” They asked.

“You could say that.” I said.

“Did anything happen to your daughter?”

“No, she was okay thankfully.”

My nurse paused for a second, “so, why have the c-section?”

I was a little surprised at her question. As if she could’ve imagined the thought that went into this decision. “How much time do you have, lady?” I thought to say. Instead, I took a breath and said “I had a miscarriage with my first pregnancy. And when you go through that, you never want to risk losing a child again, ever. So, I felt like this was the best decision to get my daughter here as safe as possible.”

Her demeanor changed. She apologized for my loss and continued to prep me.

I don’t share this story to say my decision was right or “the best.” I think every situation, family, baby, birth experience is different and that it is solely up to the birthing parents on what situation would give them the most peaceful experience that every parent deserves.

I also understand that you can make EVERY CORRECT DECISION for your baby and they can still not make it. It doesn’t change the fact that you are an amazing parent that made every decision out of nothing but love for them.

That being said, it was in that moment – explaining myself to the nurse that would help deliver my third baby – that made me realize how much being a loss parent played into my decision. How truly every decision you make for your family after loss feels more monumental than before.

If I could’ve saved Anthony, I would.

If I knew K was in that much danger during labor, I would’ve fought for her. I suppose I did without realizing it.

This time, I knew I could protect P.

So I did.

Simple as that.

Because that’s what mothers do.

So yes, my c-section was planned.

I was scared.

I was unsure.

But I did it for her.

And I would do it again.

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Miscarriage

Shauna’s Story

Jack

I’ve often said that child loss has its own language. A language only understood by parents who have experienced this kind of loss. It’s a loss that reaches the depths of your soul and leaves a lingering pain inside your heart.

My son Jack would have been 10 this year.

Every year, I wonder what he would be like. Would he have been an avid reader? Collected comic books? Or would sports have fueled his soul? I like to think he would have been a momma’s boy.

As a medium, I know that my son is safe on the other side, but this knowing doesn’t always bring relief to my heart.

Over the past 10 years, my brain has tried to make sense of something that I know won’t be “complete” or “done” until I leave this world. There are answers that only God has, and I have had to accept that those answers are on the other side of my life here.

You see, child loss really is indescribable. Something so painful and raw. Something that changes you forever.

I also know that the changes can be a beautiful, yet cathartic, opening of your heart. Allowing for your soul to breathe new life into your world as you build a relationship with your child in spirit. 

—-

My daughter Emma was our miracle baby. My husband had a reversal so we could have her, and we were given a 15% chance of conceiving naturally. I can still remember the day I paced the kitchen waiting for the results of the pregnancy test. When the timer on my phone went off, I froze as I looked down to see the 2 pink lines. I stood there for what seemed like hours staring at the test with tears streaming down my face.

I can remember touching my belly and telling her how much I loved her. I then grabbed the phone to tell my husband that we had made a baby. Creating life and becoming a mother was so precious to me.

The years following Emma’s birth were incredibly difficult. She had a blockage that impacted her breathing. I don’t think any of us slept for 4 years. She had surgery just after her 4th birthday and she literally doubled in size in the months after. Sleepless nights were a thing of the past.

As things were so difficult with Emma after she was born, I didn’t think I wanted more children until she started to ask why she didn’t have a brother. She started to compile a list of all the things she wanted to show him, all the books she would read to him, how she would teach him to ride a bike.

I started to wonder if our family was complete with the three of us.

I then began to dream of a little boy each night. Soon after I’d close my eyes, he would be there. He would take me by the hand, and we would run into the light together.

We would talk for what seemed like hours, days even, about everything and nothing at all. Then we would fly. We were weightless and free.

He felt like home.

Each morning I would wake up with such joy in my heart. I would carry his essence with me throughout the day.

As we didn’t think we would have more children after Emma was born, I had had a tubal. I started to question my decision and began to research in vitro, surrogacy and even adoption. One night as we tidied up the dishes from supper, I asked my husband what he would think if we had another baby. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes as he wrapped me in his arms.

We were going to have another baby.

The in vitro journey had begun. Looking back, I can see where things weren’t aligned, but in the moment, all I wanted, and dreamt of, was holding my son in my arms.

My husband named him Jack even before we had everything ready to start the process.

Jack. My sweet boy.

I continued to dream of him every night, and I could see all the dreams that included him in our lives. Emma’s list of books to read to Jack grew daily. She was already a proud big sister. At dinner we would talk about all the places we would take Jack. Share our favourite things with him. Show him everything.

He felt as real to me as my husband and daughter did. I felt like our family was complete.

The day I lost Jack is a day I’ll never forget. There are certain moments in life where you can tell something is off just by the look in someone’s eyes. Everything in my world instantly stopped when they told us that the in vitro didn’t go according to plan. It was like time stood still. I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience and that maybe they were wrong.

We had exhausted all other options to have Jack, so not being able to have a viable pregnancy through in vitro was devastating. I felt like my one chance to have him was gone.

My brain would try to make sense of something that broke my heart into a million pieces, and I knew that my life would never be the same. I began to question everything: God, the doctors, my faith, my spouse, and even Jack.

At a time when I needed my spouse the most, he wasn’t there for me. I would cry myself to sleep, make a concerted effort to not talk about Jack with him, and wonder what the future held for our family.

My husband would say things like, “Be thankful you have Emma,” and “It just wasn’t meant to be.” His response to the loss of Jack brought a level of pain that I thought might just kill me.

Losing Jack was the beginning of the end of our marriage.

Everything was different. I was different, the house was different, even the day-to-day was all different. Nothing made sense anymore. 

In the hopes of staying busy, I packed up everything that I had bought for Jack. It all reminded me that he wasn’t here. 

Looking for answers, I went to see an intuitive in my city. After sharing what happened with Jack, she told me I just gave up, and that I could have found other ways to have a baby. I was crushed. I felt my heart break all over again.

That conversation hurt me to my core, and I began to gaslight myself, believing that losing Jack was all my fault. The guilt and shame were palpable.


A few months later I was guided to Laurel, who is a beautiful teacher and guide. My time with her would literally bring me back to life.

She asked me, “Shauna, have you talked to Jack?”

I started to cry and replied, “No, Jack’s gone. He died.”

“He’s here and he wants to talk to you,” she said. “Look and you’ll see him.”

I stared in disbelief as I watched a beautiful, majestic angel walking toward me holding hands with a little boy. The little boy appeared to be about 4 years old.

As they came closer to me, I felt time stand still and I clasped my hands over my mouth. I felt Jack’s energy all around me.

He held out his little hand like he wanted to give me something. I opened my hand, and he placed a small heart-shaped rock in it. I told him I loved him, and he said, “I love you more, Momma.”


He climbed into my lap and placed his head on my chest. I wrapped my arms around him and for the first time in years, I felt like I could breathe again.

The tears slid down my face, but they didn’t carry sadness, instead they were tears filled with joy and peace. The longing I felt for Jack subsided and I just held him.

I’m not sure how long we sat together that day, but every moment was Heaven for me as I bathed in his energy and love.

He looked up at me and said, “the angel wants to take me back, Momma.” 

Jack jumped up and walked over to the angel who took his little hand in hers. They started to walk back into the light when Jack stopped and turned around. He said, “I love you, Momma, I’ll see you soon.” He waved and I blew him a kiss. 

It’s a day that will be etched in my heart and soul forever. The day my Jack came back to me.

Laurel explained to me that all the grief and sorrow I felt from losing Jack had added more pain to my heartache and prevented me from connecting with him on the Other Side.

She gently said to me, “You must give your grief the dignity it deserves. Jack will help you to heal your heartache.”

My heart began to heal that day. And, in the days and weeks that followed my reading, I felt hopeful again knowing that my son was okay, and that I could connect with him whenever I needed to.

—-

After my reading with Laurel, I opened one of the boxes with Jack’s things and chose a stuffed bear. As I grieved him, I would hold the bear next to my heart.


There are no words to describe the pain of losing a child, but it is through the heartache and loss that new life is found. Being able to connect with Jack, started to mend my heart and I was able to find new hope again. I became acquainted with the new version of me. My loss had changed me in ways I had never imagined possible, and I was no longer the person I used to be before Jack.


​I am blessed to be able to watch Jack as he grows up in Heaven. He gets bigger every time I see him, and I still find heart rocks wherever I go.

—-

Shauna Domalain is a Spiritual Medium and Grief Counselor. She lives in Calgary, Canada with her family and fur babies. Visit her website for more information: www.livealifeyoulove.organd check out her podcast on iTunes: The Oracle of Light.

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Coping With Loss

Our Second Birthday

Two years!

Two years ago, I finally did it. I took a leap and launched The Understanding Heart not quite knowing what I would do with it, but knowing it would not only help to heal my heart, but hopefully heal the hearts of the women and families looking for solace in their darkest moment; the moment they lose their babies.

We lost our son Anthony at 10 weeks and 5 days in January 2020. As if losing him wasn’t difficult enough, the experience we had afterward with the professionals who were supposed to be taking care us was something out of a nightmare. I was shocked to find how easily birthing parents are cast aside once they’re told their child no longer has a heartbeat. How babies that don’t make it earth side are suddenly not as important as they were a week ago when they could be seen on an ultrasound. How the disregard of the grief we feel at 6, 10, 20, or 40 weeks makes us feel so small, and makes us miss our babies even more.

I both love and hate so much that you are here with me. I am so grateful for this community and am continuously honored and privileged to share the stories of your babies, but also wish this “club” never had to exist. Worst club, best people as they say.

Thank you so much for being here for two years of sharing stories, discussing grief, being vulnerable and most importantly, remembering our babies. I can’t wait to see what’s to come in the years ahead.

________________________________________________

I asked some of my followers to share their baby’s names to be honored on the blog. Names put directly next to each other are siblings.

We remember…

Rohan Unnithan-Rinella

Mera Maimone

Leilani Rose Martinez & Little White Butterfly

Milo James

Jedah Rhodes

Liam Rodriguez

Carter James Ritchie

Aiyana Hope & Myles Trase

Baby Blouin

August, Willy & Baby #3

Noodle

Baby Ahovey

Maggie Giesbrecht

Lincoln & Sweet Pea

Christian & Alexander

David Vaugh & Ellarie Jane

Mercy Emmanuelle and Zachariah Ransom

Emerson Zion Sommerville

Baisley Juno Pangelian Nededog

Wren Elyse

Adrian Iselle Canseco

Stella Lee Simmers

Claire Foster

Rosie Grace

Kassandra Melia Trejo

Pio and Zelie

Gabriel Danayan

Rionnach Ryan

Henry, Luna, Estella and Arthur

Emily

Shiloh

Hazel and Baby B

Emilia Lolmaugh

August Wynn Visicaro

Frances and Milo

Lyra Rose

Gordon Edward Bryan, Cole Maverick Nontell & Harlow Elle Nontell

Selah Veta

Bryson Brooks Foell

Kingston

Luka

Anthony.

“I carried you for every second of your life, and I will love you for every second of mine.”

– Unknown
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Miscarriage

Stephanie’s Story

For 2023, I thought and prayed about what my “one word” would be for weeks. The word that was continuously on my mind was “heal.” Healing emotionally, spiritually, and mentally. For me, part of healing includes writing my story and acknowledging the trauma that I have endured.

In April of 2017, I received my first positive pregnancy test. I had waited and waited until two days before my period was due to take my test. I woke up at 4am because I was so full of nerves and just needed to know. I remember watching the tracker on the Clearblue digital test as they slowly, slowly, slowly blinked on and to my shock, the word “pregnant” showed up and I was so excited.

This pregnancy was picture perfect. Great HCG rise and strong progesterone increase from the start. Before my 8 weekappointment, I remember just breaking down in tears from worry about whether or not we would hear a heartbeat at our appointment and thinking how would I ever survive a miscarriage. Thankfully, when we got to our 8-week appointment, we heard a strong heartbeat and I immediately broke into tears.

Fast forward to January 2018, when I was 39 + 6, and I was induced (by my choice) and my sweet 8 pound, 8 ounce baby girl, AG arrived with a great delivery. Now that I know her personality, there was nothing stopping her from taking this world by storm!

After she was born, I went back to my regular birth control that I had been taking before we tried to get pregnant with Annalee. All was going according to plan until November 2020. I was late. On birth control, I was never late! My husband thought I was losing my mind, when I told him I was going to take a pregnancy test. To be honest, I thought I was a little crazy too. I remember going after work, getting a test and taking it right away. Again, the slow blink…pregnant. On birth control.

Panic set in. We were not planning on getting pregnant. We had a strong willed almost three-year-old, how could we do this? We were at war with ourselves. Obviously, we were going to love this baby no matter what, but how could we manage it all?! This wasn’t what we had planned. I went in for my routine blood work. HCG rose normally, but my progesterone took a nose dive. I knew this wasn’t how my levels were with AG and in my gut. I started taking progesterone supplements and had my next blood draw, my levels had increased. I began to feel cautiously optimistic, but my anxiety was off the charts. We started formulating a plan to surprise our parents with a Christmas announcement!

At about 6 weeks pregnant, I started spotting. I called my doctor and they suggested increasing my progesterone dosage. I began doing that, and the bleeding stopped. In my heart, though, I knew what was happening. At 8 weeks, we went for our first ultrasound. My husband drove and I cried in the car the whole way to the appointment while listening to “Thy Will” by Hillary Scott. The wait felt like forever to be called back for the ultrasound. The ultrasound tech put the wand on my stomach and we watched and waited. The silence was deafening. Our baby, our Little Bean, had no heartbeat.

After the hardest moment of our lives, we were sent to the waiting room to wait to see my doctor-where I sat with visibly expecting mothers. (This is a part of maternal care that needs to change! Mothers experiencing loss, should have a separate waiting area.) Because of how early I was, we had to wait another week to see if Little Bean’s timeline was off. The only way to describe this wait is excruciating. Instead of telling our parents that we were expecting, we had to tell them we were miscarrying instead. We went back the following week, and there was no progress. It was then that I was given the option to let things progress naturally or a D & C. I opted for a D & C because it was only a few days before Christmas and I did not want to taint Christmas for my daughter in any way.

So, 3 days before Christmas, my D & C was completed. Because of COVID, I was completely alone. My husband was only able to drop off and pick up. This just personified to me how lonely I felt in this moment.

One of the hardest things that I have done is to grieve one child, while still trying to muster the strength to parent my living child. Because this wasn’t our plan, emotions were all over the place. We had gone from panic, to acceptance, to excitement, then to gut-wrenching heartbreak and grief.

Looking back, I realize that to process my grief, I focused my energy into trying to get pregnant again and three months later, I was pregnant again! From the start, I was hopeful, Google told me that back-to-back miscarriages were rare. I went in for routine blood work again. First draw looked great! When my second blood work came in, I was shattered. My HCG more than doubled, but my progesterone once again, dropped. How could this be happening again? Thankfully, my doctor scheduled me an early ultrasound at 6 weeks so that I did not have to wait until 8 weeks. Again, the wait…gel, wand…and silence. It was like déjà vu. Because of how far along I was, we had to wait to confirm that it was another loss. A week later, there was no progress, and I opted for my second D & C.

After the second D & C, my primary care physician reached out to me. Because of the computer systems used for charting by the hospital and physician’s office, he was able to see my records. I will forever be grateful for his proactiveness and encouragement for running blood work! He had his nurse call and start the process and I was able to get in for any appointment in two weeks to begin bloodwork. At this point, I was grateful that I felt something was in my control again. All my bloodwork came back normal, but his proactiveness encouraged me to reach out to my OB for more fertility specific bloodwork. Upon completing the bloodwork with my OB, I was diagnosed with MTHFR. This diagnosis is controversial in the fertility world of whether or not it actually contributes to miscarriages or not, but the treatment for it is simple – a daily aspirin.

Fast forward five months post D & C, in October I found out I was pregnant again! This time, there was cautious hope. The chance of three consecutive miscarriages, according to Google, is 1%. Routine bloodwork gets completed. First round looks great! Second round, HCG drops. I was completely broken and hopeless. I opted to miscarry naturally this time. No one prepares you for the moment of passing your baby and the feeling of emptiness that comes instantly. Three babies gone. At this time, I asked my OB to refer me to a fertility specialist.

During our first appointment, she threw the “kitchen sink” at me. I began taking several vitamins and iron supplements to see what happened. 

January 2022, our pastor preached on Romans 12: 12, “Be joyful in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer.”

January 2022, the test reads pregnant. I remember going to tell my husband the news – with zero excitement. Not because we didn’t want this baby, but because we were so numb to hope at this point. At the fertility clinic, they only tracked the HCG because I started progesterone supplements at the positive test. HCG rose quickly! Now the wait begins…

Every single day, we prayed for this baby. This baby was covered in prayer by so many people.

On February 10, 2022, we went for our first scan. I had accepted that we would once again hear silence.

BUT GOD

After seconds that felt like hours, we heard our baby’s strong heartbeat. I will never forget that sound. After the doctor left the room, I lost it.

Pregnancy after loss is complicated. Even when you have good news, anxiety creeps in every day. My fertility doctor, thankfully, understood this and allowed me to come in for a scan every week until 10 weeks. Then, she lovingly weaned me from weekly scans because she knew that I was going to have to be on regular doctor appointment schedules when I was transferred back to my OB. There was not a day during this pregnancy that I did not worry. 

At my 36 week scan, baby was already estimated to be nearly 9 pounds. At my 38 week scan, baby was estimated to be almost 10 pounds! Due to baby’s size, I opted to schedule a c-section. However, baby had other plans. At exactly 39 weeks, my water broke, on a Sunday where I had no idea what doctor would be there. BUT GOD. Once I checked in, I asked the nurse who the doctor on call is – my doctor! Because of when I had eaten lunch and how fast I was progressing, I was unable to proceed with a c-section. When my doctor’s shift ended, the director of OB care came on shift. Together, they arranged for an additional team of nurses to be in there due to baby’s anticipated large size.

After 14 minutes of pushing, our sweet baby boy, RG, was born…weighing in at 11 lbs 5 oz! His size did bring some minor complications for both us, but after about 30 minutes, my baby was FINALLY in my arms.

Stephanie G.
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Miscarriage

Nicole’s Story

I first got pregnant the year I got married. We weren’t even trying, but were overjoyed. At our first ultrasound we learned our baby didn’t have a heartbeat. A missed miscarriage. I didn’t know that was possible. 

A few months later, I was pregnant again. At my first ultrasound we learned it was a blighted ovum. There was no baby. The OBGYN told us they were both likely just bad luck and I was likely to go on to have a healthy pregnancy.

Then, I got pregnant again. Again we weren’t “trying” to conceive, just open to it. This time at my first ultrasound there was a heartbeat! I was overjoyed! Finally, this was the one. Our next ultrasound at 18 weeks there was no heartbeat. We were crushed.

About a year later, I was late for my period. I was too scared to take a test. I ended up bleeding after a few weeks and I feel sure that it was an early miscarriage. All my emotions from before rushed to the surface.

Fast forward three years. I finally feel ready to entertain the idea of trying again (I’m not getting any younger). I get pregnant right away, I’m SO SICK for a whole summer with morning sickness. I think surely this is a sign that my hormones are raging and this is a strong pregnancy. We go in at 16 weeks and hear our baby’s heart beat. “That’s a big baby!” the midwife says. We go back at 20 weeks and there’s no heartbeat. The longest I’ve made it in a pregnancy. I feel numb. I had my registry filled up, I had a baby shower date planned. I had allowed myself to hope. And now I was 36, carrying a dead baby around in my womb, feeling like everything was slipping away. 

It’s not even a year later now. I have had lots of blood work done and different tests and everything seems to be fine. 40 feels dangerously close and I’m no closer to knowing what is to come than I’ve ever been. I’ve learned to trust God with my hopes and my fears, constantly giving them back to him when they come creeping up in my heart. People my age and people younger than me are all having babies around me and sometimes it feels lonely. But God has been so faithful to give me people who have walked this journey or are walking it now to give me a compassionate and understanding word, always when I seem to need it most.

This is my story. 5 pregnancies, no living children, but full of gratitude for the many blessings that have come to me along the way.

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Coping With Loss

Life After Pregnancy Loss: Emma

A few months back, Emma shared the story of experiencing pregnancy loss at the age 19. She detailed how her age played a factor in how people reacted to her baby and her pregnancy in general. The following is her perspective of life after pregnancy loss.

—

It’s been 13 months since I was told my baby didn’t have a heartbeat and I still get moments where my grief consumes me. To this day, I still get moments where my thoughts overwhelm me and convince me it was my fault. Maybe if I didn’t go on that night out the day before I found out or if I didn’t have that energy drink my baby would be with me. For the longest time whenever I would try to do something fun my brain would remind me I should be a mum and I felt the same paralyzing sadness I felt the day I was sat in the hospital being told my baby was dead.

I feel my loss and grief was overlooked a lot because of my age. I was devastated when friends and family would say “it’s for the best,” “you were too young anyway, now you can enjoy life,” “you can just try again in a few years.” I was expected to get over it so quickly when in reality, it took months of therapy and countless amounts of tears. My family was so unsupportive with my loss, even ones that should’ve been able to empathize, which made the healing process so much harder than it had to be. I will forever be thankful that I had Gwen in my life to get me through every tear, emotion and any thought that went through my head during my worst moments.

For a long time, I would get so jealous seeing everyone else’s pregnancy announcements thinking it should’ve been me. I can’t count the amount of announcements I’ve cried over, no matter how happy I was for them my brain would automatically cloud with anger.  The day after I found out my baby was no longer alive, I had the baby shower of a close friend. I resented her for having the life I was dreaming of. Watching her and her son hit milestones while taking them completely for granted felt more and more painful, eventually to the point I couldn’t even look at her and ending up cutting contact.

The worst pain came when the realization finally hit that my boyfriend wasn’t ready to try again. My mind was so prepared to be a mother I went through a totally new phase of sadness and grief. For months, every period felt like a missed opportunity and I felt the need to take a pregnancy test even though I was certain of the result. Yet the sadness of remembering what was no longer there felt like a punch in the face every period I had. 

I know the pain will always be there but I feel it does get easier, like any other form of grief I’ve molded my life around it and that’s okay. As time is going on I’m definitely getting happier and healthier and finally letting myself heal.

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Miscarriage

Jessica’s Poem

Jessica wrote this poem for her baby after her loss. She hopes it helps whomever decides to read it.

Little Baby B

Seven months it took to finally find you

The faint double line told me it was true

Anxiety started the very next day

When another double line seemed to be fading away

Deciding to put my worries aside for a while

I put my hope in the multiple tests that said there was a child 

The weeks went on and no period came 

Symptoms from my first seemed to be the same 

Then came the dreaded sickness I remembered

The hope and knowledge of 2nd trimester was now what I treasured 

Nauseous and not myself all day for weeks on end 

I couldn’t wait for my sickness to finally mend 

Only a couple more weeks I thought in my head

Until I feel like myself and the days I won’t dread

Then came the first appointment to see you, little one

I had no idea of all that was about to come undone.

Nervous walking into the office, surprisingly not very excited 

Maybe God was preparing me for the pain that was about to be ignited 

Just seconds it took for the tech to decide 

That instead we had to try to find you inside 

The moment I knew she had trouble finding you 

Everything inside me wanted it not to be true 

“Your weeks are definitely off” she said with no hesitation 

As if we had been wrong when giving our information

You measured as if you were almost a month behind 

But you had a strong heartbeat and movement she did find

I knew deep down that something was wrong 

The dates of everything just did not go along 

Sitting in the waiting room for our follow up appointment 

My entire being was being rocked by this shocking disappointment 

Finally as we sat with the doctor in the uninviting room 

His worry about the dates confirmed the dreaded gloom 

His answers were honest, his words gentle and kind 

When he said “it’s in God’s hands” it slightly eased my mind.

I knew he was right and that we had to just wait 

To see what God decided about your sweet fate 

The doctor said he’d like to see us in a week 

To see if you had grown, the answer we must seek 

That week was the hardest and longest of my life 

My mind was filled with racing anxiety and strife 

Mother’s Day came and went filling my heart with emotion 

It was hard to find full joy in the day when my mind was in commotion 

Finally, the day had come to journey back to the space

Where everything we had hoped for had been misplaced 

I prayed hard for our favorite ultrasound tech

For the last one was not thoughtful, insensitive and blech 

There was the one I prayed for calling my name to come in

My heart was so glad for this already was a win

Again you were too small to see

She had to go in and see how you would be 

Only a few days it showed you had grown 

I still saw your little form from what was shown 

And then came the words we were dreading to hear

“I’m so sorry I can’t find the heartbeat, my dear.”

Immediately I broke down into a puddle of tears 

Coming true, one of my biggest of fears 

After a moment alone for daddy and I to talk  

Our favorite nurse met us in the hallway to walk 

She squeezed me with her compassion and love 

She was like our very own angel sent from above 

We got to the office where the doc met us there 

Another kind face to show us sensitivity and care 

He expressed his sympathy handling us so dear

And in our conversation I was so glad he was here 

We talked about God and His plans that may not be understood 

But agreed that after time we can see it’s all for our good 

The doc shared some of his own heartache and story 

And we talked about how all the hard can still reveal God’s glory 

My goodness, God knew what I needed on this day 

To see these three faces to help ease some of the pain away

Gratefulness is what overflows from my heart 

This piece of my story they will always be a sweet part 

The days ahead of us I knew would be tough 

The thought of breaking the news over and over was rough 

Maybe I shouldn’t have told so many I thought

But we also had an army praying for this battle we fought 

We sat in the car and sent a few texts 

I sobbed as I wrote, and then onto the next 

How is it that the deafening mom guilt already starts 

As soon as even just the idea of you is in our hearts?

Maybe it was that run or that bike ride or maybe it was stress

Maybe I ate something wrong or didn’t follow the rules the very best

Just another waiting game in the days to follow

As my body started the process, but was going so slow

I decided to take the meds the doctor prescribed 

It was such a hard choice to finally decide 

I wasn’t sure how long my body would take on its own 

And I just couldn’t think of it happening when I was alone 

For Ben would be gone in just another day 

I knew I had to get it done before he went away 

It happened much faster than I had been assuming

This traumatic part of the process in my head that had been looming

The pain was unreal, almost like laboring pains 

And along with it came the dreaded crimson red stains

It’s as if my body was matching the ache of my soul

And now they both could together unite as a whole 

Finally, almost out of the blue

What the doctor described I think came true 

My body just felt a massive relief 

Although there would still be much more grief 

I decided to go see if the relief meant what I thought

Then out you came, my dear, one who had bravely fought

The feelings were weird and maybe a little numb 

Seeing my dream in the toilet was where we had come 

When I really think about it all it is crushing 

The idea that you are finally gone in one flushing 

Though there was relief that the worst parts were finally done 

I know every day I’m going to think of you, dear one.

The days to follow would bring grief in waves

Every little trigger would make my heart cave

Each new abdominal ache, mood swing, each bright red drop 

Would again remind me of what just came to a stop

Three different pregnancy apps I had to go to 

To click I’ve had a loss to end the tracking of you

Thrown onto the pregnancy packet from the nurse 

Each piece of trash fell just making the aches worse 

Your big brother runs around no idea what’s going on

Not knowing that mommy and daddy’s dream is now gone 

You were a fighter for a bit we got to briefly see

But now I hope your soul is running wild and free

You are kept safe in the hands of the Lord

And our love for you will push us forward 

To dream once again of a precious little child

To join our little family and our son so wild 

God has bigger plans that we just can’t yet see

But I believe we’ll be stronger, thanks to you, our little Baby B.

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