Everyone loves to tell their labor stories. I’ve found that stillbirth and miscarriage are no different. I had the same urge to tell the story of the labor and deliveries of my miscarried babies that I did with all of my full-term living children. It’s just that people typically don’t want to hear it. I’m not alone in having this experience.

Sharing your own story will probably be of benefit to you. But remember, in addition it will probably benefit someone else who is looking for help, encouragement or information. Despite the knowledge that miscarriage is not uncommon, I felt very alone when I first miscarried. Hearing others’ stories helped me more than I can say.

[Stories are roughly in order of gestational age. Some of the stories are not written out here but linked back to their original sites. Any photos referenced will be found on the second trimester photos page.]

Thirteen Weeks

Amelia’s story:Isaiah

Story of Isaiah’s death at 13 weeks, delivered naturally at home at 15 weeks followed by complications.

My story: Andrew

Story of Andrew’s loss at 13 weeks with a medical induction at 15 weeks

I found out I was pregnant with Andrew a few days before Innocent’s due date [Innocent was miscarried at 12 weeks, 5 days that same year]. I had not been expecting it because I had been disappointed so many times. I was very happy, but was, of course, worried as well. We hadn’t known what happened to Innocent so I worried the same thing would happen to Andrew.

My pregnancy with Andrew was uneventful. I checked his heartbeat with a doppler almost every day from 9 weeks on. At my 11 week appointment the ultrasound showed a perfect little baby. I started to relax as I approached the 12 week mark. I was still checking with the doppler frequently and was reassured every time. The last time I heard his heartbeat was the night of November 29^th. The next day he turned 13 weeks. He also fell asleep in the Lord. I didn’t check that day so I didn’t know until the next morning, December 1^st, when I couldn’t find the heartbeat after searching for an hour. I called my doctor and we confirmed with an ultrasound that Andrew had died the day before, the feast of St. Andrew. I already knew that he was gone, but there was that tiny bit of hope that was destroyed when the doctor quietly put the ultrasound wand down, turned around and said, “I’m so sorry.” The four younger children had had to come up to the hospital with Father and me, so now we had to tell them the baby was dead.

Because Christmas was coming so quickly we decided to set a date for induction of labor on December 12^th. I began losing my pregnancy symptoms although I still had a pregnant stomach. I started making a tiny shroud, tiny blankets, anything I could do to take up the time I was waiting. I typed out a birth plan. I wrote emails to the doctor asking for details of how the hospital handled the baby’s body. I cried a lot. I didn’t eat. I just couldn’t believe this was happening to us again.

Friends took the children to stay with them on the 10^th. The morning of the 12^th we headed to the hospital very early. I made it clear from the beginning that we wanted to take Andrew’s body home with us that day and that we did not want to have any testing done on him. The staff were agreeable. They started an IV and double-checked with an ultrasound (confirmed by two doctors) that Andrew was not living. Even after all this time an irrational part of me hoped a miracle would happen and he’d wiggle around. He didn’t, of course, but the doctor took her time and kindly printed out several pictures for us. I wanted pictures in case I had to have a D&C and wasn’t able to see his body.

They inserted the misoprostol tablets vaginally, 400mg to start with. They also attempted to place a balloon catheter between the cervix and the wall of the vagina, inflate the balloon, and thereby encourage my cervix to dilate. Instead, what happened was the beginning of a hemorrhage that took a while to stop. They removed the catheter and waited for the bleeding to slow down. I was in danger of having to have a D&C to avoid dangerous blood loss but after prayer the bleeding stopped. After that they simply relied upon the medication to induce labor. I had some contractions off and on but nothing steady. They placed the medication at 8AM, again at 12PM (400mg) and then again at 4PM (600mg).

The time went by very slowly. Father stayed with me the whole time except when I sent him to get some lunch for himself. I was fasting, of course, in case I needed surgery. I tried to read but couldn’t concentrate. The little shroud and blankets were laid out on the bedside table. I wanted the staff to see that I was going to deliver a BABY, a person, my beloved child, not a blob of tissue. I needn’t have worried because they were very kind and sensitive.

By a little after 4 the contractions were painful and steady. They placed the balloon catheter again, but this time inserted it into the cervix itself and inflated it. The pain was terrible. I stood it because I desperately wanted the medical induction to succeed – I did not want a D&C. I had refused all pain medication because I wanted to have a clear head. After an hour and a half of almost continuous contractions, as painful as any I have had in my term labors, I called out to say that I couldn’t stand the pain any longer and either wanted the catheter removed or some pain medication. Father was in agony watching me in this much pain and felt helpless.

The doctor and nurse came in and removed the catheter. They checked and I was 4 cm dilated. They asked if I wanted pain medication or if I wanted to try to push. I thought about the pain medication, but the pain had diminished so much when the catheter came out that I decided to wait. I waited for one more contraction to start and then I pushed. Andrew was born in the sac at 5:45. After waiting for another contraction I pushed out the placenta. I was surprised the placenta was so small but they said it was a normal size. (It was much smaller than Innocent’s had been.)

I sat up to see Andrew. I was immediately struck by the silence. None of my other births in the hospital had been attended by complete silence. I could see Andrew floating gently inside the sac which had been placed on a towel between my legs. Because I had requested it they permitted me to cut the cord and cut open the sac. I did so and carefully lifted Andrew out of the sac. He was the same size as Innocent and beautiful. Dark fluid had collected under his skin in places, including around his neck and over part of his head. This was distressing to me and I nicked his skin in an inconspicuous place to let the fluid run out. After this I could see his features better. We checked and the consensus was that he was a boy. It was a little less obvious than it had been with Innocent. We decided that Andrew looked closer to 12 weeks gestation than 13 weeks.

The staff did some minimal cleaning up and left quickly so we could be alone with Andrew. Once we were alone we both broke down. Our son was dead. I held him in my hand on one of his blankets (the blue, since he was a boy) and kept telling him how sorry I was. He lay there, helpless, his tiny head lolling to the side unless I held it.

In a few minutes when the nurse came back in she checked my bleeding and was worried that it was too much. She put another pad on and within a few minutes it was soaked. I was still contracting but I thought it was the influence of the medication that they had placed right after delivery to encourage the uterus to clamp down. She called the doctor back in. She checked and realized I had retained some placenta. They brought an ultrasound into the room and one doctor controlled that while my doctor manually removed pieces of placenta and clots. This was very painful, but I knew there wasn’t really time to get anything for pain. I used my usual technique for getting through painful contractions – closing my eyes, relaxing my muscles, and taking slow, deep breaths. In fact, the doctors and nurses kept checking to see that I hadn’t passed out. I was very grateful that the nurse recognized the situation so soon while I was still dilated to 4 cm. Otherwise, I probably would have had to go to surgery to have everything removed. They were successful and removed at least as much placenta as I had delivered to start with. This explained why the placenta had been so small. When they were done the pain was essentially gone and the bleeding was much less. I received additional medication to encourage the uterus to clamp down and some Ibuprofen for pain (I refused the narcotics.)

The nurse did a more thorough job of cleaning up (blood was everywhere) and this time Father and I were able to be alone with Andrew for much longer. I took several pictures of him before I tried to dress him. I knew he would be fragile, and I thought that once I got the shroud on it wasn’t going to come off. Once I felt like I had taken what pictures I could, I put on his tiny shroud with much difficulty. I cried because I wanted everything to be perfect for him and it wasn’t. Father picked up the camera and took a few pictures of me holding Andrew at this point. The photos were blurry, but he managed to capture in a few frames my complete anguish. After I pulled myself together, I took many more pictures of Andrew in his gown.

I noticed that Andrew’s legs were starting to shrivel. I cried even more because I started to realize I would have to put him in saline unless I wanted him to completely dry out. His skin was just much too thin to contain moisture. We called and the nurse was kind enough to provide us a plastic container of saline to put him in. I removed the shroud and carefully put him in. I hoped he would rehydrate a bit. We put that container in a larger one full of ice.

The decision had now been made to keep me overnight and to start antibiotics because of the invasive nature of the manual placenta removal. We had been looking forward to going home to our own house that night and this was disappointing. We packed our things so I could be transferred to the postpartum floor. Not long after this while we were waiting, we found out that the nursing supervisor would not permit us to take Andrew with us to the postpartum floor. She said he had to be checked into the morgue or pathology. We refused. I had already discussed with the staff our wish that Andrew not leave our side and everything had been worked out with the morgue director, the nursing staff and my doctor that morning. For a little while it looked as if we would have to check out AMA rather than relinquish the body of our son. My doctor was called at home quite late at night and pitched a fit when she heard what was going on. We were not privy to the behind-the-scenes battles, but our wishes were eventually honored and Andrew traveled in his bucket on my lap to the postpartum floor with us. While we were being wheeled to the elevator I had a sudden flashback to the time when my last living child had gone with me from labor and delivery to postpartum. He had traveled on my lap too, but had been swaddled in blankets and was warm and breathing. This realization struck me like a physical pain.

We were nicely treated in postpartum but were very exhausted. Because of all the wrangling it was 1 AM before we were settled in that room and later before we were able to go to sleep. I slept poorly and we were very ready to go home the next morning. It was late morning before we were released. My discharge paperwork included information about grieving and postpartum depression. I noticed all of the baby-care parts had been carefully crossed out. Again I was put in a wheelchair and we headed for the discharge area. Andrew was again on my lap in his plastic container and the contrast between this discharge and my last discharge was ludicrous. That time my son had rolled down the hall while nursing, so well wrapped that no one knew. This time I had to fight tears the whole way to the car. I put Andrew in the back seat and got in the front. We pulled away from the hospital. I fell apart.

I cried all the way home. I ranted, I pleaded, I begged God for answers. Nothing was forthcoming. Father drove and held my hand. We got home and I was eventually persuaded to go to bed. Andrew was in the refrigerator.

We picked up the children the next day. That evening I took Andrew out of the saline and carefully put him on a little blanket. He had re-hydrated and looked almost better than when he had been born. We called the children in, the older girls, then the boys. We allowed them to see him, hold him and touch him. We talked about what happened. We answered their questions. We let them cry. After they had gone to bed I got Andrew back out and held him. I took his picture next to the little icon of St. Andrew we had ordered. I had Father take my picture holding him. When the photo session was done, I sat in the rocking chair in our room and rocked and rocked him. I talked to him. I kissed him. Eventually I returned him to the saline and put him back in the refrigerator.

The next day was the burial. We did it in the afternoon after the oldest was out of school. I took Andrew out of the saline for the last time. I took more pictures of him. I put him in his casket, wrapped in his little white, ruffled blanket and took pictures of him there. The time came to go. I closed his casket and thought how wrong all of this was. So wrong.

We buried him next to Innocent. The wooden cross was made by the same kind man who made Innocent’s. A friend had provided some poinsettias and we had put one behind each cross. When we left we took them with us and brought them to the church. It was so hard to see the dirt fall upon his casket at the end and I had to turn away and hold onto the wire fence. When it was over, I walked over to the graves and sat down between them. I rested a hand on each grave and looked through the trees to watch the sun set.

Amanda’s stories:Rowan and Levi

Stories of spontaneous miscarriages at 13 weeks and 19 weeks (PROM).

Kimberly’s story: Quinn Zoe

Story of Quinn’s loss at 13 weeks, 6 days. (Missed miscarriage: loss at 13 weeks, 6 days discovered at 17 weeks, 5 days. Delivered 19 weeks, 2 days after expectant management and herbs.)

I went for a regular prenatal checkup at 17 weeks 5 days. When the midwife couldn’t find a heartbeat, we were sent for an ultrasound which confirmed that the baby had died. It measured 13 weeks 6 days at 7.5cm from head to tailbone. I used herbal treatment to bring on the miscarriage. By the time I miscarried, I was 19 weeks 2 days. I passed the baby at home in the bathroom. When the baby came out, it was still attached by the umbilical cord, hanging out of me, but the sac and everything else was already gone because the baby had been lifeless for so long inside. There was just enough room to cut the cord. The placenta was not detaching, and I was bleeding heavily, so I transferred to the hospital. I passed the placenta in the hospital. I was told that they would send the placenta for testing, but they didn’t. The baby remained in a container in the refrigerator at home while we were in the hospital. When we returned home, I took as many photos as I could of our precious baby. We were never able to determine gender, so we picked the name Quinn for our fifth child and Zoe, meaning “life.”

[Note: Kimberly later lost a baby, Caleb, at 10 weeks, 2 days. His story appears on the first trimester stories page and the photographs are on the first trimester photographs page.]

Laura’s story: Nicholas

Story of Nicholas’s loss just before 14 weeks (D&C for missed miscarriage at 14 weeks).

In the fall of 2009, we were surprised to learn we were expecting a new baby. Because of the surprise, and the hyperemesis that came with the first trimester, I felt terribly unprepared. My husband, mother, and in laws took turn taking care of me and our children throughout the first trimester because I was too sick to do much of anything. I was scared and frustrated. However, at 13 weeks, I returned to semi-normal health, and I slowly began to wrap my mind around this new child. We began to work out the details of how this new member of our family would affect our finances and living arrangement.

At 14 weeks, I drove to my appointment with a glimmer of hope, and a naively comfortable attitude. In my head, I was still laughing at the inconvenient timing, but finally learning to accept, as my husband John assured me, “God’s time is not our time.”

Then, an hour later, I sat looking at the ultrasound of my baby curled up very still, without the blinking little heartbeat on the monitor. He had died a few days before, and the reality of his life finally felt fully present.

I was in shock and unprepared for a miscarriage. At my midwife’s advice, I scheduled a D&C. The news was so sudden, and because of the surgery everything was completed quickly. I gave birth to my other children naturally and loved it. I wished that I had had the presence of mine to do the same for him. The day of my surgery, when they took him out of me was the feast of St. Nicholas, lover of children and known for his kindness and goodness. So, we named him Nicholas.

We had to make several phone calls and special requests to have him released to us, and even then, only after he had been cremated. We regret this very much and wish that we had been more prepared to make better arrangements. Our priest was very kind and offered some advice. He assured us our baby is praying for us in heaven.

We had a small funeral with only our immediate family. We buried Nicholas a short walk away from our house site on our small family farm during our first winter snow. We are only inquirer’s so we read the Trisagion for the Dead as a reader’s service (without the priest’s parts) and sang “Christ is Risen from the Dead.” Our daughters put palm crosses in the grave with him. We came back when it was warmer to bring some flowers and walk in the woods nearby.

When we gather as a family to pray, we believe we step out of our time and into God’s time. We are united with Nicholas, as well as our loved ones and all the saints, before God in eternity. In those precious moments, I am now especially grateful that God’s time is not our time.

Fourteen Weeks

Stacey’s story: Cedric John and Celeste Star

Story of the loss of twins, one early on and the next at approximately 14 weeks, delivered after expectant management at 16 weeks.

I woke up on Tuesday at 16 weeks to my water breaking. We went in for an ultrasound and saw that the baby had died although everything looked perfect with the baby and placenta. After thinking about the many options I had, I choose to do an herbal induction at home. I have 2 older children who were both born at home and it’s important to me. The labor was fairly easy and similar to early labor contractions. The baby just slipped out and we could see it was a perfect little boy. I was able to hold him and touch him. My husband, mom, and older children were also able to meet the baby. This was important to our family and we had prepared the children for this. Afterwards 2 placentas were delivered and one had an absorbed twin. We spent the night with our babies before having a funeral and burying them in our church’s memorial garden. The boy is named Cedric John and the absorbed twin is named Celeste Star. We are devastated that they are not here on earth with us, but also so glad that they are in Heaven with Jesus.

I had a few midwives tell me different things about how old Cedric looks to be, so you can place his pictures where you feel is appropriate. I have also attached the picture of the baby absorbed into the placenta if you would like to put that on your website as well. It is somewhat difficult to make out in the picture but the baby is in the upper right corner of the placenta (as confirmed by our midwife).

Fifteen Weeks

Amelia’s story: Micah

Story of Micah’s birth (at the age of 15 weeks) many weeks later by induction at home. Very detailed.

Seventeen Weeks

Jamie’s story: Gabriel

Story of Gabriel’s birth at 18 weeks (at the age of 17.5 weeks) after induction in the hospital. Very detailed.

Phebe’s story: Perseus Allen

Story of Perseus Allen’s birth at 17 weeks 6 days after he died two days previously from unknown causes. Born after induction in the hospital.

I am 17 years old and a senior in High School. I had all the usual teenage worries, until I learned I was 15 weeks pregnant. I had no doubt in my mind I would keep the baby, and in some respects, became excited. I’ve always loved kids, and knew one day I’d want to be a mother. This wasn’t the most opportune time, but I suppose God works in mysterious ways.

I was still wondering how to tell the father, my ex, when I noticed something wrong. I was 17 weeks, 6 days, and I started bleeding. I rushed to the hospital, and they sent me in for an ultrasound. There was no heartbeat, and they could hardly see the baby, there was something in the way. I was sent to a delivery room. I don’t remember much, but through the painkiller fuzz I remember thinking “What did I do wrong? Why is this happening to me? To my baby? What did this poor, innocent being do to deserve this?”

My son was born at 4:13 am on Friday, March 13, 2015. They let me hold him, and he was so small he could fit in my hand. The thing that struck me most was his teeny tiny hands, which were clenched into fists, like he was about to fight off anyone who dared trespass him. I named him Perseus Allen, after the Greek warrior and my favorite uncle, who had passed on in 2014.

He was 17 weeks, 4 days, they predicted, when his heart stopped… He was delivered 2 days later. They couldn’t offer me a reason for his passing. I know my story isn’t typical, but the pain I felt, and still feel today, is much the same. The due date is coming up soon, and I’m praying I have the strength to make it through.

Eighteen Weeks

Natasha’s story: Jeremiah
Story of Jeremiah’s loss at 18 weeks possibly from a twisted umbilical cord. Born after induction.

My twenty-week ultrasound was scheduled for January 21, 2010, and we found out during that ultrasound that our baby’s heart was no longer beating and that he had stopped growing at about eighteen weeks, on or around January 7th. At first, my doctor was thinking that his death was caused by one of two things: Either the massive fluid build-up around his brain had compressed the area that regulates the heartbeat, or he had died as the result of spina bifida. (It had looked on the ultrasound as though there was a hole in his spine.) My doctor was speculating that my body could possibly be unable to metabolize folic acid correctly, which could have caused spina bifida. She referred me to a fetal medicine specialist who performed an amniocentesis on me on January 22nd and did another ultrasound. It was at this ultrasound that we learned I was pregnant with a boy. We spent that night looking up names and their meanings because it was very important to me to name our son names that carried with them promises of hope from God.

I went in to the hospital to be induced on the evening of Saturday, January 23rd. Being on the maternity floor was an emotionally difficult experience for me. For reasons I don’t understand, they don’t separate live births from known stillbirths; and, as a result, we walked down a hallway of doors with pink and blue ribbons on them hanging next to joyful birth announcements. One nurse also mistook me for another expectant mother, asked me if we knew what we were having and congratulated me. That brought me to angry tears; but, other than that, everything went fine at the hospital for the most part. My parents and brother flew in that night, and we had a very healing time just laughing and relaxing, along with my husband’s parents. The nurses began to induce me at around 10:30pm, and contractions started about two hours later. I was able to sleep surprisingly well, despite being woken up for more induction medication every few hours. My husband was able to sleep in the room with me on a bed provided for expectant fathers, and I can’t tell you how much of a comfort it was to have him there.

My contractions become more and more painful and frequent throughout Sunday morning, and I found the contraction monitor to be a wonderful diversion. Every time a contraction would come, I would excitedly ask my husband to come over and see how high the contraction registered. We named them “Tasha quakes.” Humor in small things can be a saving grace in heartbreaking situations.

Jeremiah Zachary was born on Sunday, January 24th at 3:15pm. Because my nurses weren’t expecting me to dilate so quickly, they weren’t in the room when I delivered, but everything went just fine. He was too small to cause any complications. He measured nine inches from head to toe and weighed seven ounces. I guess one would expect me to say that we all wept upon seeing him; but, to tell you the truth, I think we were so in awe of his beauty that there was no room for sadness. Jeremiah was perfectly formed, just very, very small. He had a perfect little button nose, amazingly detailed hands and feet, and even little fingernails. His hands were each about the size of one of my finger tips, and I had the incredible privilege of holding his little hand between my pointer finger and thumb. My husband and I were able to hold him and keep him in the room with us until about 10:00 that night, and those hours were some of the most precious and joy-filled of my life. I can’t emphasize enough how beautiful Jeremiah was. We were able to take many pictures of him and with him; and, looking at them now, I still can’t believe how perfect he was. God is such an amazing artist…

I was discharged from the hospital on Monday the 25th, and my husband and I were able to say goodbye to Jeremiah that morning before he was taken to a local funeral home to be cremated. We were able to hold him, kiss him and say what we needed to say, which I am infinitely thankful to God for. How many parents do not get that chance?? Before we left the hospital, one of the nurses on the bereavement committee came into my room and provided us with a life certificate bearing Jeremiah’s name, our names and his tiny footprints. (Yes, they took the time to painstakingly get his footprints for us… What a gift!) Later that day, two men at our church performed a small, private memorial service for Jeremiah to honor his life, and it was such a healing experience. The sermon was incredible, and we all huddled together at the end and prayed out loud. To have the opportunity to recognize the sacredness of Jeremiah’s life was such a blessing to my heart. God is so good in how He takes care of His children. My parents and brother left the following morning for home, and my father-in-law took my husband and me to pick up Jeremiah’s ashes that afternoon. I had a box made with his beautiful face on it, and we are keeping his ashes there. I know based on Scripture that he is now with Christ and will not need his body again until Christ’s second coming, but it is such a comfort to my “mommy heart” to have him near me in a way.

We found out from my doctor on the 17th of February that Jeremiah did not have spina bifida as we had thought. All tests came back completely normal. However, Jeremiah’s umbilical cord was severely twisted, which most likely kept his heart from getting the oxygen it needed to keep beating. It is possible that brain damage caused Jeremiah to move erratically enough to twist the cord so much, but the cause is ultimately unknown. Knowing that my body was unable to give him the oxygen and nourishment he needed to live is very, very painful for me, and I have moments where it feels like the grief will consume me; but I know that there was nothing we could have done. My husband has been such an amazing pillar of strength and gentleness through all of this, and his love for me and refusal to judge my grief have been used by God to keep me from falling apart. I am so proud of how well he is living out his vows to me. God has blessed me beyond measure in giving him to me as a husband. The death of a child can tear a marriage apart; and, by God’s grace and as the result of my husband’s faithfulness to me, I am more in love with him now than I was before we lost Jeremiah. I am so blessed.

God has been so faithful to give us little reminders along the way that He has a good purpose for this and that He is taking care of Jeremiah. After the memorial service on the 25th, I learned that Jeremiah was born on Sanctity of Life Sunday, the day each year when churches emphasize that life is sacred from conception in God’s eyes; and finding that out was an amazing confirmation that Jeremiah’s life was not in vain! That afternoon, I also ran across Jeremiah 1:5 unexpectedly, which reads: “”Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you.” Believe it or not, this verse did not factor into naming Jeremiah. Reading it that day took my breath away, and I instantly started to cry. Jeremiah is in God’s hands now, and this goodbye is only temporary. Praise God for that hope!! We will see our baby again!!

We named our son Jeremiah because it means “God will uplift” and Zachary because it means “God remembers.” These promises are sustaining us, and we are just taking it one day at a time. It is our prayer that God would continue to use Jeremiah’s life and our witness in this situation to draw others to His amazing truth, love and beauty. Because of Christ’s sacrifice, death is not the end!! PRAISE GOD!! We do not mourn like those who have no hope. THERE IS HOPE IN CHRIST!! Soli Deo Gloria!! To God be the glory.

Caroline’s story: Savannah

The story of Savannah’s loss just before 19 weeks due to a band around her umbilical cord.

Twenty Weeks

Chris’s Story: Xenia Diane

The story of Xenia Diane’s loss at approximately 20 weeks. Died in utero from unknown causes and delivered by induction in the hospital. (Orthodox and includes story of burial.)

Twenty-one Weeks

Makayla’s story: Joshua

The story of Joshua’s loss at 21 weeks due to pre-term labor

November 16, 2012, we found out we were expecting (2 days after my birthday!) It was quite the surprise, let me tell you! We had just moved into our first place, my then boyfriend had just landed a steady job, everything was looking up. Becoming pregnant was not in our plans but it was obviously in God’s. We felt embarrassed at first (since we weren’t married), but we embraced the blessing, nonetheless.

It took me awhile to be okay with the fact that we were soon-to-be parents. From the beginning I worried constantly, about EVERYTHING; everything except losing my baby. We knew he was a boy from the very beginning and finally decided on a name around 21 weeks: Joshua Jackson, or JJ for short.

Friday, March 1st was the day it all began.. I woke up feeling normal, but for some reason at work I began experiencing discomfort in my pelvis/ uterus; not pain, just discomfort. I discovered some spotting at work, which worried me. I had seen the same thing a few days prior after intercourse, but this spotting was out of the blue. When I got home from work, the spotting was more abundant, so I called my doctor and spoke with his nurse. She told me not to worry and advised me to seek immediate medical attention if I experienced cramps or bright red blood.. So I tried to go about my Friday evening as normal. My fiancè and I went on a date and later did some shopping for comfy maternity clothes. As the evening progressed, I grew more and more uncomfortable. Around 7pm I began feeling “cramps” (I knew they were contractions but I was in denial). I thought if I slept them off, they would be gone by morning.

Boy was I wrong. I woke to use the restroom around 12:30am Saturday morning and discovered bright blood, much like a period. I panicked and decided we should go to the ER. That was an experience all its own; the nurse was very displeased that I hadn’t gone to the women’s hospital. She proceeded to tell me she hated babies and would be really upset if she had to deliver mine. They performed an internal and external ultrasound to check on everything; Joshua was moving around and seemingly perfect. However, they discovered my cervix was shortening and my body was preparing for labor. The ER doctor told me since I wasn’t 24 weeks there’s nothing they would do for me; he told me to “go home and hope for the best.”

As Saturday went on, the contractions got much worse. I tried everything to soothe them, but nothing seemed to help. All I could do was pray, and I prayed A LOT. I eventually called the OB/GYN on call at the hospital and he basically said the same as the ER doctor; he also said “if you’re predestined to lose a pregnancy, you will.” I cried after hanging up; I knew I was in a helpless situation. I was able to cry myself to sleep and managed to get a few hours of rest before waking again.

By Sunday morning, I was in agony. My contractions were back to back and lasted about 60 seconds each.. I was in so much pain I couldn’t even stand. At that point all I could do is lie in bed and sob. After 2 hours of me crying, my fiancè woke up and decided we need to go to the hospital NOW; I agreed.

On the way to the hospital, I made my fiancè pull over; I thought I was going to be sick. And there was so much pressure, I was sure I needed to pass a bowel movement. I pulled my pants down and sat on the side of the freeway; I couldn’t get up. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t talk; I’m almost certain I was in shock. My fiancè ended up calling an ambulance and I had to be transported to the hospital.

By the time I arrived at the hospital I was in a state of hysteria; I couldn’t talk, refused to move, and wouldn’t even open my eyes. I remember asking my nurse if my baby boy was alive, and she grabbed my hand and said “I don’t think so sweetie.” Oleg (my fiancè) showed up shortly after and we sat there crying hysterically. My water broke on its own after about 30 minutes of being there and Joshua came shortly after.

The nurse took him, wrapped him in a blanket, and carried him back to me. As soon as I saw him, I started bawling. It took about 5 minutes of sobbing before I could even hold him. He was so tiny; I’d never imagined a baby could be so small. He was the most precious thing I’d ever seen, but I knew I could only hold him for a few hours. We had Joshua blessed and had a burial for him less than a week later.

I must say at my young age of 19 that is the most pain I have ever felt; I can’t imagine women who experience this repeatedly. Burying my child was unfathomable; my life will never be the same. I thank God for the chance to know Joshua, to feel him move inside of me. I thank God for knowing what He’s doing and accept that I am completely out of control of this situation. There are so many what-ifs, but that will drive me crazy. I think about him every day, and I don’t think that will ever fade. Mommy loves you Joshua ❤