Stillbirth has to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever gone through in my life.
There is no heartbeat. One of the worst phrases you can hear in life.
It was April 11, 2017. I had been having back pains all day and thought I had a kidney stone. My husband was out of town, so I asked my sister to take me to labor and delivery. She didn’t need to wait because I knew it was a stone, and I probably needed fluids. My mother in law said she could pick me up after her Bible class.
It was no big deal, or so I thought. After a couple of hours, I learned with my mother in law by my side that our baby no longer had a heartbeat.
“There is no heartbeat,” the doctor said.
It didn’t make sense. I saw her on the screen, and my baby appeared to be moving. She was great at her anatomy scan. I had the perfect pregnancy, and this wasn’t my first rodeo. Nothing was different. I couldn’t make sense of it.
Within 30 minutes, my mom and dad were at my side. I couldn’t get in touch with my husband. And when I finally did, the last thing I wanted to tell him while he was over 2 hours away was that our baby girl no longer had a heartbeat.
I did, and you can read in more detail about that day here. 
Life after Stillbirth
- I didn’t know that having a child delivered without a heartbeat after 20 weeks is considered a stillbirth.
- When you deliver a baby after 20 weeks you plan a funeral.
- Even though you deliver your baby with no heartbeat, your body does not realize that. Your body goes through every postpartum event, just as if your child was still breathing. It’s a cruel reminder of what was lost and nothing that you were ever warned about. Stillbirth doesn’t give your body a break.
Further complications came after delivery, which caused me to have surgery and blood transfusions. I spent the first few weeks in bed or on the couch because I physically couldn’t do anything.
I joined every stillbirth online community I could. A lot of friends became distant because they didn’t know what to say.
People didn’t know what to say to me, so they didn’t say anything.
A friend told me the night before I delivered, “no one tells you that you will lose friends.” I didn’t know what she meant, but I soon learned.
The Quiet Nights
The hardest part immediately after was the quiet nights. When everyone was asleep, but me. I cried and cried. Some nights I would cry myself to sleep. And some nights, I would wake myself up from crying in my sleep. My heart ached more than it ever had before.
Another hard part for me was how everyone kept on living while I suffered in silence. It’s hard to see the world keep going when you want the world to stop.
Some days I took each minute by minute. I knew if I could make it one more minute, then I would be okay. I would set my stopwatch and do something to focus on breathing. Count. Walk around the island—anything to make it to 1 minute. Eventually, I was able to make it to an hour. Then I could go for a day. The days eventually turned into months.
We learned after our follow-up doctor’s appointment, and there was nothing we could have done. Nothing I could have done differently. It wasn’t my fault. I had worried for weeks. Traced every step I had taken. What did I do wrong?
There was an empty spot in our hearts. A void that just couldn’t get filled. We talked it over with the doctor and got the okay after a certain time to try again.
Rainbow Baby
I found out right before Christmas I was pregnant. I told my husband on Christmas Eve. We cried, and we laughed. And I made him promise me that I couldn’t worry. That if God wanted us to have this baby, we would.
We were assigned right away to a high-risk doctor. I sometimes had appointments every week between my regular OBGYN and the high-risk doctor, which was fine with me. Between both doctors, we knew our baby was healthy.
Once again, I counted down, but this time it was the days until I would see the doctor again. So, I could see the heartbeat with my own two eyes.
At around 30 weeks, my blood pressure started creeping up, along with having protein in my urine (preeclampsia). The High-risk doctor told us that it was time to get me prepared to have this baby early. I got a steroid shot and was told I would probably be admitted to the hospital for bed rest at my next appointment.
Bed Rest at the Hospital
I made it to 34 weeks before I got admitted. Since the baby looked healthy and we had been preparing, I asked if I could go to my doctor’s hospital. She was by my side the entire time, and I wanted to be with someone that knew what we had been through.
My husband and I both promised him we would head to West Florida Hospital immediately since my blood pressure had crept up a little more. The high-risk doctor told us congratulations that we would be having a baby ASAP.
We left and went to West Florida Hospital. Where something miraculous happened. My blood pressure went down. For the first time in weeks, I was okay. My doctor talked to the high-risk doctors, and they both agreed I needed to stay in the hospital until delivery since my blood pressure had gone down. We bought more time to let our baby cook.
Two weeks later, at 36 weeks, it was time to deliver. Everything had gone perfect in those two weeks. On August 8th, 2018, we welcomed Dillyn Josephine, weighing in at a whopping 6 pounds and 15 ounces. For four weeks early, she looked amazingly healthy.
Delivery 4 Weeks Early
Just because a baby looks healthy doesn’t mean they are. The nurses and doctors and West Florida Hospital were Amazing. I had a calmness come over me. To see a child breathing and moving was better than the alternative. 
Within a few hours, she was transferred to Sacred Heart NICU by ambulance. ** I wasn’t sure if it was Studer children’s hospital at that time** we got to go back and see her immediately. The doctor came out and pulled us into a room to go over all her complications and plan of action.
I won’t go into detail on everything that was wrong with her. In those ten days, she was in NICU, a lot of other babies surrounded us. Some on their way out to the units that were less involved. Some that didn’t make it. We cried a lot. We prayed a lot for our daughter and for all the other babies there with her.
You learn to make do with your accommodations. Between our family and friends, we always had someone at the hospital with Dilly Jo. Friends and family would drive me, and I would stay all day or as long as my body would allow. Then my husband would come in the evenings.
Those ten days, we were never together as a family with our other children. That was heartbreaking in itself, but they were amazing.
The NICU told us how much skin to skin would help.
The first time we went skin to skin was the first time in 2 days that her breathing slowed down, and her stats became normal. The NICU nurse came over to make sure the leads were still on, and she just smiled “she knows you, mama. You are healing her”
At that point, we knew we had to make the NICU life work until we could bring our baby home. We were told to expect her there for a month. The Children’s hospital was the best place for her to be.
On day 10, a friend took me to the hospital; when the nurse saw me, she asked, “you ready for her to come home.” Of course, I was! She then said, “she gets to go home today.”
I started crying, then panic set in. My friend said, “Well, Call Mike and tell him.”
I picked up the phone and called him. This phone call was so different than the one I made in April 2017.
God Wink
Sometime during that crazy day, it hit me. On the same day, in August 2017, we were supposed to be bringing home Diem Grace. Yet there we were in August 2018 bringing home our rainbow baby; I like to think she played a part in our miracle baby getting to come home that day. The same day she should have been coming home in 2017. We call that a God Wink.
Sadly 1 to 5 of 100 pregnancies end with a second-trimester miscarriage, and Stillbirth affects about 1 in 100 pregnancies each year in the United States. That means for every 100 female friends you have or know they have suffered a stillbirth. It’s more common than you know.
Be a friend to someone that has suffered pregnancy loss. You don’t have to say a word to them; be there for them. Take them coffee, bring them a magazine, lunch to go maybe, drive them around town to get out of the house. I promise you they don’t expect much, and no, you won’t have the right words to say, but you will have the ears to listen to what they have to say because most mamas want to talk about their babies whether they are here on earth or in heaven. So, lend your ears and be that friend that stays around. It’s so worth it.
And to the mamas who have suffered loss, any loss, from a chemical pregnancy to a stillbirth, know that no matter what, it is a LOSS. It is going to hurt. It may not get better, but it will be more manageable.
If you ever need someone to listen, I’m here for you. Because sometimes that’s all we need. And if you are interested in more of our Stillbirth Story, you can read it [HERE].
