I’m starting this blog to hopefully help someone along their journey of stillbirth. And, in part, to help myself along my own journey of stillbirth. After the unexpected stillbirth of my son in October, I was lost. Hopeless. Angry. I frantically Googled “stillbirth blogs” and spent hours sobbing through others’ blogs. I still do. But during the days and weeks after his birth and death, the blogs gave me comfort.
Comfort in knowing that I’m truly not alone.
Comfort in seeing that people have gone through stillbirth and come out of it okay.
In the first weeks, I felt so alone. None of my close friends had gone through stillbirth (thankfully) and tried their best to comfort me, but no one comforted me best than those who’d been through it. There’s a bond you have with someone who has shared a similar situation with you, whether it’s bonding through a disease, an accomplishment, or death. I had about a dozen coworkers, friends of friends, or family of friends who came to me in the days after we lost Joshua telling me how the same thing happened to them.
I had a perfect pregnancy. Sure, I was sick in the beginning, but I loved it because I was pregnant. There’s nothing I wanted more in life than to be a mom. Since I was little, I knew that was my calling in life. A mother. A nurturer. Someone my babes could count on to love and support them.
I wouldn’t complain about any sickness or pain because pregnancy was truly the happiest I’ve ever been. People would ask me how I was feeling and I’d smile, “GREAT!” Because I was happy, I was great! Then my husband would look at me and tell people the truth, “you throw up every morning!” Every kick, every hiccup was a warm welcome to the fact that I was growing my own child. I could not wait until my little munchkin was in my arms.
The night before I was to be induced (one week after my due date), we went to the hospital in labor. 6 cm when we arrived. The doctors told me I had about one hour per centimeter to go, so I geared up for another 4 hours of pain. Then came the pushing. I pushed for another 4 hours and at 5:38 AM my baby was born. “It’s a BOY!!” I’ll never forget that. We didn’t find out the gender. I was in a fog. So happy the pushing was over, so happy the baby was here. Then the baby nurses were calling the respiratory unit and trying to get his heart to start up again. What was going on? This wasn’t happening. I prayed and prayed. “God, bring him back. God, please give the doctors the knowledge what to do. God, please give us a miracle.” After a half hour, the head nurse came to my side and told me, “there’s nothing more we can do, I’m so sorry”.
Somewhere between the last push and the outside world, our baby died. Born into God’s arms instead of mine. All in one day, I was the happiest and saddest of my life. Looking at my baby made me so incredibly happy! Joshua was mine, I made him. He was perfect. A perfect combination of my husband and myself. And knowing he was gone made my world fall apart. Knowing I had to leave him at the hospital instead of taking him home. Knowing I was only holding his body instead of his whole self.
Our firstborn. Our son. The babe I only got to know inside of me for 41 weeks. The perfect child whom I will meet again someday in Heaven. Mommy loves you!