A baby born still is still a beautiful baby

I've found that there aren't the perfect words for anyone who has a stillborn, and I decided to write my story so that I could try to explain the best I could my own feelings about having a stillborn. It's only been 6 days, but each day has brought a challenge and I am learning more about myself and celebrating holding my sweet Quinn for the time I was able to.

After having Quinn and getting feeling back in my legs (thank you epidural), our nurse, Katherine, asked if I would want to go to the surgery recover floor or the postpartum floor. She told me she would recommend going to the postpartum floor because they would give me better care, but I might hear some babies cry. I had already heard the baby's heartbeat in the room next to me, so I didn't think anything could be worse. They moved me to a wheelchair and we headed to postpartum, where when you entered it said, "welcome to motherhood!" I have two kids at home, but it seemed to sting a little because my baby wasn't in my arms like normal.

Katherine, gave me a little minky blanket on my way out, and said she had talked to a friend that told her the hardest part of her day was leaving the hospital without a baby. She thought I could at least have a blanket to hold when I left. My new nurse in postpartum was great, but I was handed a bunch of paperwork to go through and it wasn't really something I wanted to think about. One thing they kept pushing was choosing a mortuary. I wasn't ready to choose a mortuary, I wasn't planning on leaving the hospital without my baby. I wasn't planning on filling out a form for a death certificate instead of a birth certificate.

Brad and I tried to sleep the best we could for a little bit because we had been up all night. I think I may have gotten 1.5 hours of sleep while there, but as I was about to fall asleep I kept hearing the Dr tell me there was not heartbeat. I felt like I was in a nightmare and still do. I'm just waiting to wake up.

We were able to spend hours and hours holding our sweet Angel. She is so beautiful, and you couldn't help but rock her as your held her. The night shift nurses were great bringing her to me when asked, but once the shift changed and I had her brought to me during the day I broke down in tears when the Nurse House Supervisor brought her in and had covered her whole body with a blanket to hide her. I thought she was so beautiful, they could at least uncover her before they brought her in my room.

Later in the day some wonderful moms that volunteer for Share Parents of Utah came to visit with me and talk about the babies that they had lost. They let me talk with them, cry with them, and gave me information for monthly support meetings they have. They took Quinn and made mold impressions of her hands and feet so that I could always have them close to me. I told them how I was scared to tell my kids that their baby sister died and was now in heaven (thanks Brad for telling them). They gave me books for us to read together, and because of Covid they weren't able to visit so they helped me find special bears for Quinn to take pictures with that they can keep forever. I will be forever grateful for these women who volunteer, and for the photographer who volunteers to take pictures of angel babies.

(isn't she such a beautiful angel)

As I held her for one last time in the hospital, I cried and cried realizing she wasn't coming home with us. I had to leave my beautiful baby, who I had spent the last 38 weeks with dancing inside me. It didn't seem fair. I just keep reminding myself that someday we will all get to be together, and that she had a few great grandpas and family members welcoming her to heaven.

We called the nurse at 7:45 to let them know we were ready to go. I thought they would wheel me out in a wheelchair, that seems to be what normally happens after you have a baby... and I did just have a baby, she just wasn't coming home with me. But the nurse didn't come with a wheelchair, so I got out of bed and walked down the hall where everyone stared. I'm sure they tried to think of something to say. I read that only 1% of pregnancies end in still birth (which is after 20 weeks). Only 2.1/10,000 still births occur around 37-38 weeks. It didn't seem fair. And it didn't seem fair that I had to walk out of there, a nurse escorting us outside and awkwardly standing in the elevator with us, and no baby.

So if this happens to you, and I pray it doesn't... make sure you ask for a wheelchair, because hello... you did have a baby that morning, and having to walk out when I was crushed inside was one of the hardest things to do.