sharing your stories and remembering your children
By Rachelle Williams
We were ecstatic. We had been trying and scheduling and planning. Baby number three, our final baby and the missing piece in our family. We were screaming with excitement when the Dollar Store pregnancy test was positive, though I knew I was pregnant before I saw the lines.
Our love for this baby was huge and overwhelming. She was immediately included in conversations about the family and had a solid place in all of our lives, even though she was a tiny peanut growing in my womb. She was so very wanted and already a sister, granddaughter, and niece. I, being ridiculously Type A, was already thinking logistics, how to fit three car seats in the van, and when to find a midwife for my first visit. We were so happy.
I was super sick as usual, as I had been with both of my other pregnancies, and knew that everything was normal. I felt exactly the same. When I finally came out of the fog and started keeping down food around 11 weeks, I was so relieved. At 12 weeks, I had a dot of spotting and thought nothing of it, but as the day progressed it continued. I nervously cried to my husband, “I think I’m having a miscarriage. This is impossible.”
But then it started, the cramping, the contractions, the bleeding, and there was no denying it. It was So. Hard. It was labor, and hard, and messy. I was moaning through each contraction just like birth. It was a birth. Except I knew my baby was dead. I hovered over the toilet sobbing and moaning with my husband. My sister came. It was all fog. My body pushed. I panicked and flushed the toilet. I flushed my baby down the toilet. I was crying and the contractions kept coming and I pushed out a few more pieces of tissue before it finally ended.
I am a birth doula, and have helped many women through pregnancy and childbirth, but nothing prepared me for this. I sent a message to the only midwife in the area that I knew (we were new to the area and didn’t yet have a regular care provider) and realized I needed a rhogam shot because I’m RH negative. My husband has a positive blood type, while I’m negative. There was a chance that my body would see a positive blood typed fetus as a foreign body, and make antibodies against the baby. The rhogam shot would protect future pregnancies from harmful antibodies. She connected me with a midwife with hospital privileges in Jackson who could help.
My mom came. I was a mess. She was only 12 weeks old but she was ours, we were ready, she was our third.
I think I bled for around three or four weeks, and, to be honest, I didn’t want to stop bleeding because that meant she was really gone. We tried our best to explain it all to our other two children, but we were at a loss. After some time, we named her, and that helped, but like any death, grieving is messy and long and confusing.
I still cry sometimes, four years later, and it always catches me off guard with the intensity of my feelings. The older kids still talk about her by name every now and again, about the baby who died in mommy’s tummy. They still ask questions. We have since had two more children, twins, perfectly born just shy of a year after our loss. Our family is full, complete, and so crazy loud! I wear a slim band of rose gold on my right pinky with her name and birthdate engraved inside, and I know in some way she will always be remembered and loved.
July 4, 2015
Rachelle has four kids and is raising them along with milk cows, goats, and a barnyard full of mismatched chickens on a dirt road in Hillsdale County. Her passion is childbirth, and is a Doulas of North America birth doula, though she’s taken a break to stay at home with her children and support her husband, who is currently active duty Michigan Army National Guard.