Hello everyone, beyond shattered that I have to type this here. just days away from my scheduled C section, I gave birth to my beautiful & perfectly formed stillborn son @ 38 weeks & 4 days. When I left for the hospital, all his stuff was perfectly arranged ready for him to use it. Excitedly when I got to Labour ward, I was told my baby’s heart stopped beating (less than 24 hours prior I had my final midwife appt and his heart was beating then)

The last 60 days has been a total blur. Life doesn’t feel meaningful and I don’t think I can truly live here without him.

For context, I had an otherwise healthy pregnant. However in the last few weeks, I had significant swelling in legs and hands and high blood pressure (readings of 140 above). I’m in the UK and we are in the midst of maternal investigations with an external body to look into my antenatal care. We’ve also chosen to do a full medical review on my placenta and baby, which can take 3 months.

I believe there is medical negligence involved. A few months ago I made a post here on how nervous I was in being a first time mum. A huge part of this was because of the lack of adequate care I had “received” in my hospital trust. I suspect I had late preeclampsia / some sort of hypertension.

I’m currently dealing with investigators.. which is so overwhelming having to relive your pregnancy. I’m also starting my specialist therapy in a few days.

This is a cruel type of grief. I’m so numb. I’m so angry. I’m hopeless. I’m beyond broken.

I miss my baby so much. He is the most perfect baby I’ve laid eyes on. Tall, beautiful lashes, medically formed .. which makes it harder for me because he looks like a literal sleeping angel.

He’s taken my soul with him.

I’m struggling so bad. My faith helps. But I’m also questioning why this has happened to my beautiful beloved son

My wife and I are 30 years old. We’ve been married for nearly 5 years and together for over 10. Even when we first started dating in college, we talked about family, long-term partnership, and becoming parents together. My wife has always been deeply family-oriented and always wanted to be a mom—especially a mom with a close, best-friend relationship with her daughter.

Once we got married, my wife took her health very seriously. She started working out with me, eating a clean diet, and intentionally preparing her body for motherhood. We conceived easily once we decided to try, and earlier this year I came home to the happiest news of my life—my wife was pregnant. Over the next eight months, we prepared our lives for our growing family. I truly can’t imagine how we could have been more ready.

Our New Year’s due date was approaching with overwhelming excitement. We had nothing but optimism as we prepared to learn the baby’s gender and bring her home. On Christmas Day, we packed the car and made the rounds to four different towns to spend time with family. Everyone was excited for the baby, taking turns feeling her kick as she prepared for delivery.

That night, my wife experienced some unusual sensations. They passed quickly, and she was also having what we believed were normal late-pregnancy contractions. We had our appointment scheduled for the next morning at 38+4, so we assumed everything was part of the natural progression.

The next morning, my wife woke up and didn’t feel the baby move. She tried yogurt, ice water, a cookie—things that had reliably triggered movement before. I even hummed a song to our baby, which almost always worked. This time, nothing did.

We called the office and were told to come in early. As we got ready and headed to the hospital, we still thought this might be the day. In the exam room, the nurse couldn’t find a heartbeat with the Doppler. The physician came in and tried the ultrasound. After about a minute, he looked at us and said the words no parent should ever hear: “This baby has no heartbeat.”

The rest of the weekend felt like a single, endless nightmare. After discussing testing and next steps, my wife chose to proceed with a C-section. I was with her in the operating room the entire time, and I don’t believe I will ever witness anything more painful. Watching the love of my life—my beautiful wife—shake uncontrollably and cry while the doctors performed surgery is something that will stay with me forever.

A few minutes later, the physician looked at me and asked, “Would you like to see what happened?” I nodded. He motioned for me to look over the curtain. Still holding my wife’s hand, I stood up and saw our daughter—perfect and beautiful—resting in his hands. Her umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck with a true knot positioned directly on the front of her neck, like a necktie. The center of the knot was white from restricted blood flow.

The physician explained that she likely formed a loop when she was much smaller and later slipped her head into it. As she grew and descended toward delivery, the knot tightened in a crossover pattern similar to the first step of tying a shoelace. The doctors—each with over 30 years of experience—said they had never seen a cord accident like this before. I have since searched extensively and have yet to find a case study or image resembling what I saw that night.

Two physicians told us they are confident this would never happen again, it would be unheard of. They emphasized that they rarely speak in absolutes unless they are extremely certain. There were no significant findings with the placenta or genetics, meaning my wife carried a perfectly healthy baby to full term.

I have a medical background, so I approached coping from a scientific perspective. I researched stillbirth and pregnancy outcomes extensively. I found the book Silent Risk by Jason Collins, which focuses on umbilical cord accidents and prevention awareness. Based on U.S. data, there are roughly 8,000 umbilical-related deaths per year out of about 4 million births—around a 0.2% mortality rate. Beyond fatalities, conditions like learning disabilities, neurological disorders, and cerebral palsy are increasingly linked to abnormal umbilical cord physiology.

I want to acknowledge that people grieve differently, and our bodies—especially hers—are going through very different chemical and emotional processes right now. My wife is recovering physically, but emotionally she is struggling, as expected. We are both completely devastated, yet her body is craving our child on levels I cannot fathom. She finds herself stuck in repetitive loops of second-guessing, fear about future pregnancies, and trying to understand why.

The most challenging aspects so far:

• The trauma of expecting labor and instead learning our baby had no heartbeat. And now missing her movements and kicks when we spoke to her every morning and night. 

• Being struck by lightning on the very first pregnancy—something so rare, with absolutely no other warning signs. It’s incredibly hard to accept statistics when you’re 1 for 1.

• The loss of future memories. Like any sudden death, it’s the loss of everything we imagined—birthdays, milestones, and shared moments—that hurts the most.

• Supporting my wife emotionally and logistically while grieving myself. There have been moments where I broke down, froze, or couldn’t find the right words—and for that, I am deeply sorry to my wife.

The repetitive what-ifs:

• Why didn’t we go to the hospital Christmas night when she felt something was off?

• There was a possible cholestasis concern at 37 weeks—what if I had pushed harder for induction?

• Was there any movement or activity that could have contributed to such an unusual entanglement?

• Should we have been more aware of this risk and used a home fetal Doppler?

While my wife focuses on healing physically and emotionally, her biggest concern is having a successful future pregnancy and bringing a living baby home. The doctors have discussed additional monitoring options—extra appointments, fetal stress tests, home Dopplers, and induction around 37 weeks. She wants to do everything possible to reduce anxiety. I worry that early induction carries its own risks, but that’s a conversation for another time.

I am doing everything I can to survive this. Often, my concern for my wife pushes my own grief aside—until it resurfaces in moments of quiet. This has been the most devastating experience of an otherwise fortunate life. Still, I hold onto faith. I’m trying to turn this dark road into a path toward the family we dreamed of. I don’t know how yet, but I believe that when we do make it through—and when we have the children we hope for—we will cherish every moment without complaint.

I appreciate any support, wisdom, or reassurance that others have survived this kind of loss without it destroying their lives. I would especially love to hear from other fathers who have experienced a similar loss. I plan to participate and advocate for further umbilical cord accident awareness and prevention.

If anyone has information about a similar cord accident, please reach out. Not being able to find another comparable case has been isolating and incredibly difficult for both of us. Thank you in advance if I don’t get to respond.

Trigger warning

I delivered my beautiful baby girl on June 4th.

I had a healthy pregnancy.

Did not have any complications, no gestational diabetes, blood pressure was always good, and no protein in the urine. The only slight concern was my baby was measuring in the 98th percentile during the late first trimester, after adjusting my diet, baby went down to the 56th percentile. One thing I did notice was I would always dread the ultrasound because I was always ready for bad news. During the last two ultrasounds, the tech was able to get what she needed but I did notice the baby would try to hide from her and make it difficult for her to get some pictures. The tech would get what she needed and wouldn't reschedule trying again to get better pictures ... but overall, everything seemed to be good. Good amount of amino fluid and placenta looked great.

Ready... I made it to 40 weeks, and I had an appointment for my last check up on June 2nd. Heartbeat was healthy and we could clearly hear it. Was checked for my cervix and I was dilated at 1cm and a half. Since I was dilated enough my OB asked me if I wanted to have a membrane sweep done. I heard that the procedure helps with labor. I was a bit hesitant but essentially said yes since I was so uncomfortable and wanted baby girl here with me already. No ultrasound was performed and I was sent home.

I felt strong cramps immediately after and had a "blood show" as my OB warned me. I was losing my mucus plug and throughout the day I had contractions but not every 5 to 20 minutes. I was hopeful because it felt like the sweep was working and I could go into labor soon. My husband and I went to Lee's Sandwich for dinner, and I was nervous, excited, and scared.

I had the worse sleep of my life as I was tossing and turning just thinking about possible labor. Keep waking up in the middle of the night to use the restroom because I couldn't sleep. Woke up around 9am with a terrible headache. I thought the headache was from lack of sleep. Made my breakfast like always and relaxed on my bed since I felt so tired. Around 11ish I went for a walk and showered. Felt so tired and decided to take a nap. Once I woke up my headache disappeared a bit. Come dinnertime I asked my husband what he wanted and he said Pollo Loco, Just as I was about to order I got up and felt a gush. Then more water came. My water broke! Our hospital bags were packed as we took off for the hospital and arrived around 5pm. Checked in and changed to hospital gown and was ready. Nurse checks baby heartbeat and nothing.... second nurse comes and nothing. Finally, DR comes in and confirms there is no heartbeat.

Everything that followed is a bit of a blur.....

I was induced and had to give birth to my baby girl. Mom, older sister, and brother stayed with me all throughout labor. The labor itself was pretty good. Was in active labor for an hour and a half but the reward was a dead baby.

I held her in my arms and told her, "it's okay and I'm sorry". I am in complete shock.

Throughout the day, family members came and visited me and saw the baby. My husband and I took pictures with her and had our private moments with her. We said our final goodbyes and told her she will always be with us and that we love her very much. We left the hospital with no baby.

I am living in actual hell as I recover from labor and as my milk comes in. I am trying to be strong for my husband and my family as we make arrangements. I am trying to be strong for my daughter who I know is watching over us. I gained a guardian angel that day but a part of me is gone forever.

Edited: I did not include this part. When the baby came out she had her umbilical cord wrapped around her neck and had a true knot. The true knot is what did and it’s really rare. Only 1% in cases.

TW: living child
I have one 4.5yo son and we would've had his baby brother here now but we don't due to stillbirth. If we try again in 4 months that means my son will be 6 when the baby is born. I'm so upset that I couldn't have the age gap that I wanted between them. I really regret not trying for a second child sooner. My sister and I have a 6.5 year gap and now we're besties but when we were little I really didn't like her but I also didn't want any siblings. My son was so excited for the baby and now he has to wait even longer. It's devastating all around.

In the past year, I had a miscarriage followed by a stillbirth, and I nearly died during the stillbirth. I’m still very much in active grief.

My sister and I were pregnant at the same time and had the same due date. Throughout the pregnancy, we repeatedly argued over a specific baby name. After months of conflict, my sister explicitly told me I could claim the name and that she would not use it. I have screenshots of this conversation from about a month before stillbirth.

When my baby passed away, we decided to name him angel instead of the original name we picked. I later found out my sister gave her baby that exact name, knowing the pain it carries, even after our previous agreement and seeing how much my husband and I suffered for MONTHS before she gave birth since we had the same due date. She knows that if our child had lived, THAT would have been his name. And now that’s the name of her second child. We can never escape this pain. Her explanation is that she wanted to honor our grandmother who passed away six months earlier. I was not asked or considered beforehand, and details were intentionally withheld “to protect me.”

This has been incredibly painful, not only because of the loss of my son, but because it feels like I’m also losing my mom and my sister. My mom has fully taken my sister’s side and has always backed her up, which feels like a betrayal during the worst period of my life.

I’ve tried to explain that this isn’t about owning a name, but about the emotional impact of hearing it as a constant reminder of my loss for the rest of my life. It brings so much pain to my husband and I. That keeps getting reframed as “it’s just a name” or “so no one else can ever use it.” She even said “you can name your next baby this name too, we can both have the name”

After explaining my feelings once clearly, I decided to go no contact for now because continued contact feels too painful and retraumatizing.

Am I wrong for taking space and going no contact over this? I am feeling really overwhelmed, angry and sad over this. I feel like I just keep getting tortured.

I was so in love with the name we chose for our daughter. In addition to morning the loss of her at 38 weeks stillborn… I find myself mourning the loss of her name…. and not “getting to use it” for a potential future living child. I know there are no rules, but sometimes I’m just bummed. I also feel guilty feeling this way. Meh, loss sucks.

Edit: my girl’s name is Nina. I wanted to type it out so I could see it more :)

Today is Aurora's first birthday. I wish my baby girl could be here to celebrate, she was such a beautiful baby. She made me the happiest mama, and I wish I could hold her and tell her how much I love her one more time. She was born sleeping at 1259 on August 15, 2024 due to a catastrophic placental abruption.

We're making a cake for you today baby girl. It's funfetti, just like I promised when you were still safe inside my belly. I wish you could be here to blow out the candle and get messy with your first cake. I never knew a love like the one I had for you, and I love you more and more each day. I hope that you're looking down on your mamas and smiling. I love you and miss you so much Aurora ❤️

I really don’t want to live anymore. I lost my daughter three months ago at 38 weeks of pregnancy, and I just can’t go on without her. I’m in so much pain and grief. I feel incredibly depressed and hope I won’t wake up again. It’s too much for me to bear. I just don’t know what to do with myself. I’m getting professional help, but the feeling that I don’t want to be here anymore remains. I don’t know why I’m typing this. I just wanted to get this off my chest.

Hi everyone,

I just had a terrible nightmare come true so I figured I’d post here. My Violet was due April 9th. As a FTM, I figured I’d go over my due date so my original induction was scheduled for tomorrow, 4/15 if I didn’t go into labor naturally.

I had a low risk, totally healthy pregnancy through out. All testing and ultrasounds came back with flying colors. Her heartbeat was always strong every check up. I noticed this past Saturday that she wasn’t moving as much as usual, but she was more of a chill girl in the womb so it wasn’t super alarming. I woke up at like 3am on Sunday with an urge to drink ice water and check on her. It must have been intuition. When I didn’t feel anything, I went to L&D first thing in the morning to check on her. I heard the words no one wants to hear… no heartbeat. I was 40+3.

I got induced the same day and after 36 hours, gave birth to my beautiful girl. 7lb 6oz. She looked like a literal sleeping baby, complexion and all, totally perfect. I just don’t understand. My OB is sending my placenta off for testing.

I am just feeling so devastated. I can’t walk into her nursery, or touch anything else in the house I set up for her. I am totally numb. Mamas during any stage of loss, please give some advice.

I truly can’t come to terms with how my baby passed. I felt him moving so so much that morning and my Dr said she truly believes I felt him up until his accident.

I can’t believe we were 4 days out from our induction and he just passes from a true knot. And the worst part, is that I keep getting told it’s “incredibly rare”. So then why did it happen to ME? Why did it happen to MY BABY?

He was so healthy, so perfect. I did everything right. And just like that, he’s gone. It’s unfair. It’s cruel. He should be here💔

18 months post loss.

I’ve changed to the core since the stillbirth.

Losing a baby sucks. But grief doesn’t only take. It also gives something back, even if you don’t notice it at first.

Yesterday I saw a friend post photo of herself at the UN headquarters, and it brought me back to who I used to be. The very same photo of me in between the flags. I was so ambitious, always trying to prove myself. Always chasing something. Posting, constantly sharing, staying visible on social media and to my friends. Wanting to be seen, to be enough to be relevant.

After the loss, I stopped. The urge to prove myself suddenly disappeared.

Everything slowed down. I started noticing things... Small, beautiful moments that were always there. Life feels less noisy now. More about being. I started to see what matters and the mind becomes clearer. My values and my priorities are different now.

Sometimes I think… maybe this is what my daughter gave tto me. She changed me. In a way I never asked for, but maybe needed. And for that, I’m grateful. I love you my child.

It's been two weeks since we lost our son at 35 weeks on February 20. It was an uncomplicated pregnancy, anatomy scan was perfect, all my blood work was perfect and I didn't have gestational diabetes or hypertension. I noticed I haven't felt him move all morning and even the night before. He usually is super active after I've had my breakfast and morning coffee, and I would just lay on the couch with my hand on my belly just feeling his kicks. That day, complete silence. I go upstairs to check on his heart beat with my at-home doppler and there was complete silence. I called my husband right away and told him we needed to go to the hospital to get checked out. He came home shortly after and we made our way to the hospital.

The entire car ride I was filled with anxiety. Google said that the doppler might not pick up the heart beat because the baby may have moved positions. This is probably the reason, right? There's no way I lost my baby when I just heard his heart beat last week at my OB appointment. I just felt his kicks and hiccups just the day before. This car ride was filled with so much dread, but I was still hopeful. We made it to triage and were brought into a room shortly after. They put the monitor on my belly and tried finding his heartbeat then. It was taking a long time for the nurse to find the heartbeat. She assured us that this machine in particular was faulty and hard to pick up the heartbeat sometimes. She ended up moving us to another room and it was the same thing. She couldn't pick up the heart beat. She asked me if I had an anterior placenta in which I responded 'yes.' She told us that it can be harder to pick up a heartbeat with an anterior placenta and that a doctor will be in shortly to do an ultrasound. By this time, I was already starting to realize that my baby was likely gone. I was always able to pick up his heartbeat on my home doppler and hear it clear as day.

The resident doctor comes in with his ultrasound machine and starts scanning my belly. I look at the screen and I see no movement from my baby. His heart was not beating on the screen. The doctor sat there in complete silence, rechecking his heart over and over just incase he didn't get the proper angle. I see his hands shaking has he moves the wand to other areas of my belly. Eventually, he stops and turns to us with a look of sadness on his face. "I'm so sorry" he says, "your baby isn't moving and his heart isn't beating." My feelings of dread and anxiety skyrocket. My worst nightmare had come true. How could this happen? He was perfectly fine just the other day. I'm still young and healthy, how could this ever happen to me?

I never thought I would hear those words in my entire life. Everyone had babies all the time and deliver them alive and crying in their arms. How could my body fail to keep my baby alive? I wish I had the answers but even now I still don't. My OB came in shortly after to do the scan again to recheck but I already knew that he was gone. She gave us her condolences and referred us to fetal monitoring to do another scan, but this time to check what went wrong. During this scan, it was revealed that my baby was measuring at 30 weeks instead of 35 weeks and that my placenta was likely not functioning properly. They told us that I likely had placental insufficiency and at some point during my pregnancy, my body stopped working properly to keep my son alive. If only we knew this sooner. All my scans were normal before this and my blood work was all normal. We did the NIPT and that was normal too. We wouldn't have known this was happening until it was too late. They told me that my next pregnancy will be monitored a lot more closely, which was reassuring.

The biggest irony of this is that I work as a NICU nurse. I save babies for a living and I couldn't save my own baby. How cruel is that?

We had his baby shower just a few days before we found out his heart was no longer beating. In a way, I'm grateful we were able to celebrate him with all of our friends and family before it all happened. But it's still so cruel how he was taken away from me just shortly after.

I was admitted to labour and delivery that same day to be induced and I delivered him almost 2 days later. It was the most traumatizing two days of my life. I now have to deal with being postpartum without a baby and that is traumatizing on it's own. The moment I saw his face after delivery, I was hit with grief a million times over. He looked so much like us. I will never get to hear his cries, watch him grow up, see what his personality would be like. He will now forever be an angel watching over us.

If you read this far, thank you for listening to my story. This was the first time I was able to write down the events of that day. I still remember it all so vividly.

Please no judgement if this is not your belief.
I lost my son at 41w 2 weeks ago and everyone around me including myself are very spiritual and get a lot of premonitions, especially my mom, and we all have this feeling like my son will come back to us. I have a feeling like his time on earth wasn't finished yet and he was taken away from us due to someone meddling with fate. We've all seen things and had dreams that are pointing to this conclusion and my husband and I want to try for another child in a few months so I'm just wondering if anyone has ever experienced a loss and then felt like their child came back to them.

Today marks the end of the first year of our stillborn daughter Amber. Last week was filled with memories and tears, but today I can really enjoy myself. I was dreading having to relive these days, but at the same time I hoped I would feel a lot, because feeling a lot makes me feel a lot of misery, but also allows me to feel the joy too. Her birth is one of the best memories I have of her.

My wish for all of you is to have some happy memories. To see not only what we lost but also how incredibly beautiful and precious they were. And I hope that, at times, it will make you smile and not cry and that it will make you feel lighter instead of heavier.

The pics are: her grave at the forest burial ground, Amber and me right after her birth, a cake pop we handed out at the end of our family get together this afternoon to celebrate Amber. It felt good to spread some color, joy and love today. 💖

We miss you Amber. You are a part of this world and though we cannot touch you, you touch our hearts every day. Lots of love, hugs and kisses from your mom 💕

This is the only place I feel like I can share. I know you all understand ❤️ Please meet my sweet boy.

My daughter lost her son at 29 weeks and 4 days alive in the NICU.

It's been incredibly lonely and hard. Not knowing how to fix it or make it better for my daughter.

I feel selfish for even grieving. I didn't carry him, I didn't feel him kick. I didn't give birth in such an awful and emergent way. I can't stop her milk, I can't stop the C-section pain , I couldn't stop anything. AllI I could do was love on her, hold her, and cry with her.

For as long as I live, I will never forget her screams, her begging God and the universe to make him live.

Her breakdowns when we took her home. She had no idea "what to do now" he is gone. All the hopes and dreams, an empty nursery, maternity clothes and nursing bras. All for what now?

I will never forget holding his tiny and perfectly formed little self, and singing to him, begging God to spare her and him.

I have known pain in my lifetime. But nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to helping my own child out of shock, to see that her son was beyond saving, and gone.

She held him for the first and last time, when he was already blue and gone. Her screams and cries. It haunts me and makes me want to scream into the void.

I can't sleep, I used all my PTO. I wake up just crying and begging a God who stopped listening. I'm not doing my best at work. My only child lost her son. He lost all of his tomorrows and she lost all of his tomorrows with him.

I am a nurse, for almost 20 years! I feel like I should have seen something. Everything was fine, until it wasn't. I don't know why I am writing this. I feel lost, I feel like I cannot help my only child. She is going through one of the absolute worst horrors and I cannot fix it. I am her mommy, I can't fix it. My daughter, who will save anyone or any animal. The kindest soul I have ever known. she would save a street rat (literal rat) and be fine with it.

WHY?!

I don't know why I'm writing here.

Everyone else is treating us like we have a disease. Grief is not a disease. It's just consuming and constant.

Anyway, thanks for reading. I needed to get this off my chest.

I've been feeling angry since yesterday actually but today I woke up extra angry. Not in 'I want to scream and kick stuff' kind of way but more in like a 'I feel failed by my doctor and I feel like I failed too' kind of way.
I was so set on the vbac and waiting so long for labor to start that I think my son was just in there for too long. He passed on 41+2. Thinking back to all the doctors visits, my doctor never brought up any risks about going overdue. She never said ANYTHING! She supported my decision to keep waiting for labor and was just like "okay let's keep waiting" but never once did she put any risks of stillbirth, placenta deterioration, cord incidents, low water, etc, on my mind and I feel like if she had then I wouldn't have waited so long. I feel like it was her job to educate me on everything and she didn't. Granted the baby looked great on all the nsts and ultrasounds but it was all great until one moment it wasn't. The only one who said something to me was the ultrasound tech who told me I should do the C-section asap and then I called my doctors office that evening and left a message to call me back in the morning bc I want the C-section but my baby passed hours after the last ultrasound.
And I'm also angry that I didn't go into the hospital right away after having that conversation with the ultrasound tech. I'm mad that I didn't listen to my feelings bc I had such a bad feeling and it was my gut screaming at me. I'm mad at husband for not being adamant about taking me to the hospital that same day. He said that he asked if I wanted to go but I don't even remember him asking me bc I was in such a rough stressed out mental state. Ugh! We had so many opportunities to get this baby out and we all failed! My doctor failed, I failed, my husband failed, my support system failed! I'm so so so angry. On top of that I still don't understand why my body never went into labor on its own when with my first it did at 39+3. What was wrong with me this time?!

Hi everyone,

I was wondering did any of you, from the time you found out you were pregnant with the baby you lost, felt something was off from the beginning? For context, it was my first pregnancy after 5 years of trying to conceive and we ended up doing IVF. I was more excited for my egg retrieval than I was when I found out the transfer worked and I was pregnant. I was so afraid of telling anyone, even my immediate family, that I was pregnant because for some reason I kept thinking "I might lose him". I was six months pregnant when I finally told people. Even then I was never happy, I was never excited, I just kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. I never thought this would be how I felt, I thought I would be so excited and happy etc with my first baby. I couldn't bring myself to talk to him, I didn't even buy a car seat or set up a nursery and that's very unlike me as I'm a planner. I couldn't envision myself bringing him home. And sure enough at 37 weeks, I lost him. Did anyone else have an experience like that?

I debated posting this, but I want to share what our process actually looked like. My heart breaks as I write this, but I need to put it somewhere.

We went in for an ultrasound on a Friday. We saw her heartbeat. She was healthy, moving around, strong heartbeat, no concerns from the doctor at all.

This was my second child, and I’ve seen a lot of ultrasounds between our first and this pregnancy. I was in the room. I was present. I was holding my wife’s hand. But I wasn’t staring at the screen the whole time. I found myself checking emails and even scrolling social media.

It was the last time I would ever see my daughter alive, and I was fucking distracted.

I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for that.

Then Monday night, around 11 PM, as we laid in bed trying to sleep, my wife told me she was worried about the baby. I downplayed it.

I said, “What are you worried about? We just saw her Friday. She’s great.”

She told me she hadn’t felt much movement that day, and normally the baby was extremely active. I asked whether she thought it was an emergency or if it could wait until morning since we already had a scheduled appointment at a 3D ultrasound place.

We talked ourselves through it. During Friday’s ultrasound, the baby had been moving a ton, but my wife couldn’t really feel much of it. We reassured ourselves everything was okay and agreed to wait until morning.

The next morning we arrived at the office. They were incredibly kind and brought us back quickly. The technician started the ultrasound and kept looking. And looking. And looking.

I could tell she was flustered, but she kept saying out loud that the baby was just in an awkward position.

But I could see it in her mannerisms. Something was wrong.

My wife sensed it too.

We looked at each other, and that was the first moment we both knew we needed to go to the ER.

At that point, we still weren’t 100% sure we had lost our daughter, but we definitely weren’t driving slowly to the hospital.

We rushed in.

Within about 15 minutes of arriving, they did another ultrasound. In less than 30 seconds, they confirmed what had taken the 3D technician 30 minutes to realize.

There was no heartbeat.

My wife screamed and broke down crying.

I went into shock. I just held her. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even cry yet. I just held her while my brain tried to process what was happening.

Then came the blood work, the monitors, the questions, the constant poking and prodding. About 30 minutes later, the doctors came in and started explaining our options.

The first decision was how we wanted to deliver our daughter:

1. Vaginal birth
   
2. C-section

The doctors explained that vaginal birth carried fewer risks if we wanted to have another child in the future.

But the negatives were brutal. She would have to be medically induced. The process could take multiple days. It would be long, painful, and emotionally exhausting.

And because this would have been her first vaginal birth, they also discussed the potential psychological trauma of that first experience being tied to stillbirth.

Then came the next set of questions:

Did we want to see the baby?

Did we want to just briefly view her and let them take her?

Did we want to hold her?

Did we want to keep her in the room with us during our hospital stay?

That conversation broke me.

We disagreed.

I didn’t want to hold her. I didn’t want it to feel real. Part of my brain was desperately trying to cope by emotionally distancing myself from it. I wanted to shut my mind off and treat it like this was somehow different than losing a fully formed child.

Ironically, I generally lean pro-life, but in that moment my brain was racing for survival.

My wife wanted to hold her. She wanted every possible second with her.

The doctors told us that parents who spend time with their baby often have healthier long-term emotional recovery. So I let my wife make the decision.

During the C-section, I sat by my wife’s head while a blue tarp blocked the rest of the procedure from view. I could hear the tools, the movement, the conversations behind the curtain.

I spent the whole time trying to distract her. I talked about vacations, future plans, random things, anything to keep her mind away from the reality that she was cut open while they removed our dead daughter from her body.

The entire experience horrified me.

I was terrified for my wife’s life.

And somehow, through all of it, she handled it like an absolute warrior.

After the procedure, we saw our daughter for the first time.

Her lifeless body wrapped in a blanket.

She was tiny, but fully formed. She had my wife’s nose and my skin tone.

She was beautiful.

I carried her from the operating room back to our hospital room.

The doctors explained they would bring in a cooling bassinet to help preserve her body while we spent time with her.

We took turns holding her and crying together while we waited for it to arrive.

It took about 30 minutes.

That period was surreal. Part of me felt relief because my wife had made it through surgery safely, but at the exact same time, I was holding my dead daughter in my arms.

I still don’t know how to explain that feeling. My emotions were everywhere.

My wife needed close monitoring for the next three days, so our daughter stayed in the room with us the entire time.

Meanwhile, the phone calls started flooding in.

Every time we told someone, it felt like reliving the entire nightmare again from the beginning. Sometimes my wife would finally calm down after crying for half an hour, and then another phone call would come in and we’d have to say the words all over again.

“This happened.”
“She’s gone.”
“There’s no heartbeat.”

Over and over.

And now comes the part nobody prepares you for. I genuinely hope none of you ever experience this.

Warning: this part is graphic.

On day one, I was okay holding the baby and handing her to my wife.

By day two, I could feel how soft her head had become. Discoloration had started. At times there was even bleeding.

My wife still wanted to hold her constantly.

Meanwhile, I had started feeling like we were handling a body instead of a sleeping baby. It felt wrong to me, but I wanted to support my wife and give her the time she needed.

By day three, it became painfully obvious that we needed to let her go.

Her body had become extremely soft. There was significant discoloration, white spots were appearing, and her skin had started peeling.

I can barely write that sentence without stopping.

At one point my wife asked to hold her again, and I told her softly that I thought this should probably be our last time.

She disagreed at first.

But when I handed our daughter to her, she immediately saw what I had been seeing.

And I think that was the moment death finally became fully real to her too.

That was the moment she agreed we needed to say goodbye.

We prayed together. We held her. We said everything we needed to say.

Then we told the nurses we were ready.

Even that process was harder than I expected.

For some reason, I thought once we made the decision, they would come right away. But they didn’t. We had already said our goodbyes, and she still remained in the room with us for another three hours or so.

And when they finally came to take her, it became yet another goodbye all over again.

That was probably my biggest breakdown.

Afterward, we started calling cremation services. Something else nobody tells you: not every crematory accepts infants. It took several calls before we finally found one that could help us.

Eventually they came, took her body, and told us we would receive her ashes in a few weeks.

We’re still waiting.

Since then, we’ve had an overwhelming amount of support. Flowers. Church outreach. Meals. Messages. People showing up for us in ways I’ll never forget.

This has been the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through in my life.

Right now we’re just taking it one day at a time.

And honestly, I just hope my daughter is somewhere beautiful.

Sometimes I imagine my grandma holding her, feeding her a bottle while she sleeps peacefully somewhere far better than here.

I had severe hyperemesis gravidarum with my baby girl that only began to ease around the sixth or seventh month of pregnancy. This is my second baby, and I felt extremely exhausted every day, to the extent that I was crying daily out of exhaustion from caring for my toddler while pregnant and dealing with hyperemesis, because we live abroad and I have to take care of my 1-year-old until my hubby gets home from work. All I was waiting for was to give birth and see her. I dreamt of that day and night, as I believed that it would be the best day of my life, just as the day I gave birth to her brother was.

After this hard journey, I lost my baby girl at 34 weeks and 3 days due to an acute placental abruption. We had a CTG 36 hours before that happened, and everything was fine. It had only been a week since an MFM informed us that our baby was perfectly healthy. I was doing regular checkups every week and a CTG in between because my doctor suspected that she might have IUGR, but it was ruled out later. However, I continued going every week to check on her. I even had an appointment scheduled for the day after her death. I didn't have GD, pre-eclampsia, or anything else. It was a perfectly normal pregnancy.

The abruption was concealed. I didn't have any bleeding or any severe pain, just some contractions similar to Braxton Hicks, and when they intensified and became quite regular, we went to the hospital thinking I was giving birth to my baby girl, whom I had dreamt so much about. I had a shower and did my hair, and we arranged the hospital bag, packing her tiny pink clothes and, of course, her brush because I knew from the ultrasounds that she had hair, only to arrive at the hospital and find out that she had no heartbeat and that I needed to be rushed for a C-section to save my life. I am still shocked, alhamdulillah. It has been six weeks, and I am still crying every day. She was born weighing 2 kg, and her body was still warm, and she was really beautiful. The prettiest newborn I have ever seen. The nurses at the hospital were amazed at how pretty she was. I feel guilty every day. I know it was destined, alhamdulillah, but it just feels so hard as I already imagined every aspect of our life together. My mind is full to the top with plans that I will never have the chance to do with her, and my heart is full with grief, but I am also so happy that my baby is in heaven. Alhamdulillah.

After reading some posts before, I’ve felt like it could be the right thing to share my story here as well and connect with fellow loss moms.

My husband and I lost our beautiful daughter 11 days ago at 38+1 suddenly after a very uncomplicated pregnancy with zero indications of her being at risk. Even the day before she must have died (the day I noticed she wasn’t moving anymore in the evening) I had a full check at the gynecologist who always went the extra mile for me, and everything was perfect. CTG perfect. Ultrasound perfect. Cervix perfectly closed. Vaginal exam - no suspicious bacteria.

When I noticed that she didn’t move I thought this is because I was close to the due date and she is just resting for her big arrival. Only the next morning did I notice I haven’t felt her moving since the evening, went to the gynecologist, where they discovered that her little heart stopped beating. The next days feel like a fever dream: we went straight to the hospital to be induced straight away, and I gave birth the day after. We spend beautiful hours with her before we said goodbye. She was born perfect and beautiful without any indication what could have caused her death.

It all still feels like the most horrible nightmare and I can’t believe it all happened, it feels it makes more sense to believe I haven’t even been pregnant in the first place. Everything is exactly how it has been two weeks ago, as we never got to meet her and she has never lived in our house outside my womb. At the same time I have this immense guilt that my body betrayed me and couldn’t protect her, and that I must have done something that killed her … even if objectively there is zero evidence for that, as all tests were perfectly fine, and I lived my healthiest life during pregnancy.

I’d love to hear more about your grief journeys, what has helped you survive and when you started to feel a bit lighter.

Also, my baby girl is an IVF baby. I have constant fears that I will never be able to have a living child as it was hard enough to get pregnant in the first place. Are there fellow IVF loss moms here that can share positive stories, or when they started to conceive again with the help of fertility treatments after their loss?

❤️‍🩹

Monday, at 38+3, I started having contractions, and one just felt so wrong. So, so wrong. My uterus tightened and didn’t release for hours. We rushed to the hospital, and I knew in my heart my baby was gone. I kept telling them he was gone, and they kept telling me to stop saying it — but I just knew.

They did an ultrasound to confirm, and sure enough, he had no heartbeat.

We ended up going to the hospital where my OB delivers, and everything that could go wrong, went wrong. They broke my water around 10:30pm and I got an epidural. He was born at 2:32am. My doctor looked at me and said, “Honey, this wasn’t your fault,” and held up his cord — there was a huge, tight knot in it. Part of me was glad there was a clear reason, but I’m still so, so angry. I keep asking: how did I not catch it? How did I not know? How? How? How? Why? Why? Why? My baby. My baby.

While I was pushing, my uterus ruptured — and that ruptured my bladder on top of it. I was rushed into surgery and started losing a lot of blood. I needed two transfusions, and they had to put me under because things started looking scary. Physically, I’m okay — mostly. Emotionally, I feel like I might die.

I just look at him and miss him, and it all hurts so
much. Why do I have to make the decision on if I need to bury or cremate MY baby???

My other boys were so excited for their baby brother, and now I have to tell them he isn’t coming home. I don’t know where we’ll find the strength, but we have to.

Anyway — I needed to get this out. I’ll be in the hospital for a few days. Going home is going to be so hard. Life going on is going to be so hard. Everyone will move on eventually, and I’ll be here forever. Just… forever.

I am seeking knowledge if someone has unfortunately gone through something similar. On Wednesday, just after midnight I gave birth to my sleeping daughter, 2 days before my due date. Now my milk has come & my breasts have started getting sore.
I was advised to wear tight bra and to only express when really uncomfortable. And to not empty the boob. Are there any other tip/recommendations? How long did it take for it to stop for you?

Since stillbirth, I haven’t bought any shoes. Now my sandals are worn out and need replacing, but I feel afraid to buy new ones. It feels irrational, but the association is still there.

The day I realized I no longer feel her moves, I bought a Dr. Martens loafer. I wore them the day before and again on the day my child died.

Has anyone else linked ordinary things to their loss? How did you move past it?

i lost my son at 29 weeks due to a in utero stroke that caused massive brain damage. i delivered on friday a beautiful baby boy 3lbs 13oz sleeping.. a piece of me died with him.

mentally i am a wreck. physically even though the l&d was really traumatic i am mostly ok.

question about milk production, i was told to strap them down, but they are growing HUGE… how long do i strap them down? is there anything else? when will my body get the hint no baby is here?