This will be my most cherished post. It is what inspired me to start blogging. I have tried to capture all the fragile intricacies in the best way, but no words ever seem adequate. I also had to pace myself as it unfolded to avoid the floodgates of emotion from overtaking me.

It was November 12th, 2014, the first day that changed my life. I stood in our bathroom, waiting for the results of a pregnancy test. When that faint second line popped up, the array of emotions that overcame me, I can’t even begin to explain. I remember thinking, “this is the point of no return!” It was just like in the movies. I turned sideways and stared at my belly, wondering how I would tell Brian. I would tell him over dinner.

That’s what I did. I will never forget the smile that crept its way over his face. We spent the next several months as expected, anticipating the joy of a little one. Brian and I were already 9.5 years into our marriage, so having a baby was monumental for us! I can’t exactly remember how I came across the name Ethan. But I knew that I loved it! Brian agreed. Ethan Brian Mitchell would be his name.

On July 16, 2015, I woke up tired. I was eight months pregnant, exhaustion was nothing new, so I was not overly preoccupied with it. Halfway through my workday, though, I was struggling. I felt exhausted and had started to have Braxton hicks contractions, so I called Brian and asked him to come to get me. Maybe I needed to lie down, get some more sleep; maybe I was pushing too hard. We had a doctor’s appointment scheduled for the next morning, which was reassuring. I came home and rested.

That evening I woke up, came downstairs, sat on the couch next to Brian, and asked him to pray for me. I physically felt somewhat better, but I also had a sense of uneasiness and anxiousness. Brian didn’t pray. Instead, he hugged me and tried to ease my mind. He later told our Pastor why he didn’t pray. He felt praying would have meant acknowledging that there was something wrong. He didn’t want to believe that anything was wrong.

The second day that changed my life.

It was July 17, 2015. I can’t help but get an emotional lump in the core of my heart when I think about this day. Ironically it was a sunny day. We woke up early and drove to our appointment. Both of us had some degree of silent apprehension from the day prior. But wanted to be okay for the sake of the other. We were also just trying to practice our faith.

Per usual, our favorite medical assistant greeted us and took my BP. It was higher than usual (I was later diagnosed with preeclampsia). She asked her routine question, “have you felt the baby moving?” I froze, trying to recall the last 24 hours, I looked at Brian, and he jumped in, “not as much as usual.” I went on to explain to her how I had left work early the day before because I was really tired and experiencing contractions. She escorted us to an exam room, hooked up the fetal monitor, and begin to search for a heartbeat. She searched…. and searched. There were several failed attempts. The unspoken tension and uncertainty in the room began to stifle optimism.

I think deep down, Brian and I knew what was happening, but the shock was not letting us accept it. Maybe I even knew it the night before when I asked him to pray for me. Hindsight is…..well…Brian later shared with me his thoughts during that moment. In the moment he stood waiting for her to find our baby’s heartbeat, he was thinking, “God, you wouldn’t let this happen.” She left and came back with our doctor and an actual ultrasound monitor, and they searched again.

Then I caught it. I saw it in the expression of the doctor’s eyes. That look of “oh no.” That look of how do I say this. Even then, seeing it in his eyes, the shock wouldn’t let me accept it. Not until he said it. …”I’m sorry; there is no heartbeat.” And then I broke. I rolled over and cried. I cried. Like I have never cried before. I looked at Brian and asked over and over again, “Is this real?” Life at that moment didn’t even seem real anymore.

They left us there together, to process it, to do whatever couples do to come to terms with the moment. Eventually, our doctor came back to discuss the plan. He was going to call the hospital and have them prepare for my admission. They were going to induce me.

How did this happen? Why did this happen? Is it real? I had never felt so distant from life. Is this my fault? What did I do? What if…? What if…? What if…?

As we left the clinic, I asked Brian to call my mom. I couldn’t even muster up the will to repeat what had just happened. As I write this, thinking back, the strength Brian had for me that day was amazing. Taking my next breath seemed almost impossible; he had to deliver the news to both of our families.

I spent the next four days in the hospital. This was the hardest thing I have faced in my life. Going through all the pains and complications of labor, knowing I would not take my baby home in the end. The doctors and nurses at UofM (Von Voigtlander) hospital were amazing. I would not have wanted to be anywhere else. Our nurse Jessica, I will never forget her. She will forever be my inspiration to be “that” nurse. A nurse who advocates with finesse cares for you like you are family and sees you through til the end. She worked well past her shift until Ethan was born. She sat by my bed while I slept. She questioned the doctors when her gut became uneasy about something. She was who I needed to be on shift that day.

I saw her eyes too; I saw exhaustion beginning to creep in. But I also saw her determination pushing past it. By the time Ethan was born, it was the wee hours of morning, and the rest of the world had mostly shut down. I had not eaten in four days. Jessica called a local restaurant in Ann Arbor and had them deliver food for my husband and me. She paid for it with her own money.

The hospital offered us pregnancy loss photography. But Jessica also did family photography as a hobby and asked if she could take our pictures instead. She called her husband and had him drop off her equipment to the hospital. We will cherish our beautiful pictures forever. I will NEVER forget her.

After several tests, the pathology from my placenta was all that they found. Diffuse severe chronic villitis of unknown etiology is what is thought to have caused Ethan’s “demise.” That is the word the pathology report used. I actually can’t stand to hear that word now. There were no cord or genetic abnormalities. There was not too much more information given to us than what I had found on a google search about it. Going forward with any subsequent pregnancies, I would be at high risk. But we were not in a place at that time to even discuss “subsequent” pregnancies.

Life didn’t seem so beautiful anymore. Several weeks later, Brian saw that I was struggling and reached out to our Pastor and asked if he would speak to us. I will never forget the love, sincerity, and support he gave us. He was honest. I remember him empathetically saying, “I don’t know why this happened…but…” He was personable, sharing his own story of the loss of his daughter. Counseling didn’t give me the resolution, but it pulled me out of the twilight zone and was my first grasp at hope. During this time, there was an outpouring of cards, flowers, food, text messages, and emails from family, friends, and work colleagues. I will forever cherish the people that were kind to me. They are permanently etched in my heart and mind. Love truly lifted me.

Growing up, my dad would, often say to us (in response to some of our inexperienced reasoning), “keep living.” I get that now. Your life experiences, good, bad, and unfortunate are constantly molding you.

But then this happened, so how do you “keep living?” I didn’t know-how for the longest time.

Healing is ongoing; there is no “resolution.” Over the past few years, God has (strategically) placed a few women in my life who have gone through a similar experience. They show me what strength looks like, and I draw strength from them. They inspire me. I used to ask myself, how are they living? How do they wake up and go to work? How do they still talk and laugh? Now I see, you just do. You wake up every morning and keep going. Even when you are struggling because there are days you are going to struggle indeed. Time has a way of helping you cope because time allows you to be placed amid people who remind you that you are not alone. Time inspires you.

My hope in sharing my story is that I am inspiring another woman who has gone through something similar. I hope she can look at me and say, Amyre is living again, beautifully. I hope she can look at me and find some strength.

photo credit:

featured image: Me (the view from our hospital room at UofM/Von Voigtlander hospital)

pregnancy photo: Dan Lippitt (I was about 6 months pregnant with Ethan)