A personal account of an African American mom who was transformed after experiencing a traumatic perinatal loss

Managing the bevy of emotions that comes with learning a pregnancy loss is imminent—from hope to heartache.

Her smile quickly turned into a look of concern. “Your son’s head circumference measurements are low,” she said.  “Your baby is not progressing as he should. At 15 weeks, he is underdeveloped.”

I know it sounds cliché, but it seems like yesterday when I heard those words. I have such vivid memories of the most tragic period of my life. I gave birth to a child that was dead. I was heartbroken, crestfallen, and dejected. It was despairing and undeserving. I still ask why.

The day that I discovered something was wrong, the technician told me that the baby was not growing appropriately and that my blood pressure was elevated. She indicated that my placenta was not supplying him the nutrients needed and he was too small for his age. I entered a hazy fog. I remember being in disbelief and just not comprehending how this could be. I was not advanced maternal age. I adhered to all my obstetrician’s directives and I lived in a safe, peaceful environment.  However, none of those factors mattered. On that day, I was referred to the maternal-fetal medicine specialist and there began the cascade of distressing events that inevitably ended in the death of my 28 week-old fetus.

I’ll go back…it was August of 2005 and I was 28 weeks pregnant. I remember when I first discovered I was pregnant with Kameron; I was somewhat anxious because I was not in an emotionally healthy relationship, but I loved the father deeply. The relationship was toxic and habitually one-sided. Fortunately, I had adequate support from family and friends leading me to eventually realize that, for me to mitigate stress, I needed to cease conversation with the father until after I gave birth. I did everything I knew to do physically and instinctively for the health and welfare of my unborn child. I immediately initiated prenatal care, did not drink, ate healthy, took my prenatal vitamins, thought positive thoughts, and planned for a healthy, stimulating environment for my son.  I engaged my support network and fell in love with Kameron and the idea of having him in my life for the rest of my life.

I distinctly remember telling close friends and family that I had concerns that I was not getting the round pregnant belly that I was accustomed to seeing and associating with the growth and development of a big, fat, bouncing baby.  Many minimized my concerns or told me it would be okay, or that my belly would get more round as I advanced in the pregnancy. It turns out that that level tummy I still had was indicative of a greater problem. It turns out that my instinct—my hunch, was valid.

I began to see the perinatologist at about 15 weeks. I literally entered a doctor’s office once a week after hearing the news from the tech. I tried to be optimistic, but the bad news came fast and furiously. Soon after, I was diagnosed with preeclampsia. I was so perplexed, as I had never had an issue with hypertension before. Overall, I was in good physical health. I was a little overweight, but not morbidly obese. I was not 35 yet. I was educated. I had a positive attitude and mindset, and I genuinely wanted my baby. I was scared and my heart was beginning to break.

One day I went to a regular OB appointment and my blood pressure measured in stroke zone! Maybe 200 and something over 140 and something so I was admitted. It was July 28th or 29th, 2005.  I would be discharged from the hospital, forever changed. While in the hospital, I was hooked up to all these monitors, cords, and tubes. I had the worst headache from the intravenous medicines. I was so frightened. My mom lived three thousand miles away in LA, but she and my sister, Kim (which is why Kameron was spelled with a K–per her request, LOL) were making arrangements to fly to Atlanta.  The father was there but not actually present. My friends had become my family and my co-workers even surrounded me. I was comforted when I heard Kameron’s heartbeat. I had to visit with the neonatologist and talk about options. It became clear that Kameron would likely be delivered preterm and would have associated sequelae, but I knew all about surfactant and advances in the field so I knew he had a chance. I was assured. I had earned medical leave. I was prepared to care for a child with special needs. I just wanted him to live. What was most notable was my growing motherly love; I strongly felt that if he had a potential chance, without question, I would happily exchange my life for his.

Regrettably, I would not have the opportunity to make that decision. While admitted, my preeclampsia advanced to something I had never heard of, and I was a doctorally prepared maternal and child health public health professional. I was diagnosed with something called HELLP Syndrome. That stands for:  Hemolysis, Elevated Liver enzymes levels and Low Platelet count. Essentially the longer Kameron stayed in me, the sicker I became, but he needed to stay inside his mother longer to have an increased chance at survival. He was only 27 weeks. We wanted to at least get him to that third trimester. And he did. He turned 28 weeks during my hospital stay, but he would not get any older. I tried to hold on. I endured the intense pain to ensure he lived.  I just slept and tried my best to ignore it. My headache was excruciating. My entire body was swollen. I ached. I was emotionally void. I was terrified. I had to undergo a platelet transfusion. I was literally dying, but I wanted to hold on to give him an optimal chance at life. My will for him to live failed, though. The morning of August 4th, 2005, I was scheduled to deliver Kameron and was aware that he would be immediately transferred to the NICU.  My mommy and sister were scheduled to arrive later that day or the next, so I knew relief from the pain was coming because my mommy would give me that much-needed support that only your mother can provide.

I had a deep desire for motherhood. I was not raised by my birth mother so I desperately wanted this experience for myself and my child. Early in the morning on August 4th, the nurse came to do the usual check to locate his heartbeat which I had become so accustomed to hearing. It always made me feel at perfect peace, until she could not find it.

She rotated the belt, and made other adjustments, but…

She could not find it!

She had a panicked look and called for my OB/GYN, Dr. Garrett. There was silence.  There was nothing. There was no heartbeat. Dr. Garrett pronounced him dead. I was crushed. I was bereaved. I was devastated.

She hollered. I screamed. She hugged me. I was crushed. I was deflated.

I was numb.

I wanted to die with him.

That was not the worst part. I had to still vaginally deliver my DEAD baby. I had to go through childbirth with a lifeless child. It was traumatic and so sad, but I did it.

Afterwards, I held him, kissed him, and hugged him. I took a picture with his tiny, beautiful, underdeveloped, lifeless body. He was beautiful. He was mine, but I failed him. Kameron, I am so sorry that my body was defective and failed you. Please acce
pt my sincere apology. In that moment of staring at my beautiful baby, I thought about the all the dreams that would be unrealized. I was dejected and in mourning. There was a gaping hole. This was the worst. The hospital staff placed a picture on my door indicating that I suffered a pregnancy loss. It was a blue sky or something like that. I have gone on to discover that blue represents infant loss. I am one in four, but never did I imagine that I would experience a pregnancy loss.