On March 27, 2014, I had a routine checkup at the ob-gyn office at 37 weeks pregnant.

I had visited my ob-gyn a week before and received a sonogram. My baby was kicking and her heart was beating just fine.

This time was different.

"Where's her heartbeat?" I asked my husband, grasping his hand.

My ob-gyn had just left the room after not being able to find a heartbeat with a doppler. My mom was looking down at the ground while sitting in the chair in the corner of the room.

It was just the three of us.

Alone.

It was Aug. 24, 2013, when I told my husband to buy me a pregnancy test. I closed the bathroom door after I took a glance at him and prayed for another baby. Minutes later, I held out the pregnancy test high with a positive sign. I smiled at him and he smiled at me.

In the following months, I watched my belly grow and my baby kick, and because of crazy pregnancy cravings, I developed a love for all things spicy. I took prenatal vitamins and followed a healthy diet, because in my first pregnancy, I gained too many unexpected pounds. After taking such good care of myself, I felt like I was being given a reward when I found out I was having another girl.

At 37 weeks, I thought back to the first moments of my pregnancy, wondering, How did my body fail me? and, How did my body fail my baby?

At the beginning of the appointment, my ob-gyn had asked the usual questions.

"How are you sleeping?"

"Are you having any problems?"

There were really no concerns. I had felt her kick the night before.

After his questions, I scooted my body from the bottom of the bed up to the top and lay down. I pulled up my shirt, and I pulled down the stretchy material on my maternity pants.

He placed the cold fetal doppler onto my huge, pregnant belly and wrestled with it to try to get a heartbeat, but all I could hear were echo noises from my stomach.

"You know, at 37 weeks, this is normal," he said. "Your baby just might not have the room to kick around and play. We will send you for a sonogram down the hall."

When I found out I was pregnant, my husband and I were alone. Our first daughter, Shayley, was spending a day with my parents. I just remember my husband being happy and concerned.

"You need to eat," he said, and we got in the car and went to Olive Garden.

On the way there my husband asked, "Do you think Shayley will be jealous?"

"I hope not. She will be a great big sister."

Hayley at her baby shower with her daughter, Shayley. Courtesy of Hayley Greenhouse

The whole time the nurse was pushing me in the wheelchair to the sonogram room, I thought of Shayley. If this is true, how do I tell a 2-year-old her baby sister died?

My husband pulled me out of the wheelchair and helped me onto another bed. A brunette woman came in and looked aware of the situation. She didn't say anything. She just lifted my shirt, rubbed gel onto my belly, and placed the sonogram doppler on to my stomach.

I kept my eyes closed the whole time.

There was always awkward silence during regular sonogram visits, but it was always broken by the sound of my baby's heartbeat and the "awws" when we saw our little baby kicking her foot or sucking on her thumb.

This time everything was still.

When the technician took the doppler off my stomach, I opened my eyes and looked at my husband. His hazel eyes were bloodshot.

"Y'all can go back to the room now. I will have to send these screen shots to the doctor," she said.

My husband choked out, "So, everything could still be OK?"

"I can't say anything. You have to talk to your doctor," she said.

He looked at me and we knew the answer. On our way back, I wasn't pushed in a wheelchair. No, this time I wasn't a patient, but a victim.

I arrived to the room that we were first in, and there sat my mom, waiting.

The first person my husband and I told we were pregnant was the waitress at Olive Garden. The first person I had to tell my baby died to was my mom. Her questions were answered by the tears strolling down my face.

I kept shouting to my doctor, "Where's my baby's heartbeat?"

"I'm sorry. I don't know how this happened," he said when he walked into the room. "Your baby's heart isn't beating, and we aren't sure why."

According to the American Pregnancy Association, in the United States, 1 in 160 pregnancies end in stillbirths. The most common known causes of stillbirths are problems with the placenta, birth defects, umbilical cord accidents, and infections. But, in about one-third of stillbirths (like my own experience), the cause cannot be determined even after an autopsy.

My doctor's assistants moved us into his office to talk about what happens next. They told me it was so I didn't have to see pregnant women, but I knew it was so I didn't scare the other expecting mothers. When my husband, my mom, and I sat down facing the doctor, I knew I had to think about the next step. It didn't hit me until then that I would still have to endure physical pains of labor for a child that would not take a first breath.

"I know this isn't going to be easy," my doctor said, "but I think it is in your best interest to go ahead and deliver your child."

"I think so too," my mom said. "You will go crazy at home staring at your stomach."

I didn't want to rush into a delivery that I wasn't ready for, but I also didn't want to go home and think about what could have been. My husband and I agreed that in order for us to start grieving it would be best to deliver our daughter the same day. My doctor called the local hospital and told us we could stop over anytime that day for a delivery.

We then had to tell my father, his parents, and my brother.

Now I regret the decision of the delivery the same day because I didn't ask the doctor more questions about how I could still bond with my daughter. I think that if I waited the day after receiving the bad news that I would have been more level-headed. I did not know I could bring baby clothes to dress my daughter and I didn't think of taking photos of me holding my daughter at the time. But she was beautiful with thick dark hair and chubby cheeks. I spent the next two days in the hospital holding the daughter that we would never get to know. But when her features began to get soft, we knew it was time to go home. The next day, my husband and I planned our daughter's funeral.

In the following weeks, my parents, my in-laws, my brother, and my aunts tried to support my husband, daughter, and me the best they could. We got sympathy letters and had meals cooked for us, and we received offers to babysit our oldest daughter as we caught up on sleep. But even though our family was there in person, my husband and I felt so lonely. In those weeks no one said her name or mentioned what happened because they were afraid to upset us. That killed us. My husband and I wanted nothing more than to talk about her. Eventually I learned to say her name and let our family know she is still our daughter, a granddaughter, and a niece.

It's been just over year since we lost a child, and so far, life hasn't gotten any easier. And yet my husband and I have found the strength to carry on, refusing to lie in bed and dwell on what happened. The relationship between my husband and me has grown stronger because of this experience, and we appreciate every moment in life with each other and our daughter. There are moments every day where I have to allow five minutes of crying, but I pull myself together and focus on what I need to do for that day. We've found that mentioning our daughter every day makes us happier, and although we didn't directly tell Shayley that her baby sister died, because we thought she was too young to understand, she constantly says her name and points at the pictures that the hospital nurses provided for us hanging on the wall. Shayley still doesn't know exactly what happened to her baby sister, but when she gets older and understands more about death, I will tell her. Before this experience, I wasn't the type to talk to God every day, but I have found comfort in doing so because I feel that my second daughter is at home with him.

Even though nothing about this experience is defined as normal, we have just found a new normal to be able to survive.

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