Laith's Birth
I've tried to write this countless times now. Every time I begin to write my story, the words refuse to come out. How can I put so many pieces of our story together in a coherent stream of consciousness? So much of what's happened doesn't make sense. Where does this story begin, at the beginning of my pregnancy… before that… or does it begin when we found out our son had no heartbeat?
This is a stillbirth story, and it deserves telling because stillbirth is still.birth. I carried my baby boy in my womb for over 37 weeks. I nurtured and loved him from the moment I knew I was pregnant. I cradled him inside me, the perfect vessel for him. I never thought in a million years that my baby would be born dead. Yes, it's as harsh as it sounds. No amount of sugar coating or glossing over will make it any less real. My baby boy, the youngest of my children, is gone. He never had a chance to live on this earth.
*I will be sharing intimate details and images of what stillbirth is like for many families like ours. If you are unable or unwilling to hold space for uncomfortable emotions, I suggest you stop here.
Woody and I wanted this baby with every fiber of our being. We wanted to grow our family in 2020 while we were still living in California. Woody started a new position, in God's perfect timing, that allowed us to relocate to Central Texas. The process of moving out of state during a pandemic was chaotic, but we made our way safely to Texas. We left on October 31, 2020 (Halloween).
Barely settled into our new home, I felt sick and wondered if I could be pregnant. I took an early pregnancy test and saw the faintest of pink lines. I was shocked. I have NEVER had a positive pregnancy this early before. “Could this really be? Am I really pregnant?" I waited another day to try again, and sure enough, the second pink line appeared darker than before. We were ecstatic! This pregnancy felt different to me. I was sicker than I had ever been in my previous pregnancies, and all the early pregnancy signs started immediately. Something in my gut told me it was a boy.
Early pregnancy was uneventful for me. I was sick and tired, spending most of my days in bed. I started tending to all the pregnancy things like making lists of things we'd need, what needed to get done, finding the right pregnancy and birth support. I interviewed three midwives, hoping to have another home birth like I had with Khalisah. I found my fantastic midwife Kristin. She supported me throughout my entire pregnancy with a tender touch and loving heart.
Understanding I had gestational diabetes (GDM) during my pregnancy with Suhaila, I treated this pregnancy as if I had diabetes from the beginning. I didn't wait to take a glucose test before making lifestyle changes. I started eating more healthily and exercising daily, on top of monitoring my blood glucose numbers. When I was in my second trimester, my numbers were getting harder to keep within range. So my midwife suggested I enlist the help of a perinatologist.
The doctor prescribed me medication twice a day to help me with my numbers. I had follow-up ultrasounds weekly to check on the baby and make sure he was doing well. They would check his heart rate, movements, and practice breathing. Once a month, they would take all his measurements to estimate his size. We looked forward to each visit and seeing our boy. Typically, the technician would give the baby 20 minutes to hit all the necessary markers to complete the tests. Our baby made their job easy and typically did everything they needed within 5 minutes.
He was my most active baby, constantly moving and wiggling around in my tummy. Occasionally he'd give me a hard time, jabbing me in my lower regions while simultaneously kicking me in my ribs. He was fierce. He didn't like it when I sat at my computer for work, and he loved to kick me when I ate or took a bath. When I walked or exercised, he would sleep until I stopped. I was up often in the middle of the night. Sometimes, I'd lay awake at night and feel him stretching across my belly. When I was able, I'd wake Woody up by placing his hand on my stomach where our baby was saying hello. This was the most connected we've been with a pregnancy.
When I entered my third trimester, I was in the home stretch. I grew with excitement at the thought of greeting our little guy. I wondered who he would look like, would he have hair, how long would he be, and so much more. The entire family grew with anticipation. Suhaila wanted to catch the baby during birth, and Khalisah wanted to cut the umbilical cord. Woody was busy preparing the house for his arrival.
On August 17th, 2021 I started having consistent contractions. They came on quickly, feeling strange and very strong. They lasted a minute long, coming every five minutes for over an hour. Typically, contractions this fast would indicate active labor, but I could still talk through the contractions. To be sure, we had our midwife come over to check me. She listened to his heartbeat, which was in the 140s. Then she examined me, and I was only 2cm and barely effaced. She suggested this could be prodromal labor, but actual labor could come on any time. Knowing I had an ultrasound scheduled the following day, we waited to see if things would progress.
The next morning, I had continued contracting, although they had lessened. I went to my ultrasound appointment, where they measured our little boy. He had a heartbeat in the 130s, was actively moving, and measured a little over 9 lbs. The nurse seemed happy with everything, and we went on our way. I spent the next two days running errands, all the while feeling mild contractions but no labor.
On Saturday, August 21st, I spent my morning completing tasks around the house. My cat was sick, he threw up three times, and I couldn't figure out why. Nothing in his diet had changed, and he hadn't gotten into anything. He laid with me all morning, which was unlike him. He would generally be running around the house pestering our other pets. I remember thinking, “I wonder if he knows if I'm going into labor?" Later that day, it dawned on me that I hadn't felt my baby move in a while.
I started poking and prodding my belly, which usually guarantees me a poke back, but nothing. I texted Kristin, and she recommended I drink some cold water and lay down to see if he started moving, but nothing. I sat down in my rocking recliner and tried poking my baby again. My stomach sank as I felt nothing, and my mind raced to the worst possible case, “What if he was dead?"
I shut it out, not letting my mind get the best of me. I told Kristin I was worried, and she sent me to the hospital and let me know they were expecting me. I was shaking with adrenaline the entire drive there, praying for everything to be ok. “Please, God, let him be ok." The silence between Woody and I was thick. I was afraid if I said anything, we would both break down. When we arrived at the Labor and Delivery triage, we checked in at the desk, and I could barely get my words out. They brought us into a room, and the nurse started setting up a non-stress test. She asked me where the baby typically laid in my belly, and I told her he was head down with his bum up in the right side of my ribs. She tried finding a heartbeat again, and nothing. She stepped out of the room.
I looked at Woody and grabbed his hand, holding it tightly. “I'm scared," I said as tears started to swell in my eyes. I started praying. “Please God, please let him be ok. Please. Please. Please.”
My prayers were more like pleas. The on-call doctor came in with a handheld doppler and began checking my baby. He asked questions about me, my pregnancy, and when my doctor last checked the baby. Then he explained he was having the technician come in with the full-sized ultrasound machine.
My heart was racing, and I felt sick. The technician came in and set up her machine. The doctor asked her to move the wand around as she was checking me, and they mumbled some words between them. Then the doctor said the dreaded words.
“I’m sorry, there’s no heartbeat.”
I sobbed uncontrollably. Woody leaped from his seat and held me, sobbing all the same. I had never heard or seen him cry like this before. We cried together for what seemed like forever. The nurse and doctor remained in the room, silent while we continued to sob.
I looked to the doctor and asked, “Are you sure?" And he undoubtedly replied with a resounding, “Yes." How could this be? He was strong and healthy only a few days ago. The nurse and doctor left the room to give us some time. The tears never stopped flowing. When they returned, they asked to talk to us about our options. They explained that a c-section would pose more risk, and my baby was already head down, so they would want to induce me soon to avoid an infection. I sobbed.
Then they talked about a timeframe. I could choose to do it immediately or wait to return the next day so we could spend time at home and process what just happened. We sobbed.
Then they talked us through what an induction would look like, who would be assisting me, who I could have with me during my labor, and so forth. We sobbed some more. The tears never stopped.
After they explained everything they could at that time, Woody and I could briefly discuss what we wanted to do. I wanted to go home. I wanted to tell my family what had happened and cry. I wanted to lay in the fetal position and just cry until I couldn't anymore. We chose to go home, planning on returning the following evening. I wish I had known at the time that the longer I waited to have my baby, the more deteriorated he would be when born. I probably would have chosen to be induced sooner.
When we arrived home, my mother hugged me, and the tears just flowed. The kids knew something was happening. I asked my mother to tell them their brother was dead because I didn't have the heart or the voice to do it. They cried with us, especially Suhaila. The rest of my family came over to support us in whatever way they could. Woody and I were still in shock.
We went from the highest of highs, thinking our baby would be arriving any day now, to the lowest of lows. I couldn't sleep that night and waited for sleep to take me, but it never did. All Woody wanted to do was sleep. We were already responding to our loss differently. I cried all night long, which continued into the morning. I never knew I had so many tears.
All-day, I trudged along like a zombie. I was numb.
I counted down the hours until I knew we had to return to the hospital that evening, 12 pm, 1 pm, 2 pm, 3 pm, and so forth. As the time got closer and closer, I felt sicker and sicker. How could I do this? I had to birth my dead baby into the world. I would have to leave the hospital with no baby in my arms. I felt empty. When the time came, I dreaded leaving. I kept pushing it off further and further. Woody held me, and he told me, “Let's go meet our son," and I wept uncontrollably. That was the first time his words gave me the courage to do the unbearable.
The hospital made quite a few exceptions on my behalf. They disregarded many of the COVID rules to have both Woody and my sister there to support me. We got set up in a room where I changed into my hospital gown. I could hear all the dinging of the machines and smell the sterile cleaners they used. I'm not too fond of hospitals… I do everything I can to avoid them. But here I was thinking, “I would go to the hospital anytime if it meant I could have my baby."
The midwives on staff explained our next steps. They were so sorry for what we were going through, and every time they consoled me, I would burst out in tears. The first nurse we had told us she had seen us coming in the day before. She explained she had asked to be put on my service today because she felt she could help us during this horrible time. It gave us some comfort to know we had such caring nurses and midwives.
©Vanessa Mendez Photography
The midwife asked us if we had any questions. I looked at Woody, knew what he was thinking, and gathered myself to ask her what we should expect. We didn't know what our baby would look like or how labor would be different. She explained that the labor would be challenging. Typically in labor with a live baby, the baby helps navigate through the pelvis as things progress, but our baby wouldn't be doing that. She told us the baby would have very low muscle tone and possible skin tearing, but otherwise, he would look just like a sleeping baby.
I was still in denial. I kept praying that this was all a mistake. God indeed had the power to bring him back to us. Maybe the doctors were wrong; how could they be right? I begged and prayed, knowing deep down that no miracle was on its way. They started my induction with medication to help my cervix thin out. The first few hours seemed to drag on forever. I tried to sleep that night but woke up often. I remembered why I was here in the hospital and wept quietly in the night. The nurses checked me every few hours so I could try to get some sleep.
In the early morning, I could hear the whooshing sounds of the heart rate monitors next door. Every time I heard it, my heart sank. What I wouldn't give to let that be my baby. Don't those parents know how lucky they are? Once, I heard the cries of a newborn. The sound of the baby's first cries was enough to make me crawl under my sheets, a sobbing ball of snot, and stay there forever. It wasn't fair. It isn't fair, but life isn't fair.
The labor was slow and grueling. Every time a nurse or midwife examined me, I had barely dilated or effaced. They continued monitoring me and giving me more medication. They remained patient with me throughout the process. I wanted to take things slowly; labor lasted for two days. I was fragile, and a part of me wanted to hold onto my baby forever. I knew when I birthed him, this nightmare would become real. I'd have to face the fact my baby was dead.
The midwife explained that the next step would be to break my waters. Having gone through labor and delivery with my girls, I knew what that meant. As soon as my waters were ruptured, labor would speed up and intensify. I was scared. Woody turned to me and said, “Let's meet our son," and for the second time, those words gave me the courage to continue. I was ready. I had to let go and surrender to the reality that I was about to meet my baby, even if he had been gone for several days now.
©Vanessa Mendez Photography
I was exhausted, going on several days without sleep. I'd been laboring for almost two days and knew the most challenging part was to come. Not long after my waters broke, I hit transition. Transition is one of the hardest parts of labor, the contractions are back to back, and you begin doubting yourself. This labor was the most intense one I have experienced, enough to make me vomit, something I never had in my previous labors. When it came to pushing, delivering him tested my strength in a way it had never been tested before. I didn't have my son's help to navigate his body through my pelvis, so I kept pushing to no avail. I'd rest and take breaks, but it was harder than I could have ever imagined.
In my previous deliveries, the labor was always long and the delivery short. I had both my girls out in less than 20 minutes with only a few pushes. This time, I pushed for what seemed like ages. There was a moment, I paused and thought I couldn't do this. I was at my limit. I said to myself, “I can't do this. I can't ever go through this again." I kept pushing harder, knowing there was no turning back. I begged for it to be over and pleaded for my baby to come out. I said, “C'mon baby; please come out," forgetting he would never hear those words. The doubt sunk in, and I wondered if I'd have to have a c-section.
Then his body finally freed itself from me, and I was relieved until I felt the deafening silence around me. Where there would typically be the cry of a new baby, there was silence. I immediately sobbed and reached out for my baby as they lifted him onto my chest. He was beautiful. I rubbed him vigorously, praying he would return to me, believing that if I brought air to his lungs, he would come back. I didn't want to accept that my handsome boy was gone forever.
©Vanessa Mendez Photography
After the most grueling and intense labor, my baby was here and I was heartbroken. I spent 38 weeks nurturing, carrying, and loving him. The outcome was nothing any of us could’ve imagined. The love I felt transformed into immeasurable grief. He was so wanted and loved by his entire family.
©Vanessa Mendez Photography
I saw all of his features, his button nose, thin lips (that he got from me), chubby cheeks, long hair, and I knew I would go through all of this again if it meant I'd get to meet my baby boy. I looked to Woody, who had tears in his eyes. He didn't say much, but I knew how he felt. He was as broken as I was.
©Vanessa Mendez Photography
We cried together. We cried more than we've ever cried in our lives. The room was silent as we continued sobbing. The nurses, midwives, and staff members held space for us as we grieved openly. We named him Laith Nordin Brice. Laith means lion in Arabic, and Nordin means “Light of the way." We chose his name with intent and meaning. He truly was a lion. I held Laith for as long as I could. All I could keep saying was, “… my poor baby, my poor baby." The weight of him was heavy in my weak arms. I had no more strength in me now. All I wanted was to melt away. I sang, “You are my sunshine," his first and last lullaby. I passed Laith to Woody, who cried as he held his son. He squished his cheeks, just like he had for Suhaila and Khalisah. I couldn't comfort him any more than I could comfort myself. I had never seen him in such pain before.
©Vanessa Mendez Photography
We spent those first few hours with our baby boy, cradling him and admiring him. He had more hair than either of the girls. He had ten toes and fingers. He was big, weighing 9lbs 12oz and 21.5". He was perfect. We had him dressed and made prints of his hands and feet. My father came to the hospital with Suhaila. She was able to meet her brother. I cried seeing my oldest child holding my youngest, knowing that she was grieving too. She was so excited to be a “double big sister," as she liked to call it. My heart breaks knowing that my girls are touched by loss and grief at such a young age.
©Vanessa Mendez Photography
Woody and I couldn’t carry on. We were drained. We asked the nurses to take Laith and they placed him a safe area where they could keep his body cool. We could already see how much he was changing since being born and it hurt our hearts. We were both in shock and I was very sleep deprived. I needed to eat and sleep, but sleep didn’t find me. I continued to wake up throughout the night and I would just sob. Everything felt so surreal and I asked myself how I would ever get passed this. In all honesty, I now know, I will never get passed this. I will carry this pain with me for the rest of my life and that sometimes feels unbearable.
After little sleep, I woke up before sunrise and stayed up. All I could think about was going home to my own bed and sleeping, hoping when I woke up the pain would be gone. Then I remembered Laith and I wanted to hold him again. The mothering instinct was strong and all I wanted was to hold my baby and never let go. I longed for him to be in my arms alive and knowing that would never be could send me into hysteria.
Woody and I ate something, although we had no appetite and got ready for the day. We were ready to go home to our girls. I wanted to be out of the hospital, where my trauma had occurred. As we got closer to being discharged, my heart sank deeper still. I knew that once we left, it would be goodbye. I wouldn’t be seeing my baby again. Before discharge, we asked the nurses to bring Laith to us.
The nurse rolled him in his bassinet and I felt the tears come again. He already looked so different. I picked him up and he was cold and stiff. He felt different and this was hard for me. This was exceptionally hard for Woody. I could see how difficult it was for him to see his son so changed. Each new discovery in this journey felt like a deeper cut.
I asked Woody to take a few photos of me with Laith. It felt strange taking photos with our dead son, but I knew I wanted to have a few of my own photos to remember him by. He was still the perfect baby I always imagined he’d be. I asked Woody if he wanted photos with Laith, but he couldn’t do it.
©A Family Pact
We called the nurse back to take our son away for the final time. This was it. I wouldn’t be holding him like this again. When they rolled him out in his bassinet, I had the urge to go after him, but I didn’t.
I never dreamed that the moment I said hello to my baby would also be when I said goodbye. This continues to be one of the hardest and darkest chapters of our lives. We were blessed in so many ways during those dark days. The love and support from our family, friends, midwives, nurses, doctors, photographers, and community were palpable. It helped to lift us in our most broken state.
Laith's memory will live with us forever. As his mother, I will carry him with me for the rest of my life, until the day I die. I know grief has now become my companion. Although the soul-crushing pain has only begun to dissipate, I still feel grief tugging at me. Some days I'm strong enough to carry on, ignoring grief's beck and call. Some days I open the floodgates and let it all flow out. Other days I tend to my grief, telling myself it's ok, all the while knowing I have been utterly changed by Laith's brief time on this earth.
We may never know why our son was called away before he had a chance to take his first breath. Life after loss is difficult to navigate in so many aspects. I carry on a step at a time. Each step is different, and the ground beneath me doesn't always feel stable. I've lost my footing a bit, wobbling between grief and hope. It will take time to find balance again. So much has changed for us as a family, and yet it feels like nothing has changed. I share my story because I know no better way to help me heal. I would never wish this pain on anyone. Before now, I didn’t understand how utterly life changing loss could be. The circumstances of the loss may look different for each bereaved parent, but we can still sit with one another in grief on our darkest days.
Ask us to share our loved one. I dread the day that Laith is forgotten. I carried him and knew him best, while the rest of the world never had the chance to know him. I take on the task of keeping his memory alive. Thank you to those who've reached out to us, offering the kindest of words and gentlest gestures; it touches us to know how loved and cared for we are.