Danielle L Story

At 39 weeks pregnant with my second child, I woke up to an overwhelming silence. My daughter had always been so active, but today, I hadn’t felt a single movement. A deep sense of unease settled over me, though I tried to convince myself everything was fine. I had a prenatal appointment scheduled later that morning, so I held on to hope.

At the appointment, my midwife and nurses searched for my baby’s heartbeat, but despite their best efforts, they couldn’t find it. The stillness in the room told me everything I feared. My midwife escorted me to an ultrasound room. As soon as I saw my daughter’s image on the screen, I knew—something was wrong. She was so still, so silent. But I still clung to hope.

My midwife, though compassionate, couldn’t provide a diagnosis, as she wasn’t a doctor. She suggested that the position of the baby might be making it hard to detect the heartbeat. She sent me to the hospital, to labor and delivery, just in case. I drove myself there, tears blurring my vision, screaming for my baby, hoping that if I just got there fast enough, everything would be okay.

At the hospital, I was directed to a private room in labor and delivery, where a nurse told me a doctor from maternal-fetal medicine (MFM) would be coming to do an ultrasound. I was left alone, waiting—impatient, panicking, begging for answers. I called my husband at work, voice trembling, telling him something was wrong. He was an hour away.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the room filled with nurses and doctors. My heart raced, my hands shook, and I held my breath as they prepared the ultrasound. The doctor’s words hit me like a physical blow: “There is no heartbeat. Your baby has passed.” My heart shattered. It felt as though the world had collapsed around me, and I was falling into a bottomless pit. I couldn’t grasp the reality of what I was hearing.

When my husband finally arrived, I didn’t feel so alone anymore, but telling him the news was another nightmare I didn’t want to face. Heartbreak and painful cries filled our room. Waves of silence happened trying to make sense of the devastation.  

I made the decision to have a repeat c-section that night. Before the surgery, we knew we needed to go home and tell our 3-year-old daughter what had happened. I held her close, told her I loved her, and assured her that everything would be alright. But nothing felt alright.

On March 23, 2023, at 9:07 p.m., our daughter Noelle Rae was born. Silent, still, but absolutely perfect. She looked so much like her big sister, with her chubby cheeks and button nose. I kissed her over and over, pressing my forehead to hers, sharing Eskimo kisses, memorizing every little detail. Those two days we spent with her in the hospital were some of the most precious moments of my life. The staff’s compassion and care made it possible for us to create memories with Noelle, ones I will carry with me forever. I am deeply grateful for them.

When Noelle was born, the doctor explained that the umbilical cord had a true knot, and it was tightly wrapped around her body in multiple places. It was a rare and tragic occurrence that explained her passing.

Noelle’s spirit is with me every day, in the butterflies that visit us, in the quiet moments I feel her presence. She is my light, my voice, and I continue to speak her name with love and pride. I am honored to be her mama.

Now, more than halfway through my third pregnancy, I reflect on the journey we’ve been on. Just days before Noelle’s first heavenly birthday, I discovered I was pregnant again. It felt like a gift, a sign that she is still with us, guiding us through this new chapter. This pregnancy has been a challenge in its own right, but I am learning to embrace each day. I focus on gratitude, healing, and hope. We are praying for the safe arrival of our next baby in November, while carrying Noelle’s memory with us every step of the way.

Photos taken by Bri Nicole Photography.

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