October 10, 2024, we found out we were pregnant with our 3rd, which was supposed to be our last. It was a bittersweet moment as my grandpa had just been admitted to the hospice care that same morning.
We found out very early on, right at 4 weeks, as we had been trying since May. Our first two appointments were just fine. At 10 weeks, we did the gender test along with all the other genetic testing that’s been done. We found out we were having another boy. Two days after we found out the gender, the doctors called and said everything genetically came back fine but that my hormone levels were coming back higher than what they should have been, so they wanted me to come in for a more detailed ultrasound to determine how far along I actually was.
I went in for what I thought was going to be a normal ultrasound on December 12th. The ultrasound tech and I were joking around, having small talk while she finished getting everything ready. She talked about how about if my boys were so excited to have another brother. As soon as our little warrior came into focus, I knew something was wrong. She started showing me his profile, pointing out his nose, trying to distract me from the giant black dot in the middle of his little body. I was quiet for a moment and then said, “ I know that something is wrong, but I know you can’t confirm anything, and I’m sorry, but can you please get the measurements that are needed then please get my doctor.” She handed me a box of tissues and said, “ I’ll be right back.”
My doctor then came into the room, grabbed my hand, and said, “Everything is going to be okay. He could just be holding his urine, which is making his bladder extend like that, but we are going to send you to the high-risk doctor to check everything.” That weekend in between appointments was, at that moment for me ; hell, not knowing what was happening was excruciating. That Monday, we got the diagnosis of Lower Urinary Tract Obstruction (LUTO).
Our 3 options were termination, continuing the pregnancy without an intervention hoping it resolves itself, or continuing the pregnancy and having fetal surgery to implant a stent to drain the urine if there wasn’t anything else wrong, as it’s a very risky surgery with only about a 60% success rate in the most optimal conditions. We immediately decided to have the surgery to try to save him, started all the testing that was needed to even be seen by specialists , and then we waited for the call from John Hopkins as they are one of the few hospitals that can handle cases like ours in our area, which is a 4-hour car drive for us just to get there.
We tried to stay strong for our kids as it was so close to Christmas, but we had to tell them what was going on as December 27th we were having our first appointment to save our little boy. Thankfully, our support system rallied around us so we were able to make the appointment without having to bring our other children. After about an hour-long ultrasound appointment, we spoke with the lead team of doctors at John Hopkins fetal therapy center about the possibility of lifelong complications of having LUTO. Worst case, he could have had severely underdeveloped lungs and lifelong lung issues due to low amniotic fluid, having to be on dialysis, having to use a catheter for his whole life, and other liver and kidney issues.
We also, of course, spoke about the best-cases scenario, but the main concern of mine was what would his quality of life be and the fact that I did not want my sweet little boy to be in any pain. We opted to go ahead with a cvs (placenta biopsy) to have a more in-depth look at his genetics only, in case we decided to go forward with the fetal surgery. While waiting for the results, we decided to move forward with the surgery. It took about 3 weeks for the results to come back. As soon as they did, we made our appointment for the procedure, which was scheduled for January 17th as all the testing came back clear for genetic abnormalities.
During this, I was still going to my OB and the high-risk OB. I had an appointment with my OB on January 16th. I wasn’t supposed to have an ultrasound, but with the complications, my doctor gave me one anyways. I went to this appointment alone as I told my husband everything was fine. He didn’t need to miss any more work as he needed time off after mine and Wyatt’s surgery. One second we were talking about how active Wyatt was that morning, the next the room was deathly silent. My doctor was like “AHH Someone turned the volumes down” , but no one did. My little warriors heart had stopped at 17 weeks and 4 days. I held it together until I called my husband once I got into the car.
The weekend was a blur. We had him that Monday, January 20th, 2025. We opted for labor as I knew I needed to hold him before losing him forever. I never saw his body, only his face, as my husband immediately took him in his arms and wrapped him in his special little blanket. I don’t regret not seeing him fully, as to me, his little body had to be perfect because his little face, hands, and toes were. I couldn’t bear the thought of him being alone, so we made sure his first and only stuffy and matching blanket went with him and kept him warm. Even though I had known about late-term miscarriages, no one in my personal life had ever experienced this, and I felt so alone.
My angel of a nurse noticed. Once her and I were alone in recovery, as I had to have a DNC anyways, she told me her story of her late-term miscarriage. We both cried together for each other. I have lost people extremely important to me, like my mom when I was 15, but I had never felt the pain of losing a child. I felt so empty, alone, and devastated. One thing that also helped me throughout losing Wyatt and the aftermath was knowing he is with my mom and grandpa until I’m able to meet him again in the afterlife. I have started back in therapy, and after a few months and long, hard discussions, my husband and I have decided to start trying again.
We found out on May 14th, 2025, that we are pregnant again with our rainbow baby. We both cried when the test came back positive. Just like any other parent who has lost a baby, we felt somewhat robbed from just being excited to see a positive test, but we are staying hopeful because regardless, this baby is loved. We will never forget our sweet little warrior, Wyatt. I cannot thank Sarah enough for having a safe space like this to tell our story and to remind others, even though journeys like ours are hard and sometimes feel lonely, that you are not alone.
Photos taken by Heaven Blunt Photography.
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