My greatest ambition in life was to be a mother. Even in my preteen years of summer crushes and later with college flings, I had three important questions for my potential partner. One of these questions, was do you want children? I knew with certainty that motherhood was the focal point of my life. In late Summer of 2021, we chose to start our family. Ever the meticulous planner, I fussed over tracking my cycle, read up on prepping my body for baby, and crossed my fingers we wouldn’t have to wait too long. My husband simply smiled knowingly, kissed me on the forehead, and stated with resigned certainty that none of that would be a concern. He was right, we were pregnant on the first try.

Within 4 days of a positive test, I ran out and bought a crib. The following week I was signed up with my local midwife team. I was beyond giddy with joy. I cut out all the pregnancy “do nots” and maintained a committed wellness routine with the baby in mind. At my first ultrasound baby was 6 weeks, 6 days, 6mm. I nearly screamed at the perfection of it. Six, my favourite number, is also my month, day, and time of birth.  This was a sign.. I was not concerned with ultrasound photos. I am generally not the sentimental type, so no souvenirs were needed. Baby’s heartbeat was present and strong, that all I needed.

I have been a runner all my life, and one of the most thrilling and memorable runs was following the news that I would be having a baby girl. She already had a name, and I spoke to her often. I called on her to give me strength. The health of my body was my singular goal. I continued running, weight lifting, walking, meditating, and eating cleanly with her well-being in mind. She deserved everything I was capable of giving.

I had always wanted a midwife and a home birth. Friends and relatives told me horror stories of cold, sterile hospitals with impatient doctors rushing to-be mothers along to meet their schedules. I want a child brought into the world in our home, unhurried, under the knowledgeable and compassionate guidance of a midwife. How wonderful to have a child born, raised and move out on their own from one house.  I was thrilled when my application for the Niagara Midwives was accepted. The reality of the care, however, did not live up to my expectations. Lockdowns had burnt out these women. Services had been scaled back, and week-specific appointments that were best practice before COVID lockdowns were now revoked. When I attempted to ask about this I was shut down, hard. She let me know in a pre-rehearsed dressing down that this was the course set for us, and it would not be diverted from. I remember think that this is when sounds of foreshadowing would play if this was a movie. Do you have any comments, questions, or concerns? was rhetorical. Perhaps too many anxious mothers had brought this up before me.  I can say with absolute conviction that the risk of losing my daughter was not addressed. I would learn much later, after my loss, that other mothers had indeed advocated for better healthcare standards than I could.

I lovingly recorded each passing week, fawning over what size fruit my baby girl had grown to. We announced our baby to the family over Christmas. Her name was in part a tribute to my grandmother who had passed just a few weeks into my pregnancy. It was such a bittersweet Christmas. We knew a better life, one anchored by those who loved us, would emerge from this dark Christmas season.  Late into January a member of my midwifery team called me for a phone consultation. As mentioned, week-specific appointments had been restricted, but I managed to advocate my way into at least a phone call assessment. My sanity will be forever grateful that I missed her call and had to ring her back, but not before she left a message. By now I sensed something was wrong with the pregnancy. I can not overstate that it never crossed my mind that my daughter might be dead- that was not a possibility. The midwife didn’t seem to think so either, as she never mentioned that as a genuine concern. Sure she peppered in the odd “but if you feel unsure you can go to the hospital”, but with this always being bookend with “within normal range” and “no symptoms” it felt like best practice in covering one’s ass rather than actual consern. She would end the call letting me know I could call her anytime, this was her private number. I also had this instruction saved as a message on my voicemail.

A couple weeks later I was at another routine ultrasound. Writing this I am still struck by how naive I was. I saw my baby girl on screen. I smiled wide with a gap with wonder “Hello baby “. My smile slipped slightly, but I was unable to process what my unconscious was trying to tell me. The tech ushered my attention and asked me to hold my breath while she searched for a heartbeat. I did, eyes fixed on my baby girl. She fiddled longer but told me she could not find a heartbeat. Honest to god my only thought in that moment was, well, do better. Months later when the owner of this clinic called to apologize for the deplorable care I had received here, I stressed to her the importance of her staff using definitive language. Can’t find, in my mind, was worlds away from there is no heartbeat. Can’t find was something you were doing incorrectly. No heartbeat… that I would have understood. I was told the appointment could not continue, as the baby was too small for the assessment (again, a misleading statement) and a radiologist would follow up. I went to the bathroom and promptly dialed the Midwifery office. No answer. Desperate I called the personal number I was directed to call. Looking back, I don’t remember if I spoke to her or left a voicemail. I remember desperately inquiring about what could be done. Could they be using the equipment wrong? Had they dated me wrong? Two very young ladies greeted me at the front desk. I was told a radiologist would call me later that day. We went back and forth, me insisting on having the doctor’s contact info just in case, and them stressing it was policy not to give out this information, while adamantly assuring he would call. I remember a couple with a newborn scuttling out of the waiting room. On reflection, they must have decoded the situation that I could not. I left Saturday morning and waited for a call that would not be coming. They never called the doctor.

Saturday evening my midwife called. You may expect she was calling to provide news, or at least comfort and insight until the news had been verified. The motivation for her call was to scold me for having called the other midwife’s personal number. It’s unclear whether this midwife has gotten in trouble for giving out her number, or her coworker was playing defense in the event that she could be in trouble. I apologized. asserting that I only called because I had been given express permission to call but wouldn’t do so again going forward.  Despite my growing anxiety, I showed due regard for the issue of greater importance. I refrained from launching into my own, apparently less pressing concerns of the well-fair of my unborn child, by holding back a “but” when asking if my daughter was ok. My midwife didn’t know. We went over every one of my concerns, and she answered my questions and laid out a variety of favorable and less favorable possibilities. This might have come off as compassionate care had she not punctuated each completed thought with a reminder that I must not call that private number again. By the 4th or 5th repetition, I snapped. My concern was was with whether my daughter was DEAD, not your coworker breaking policy.

Monday at noon I received confirmation that my daughter had died. She also informed me my wait was due to staff at the clinic not calling the radiologist, and that her office would be filing a formal complaint on my behalf. I nodded through much of the call and informed my husband sitting next to me that the baby was dead. We sent out a mass text to those who knew of the pregnancy. A couple of sentences, short and blunt. We asked for no phone calls.

I still got my home birth. Friday, 4 am I delivered my baby girl at home. After days of hardly any sleep and nothing but tears and crying out for my baby girl, now she was here for me to hold. Sleep-deprived and sick with anticipation, I was genuinely so happy and relieved to finally see her and hold her.  There are precious few, and many contradictory resources online that show what a miscarried baby will look like. I remember her tiny smile, soft nose, and bony shoulder. We pray she passed warm and knowing she was loved inside me. We chose to have a burial.  Many mothers choose cremation, and/or to have their child tested to find of the cause of the loss. We could not bear to send her away. The reason for her death did not matter, and the answers would bring us no comfort. Her dad had gone out as soon as the stores opened to buy tulips for her. We took pictures to remember her by, and that following fall adorned her grave with planted tulips. I found some measure of comfort, knowing I had done right by my daughter. She rests safe and at peace.