Baby Loss & Healing

The tears. So many tears. Gut wrenching. I could feel my heart being torn from me.

No. No, not my baby. Please, no. This can't be happening. No...no...no....

That was mid-August 2006. I was bleeding. Just at the end of my first trimester.

My heart knew for weeks something wasn't right, but my body was slow to accept the reality. Then the bleeding started. I called my midwife, and an ultrasound confirmed that my sweet baby had stopped growing, was lifeless. No heartbeat.

No heartbeat.

My little baby. Max.

A few weeks earlier I had experienced some spotting, which hadn't occurred in my two previous pregnancies. An ultrasound at six weeks gestation, a new experience, I had never seen my babies that little before, showed a thumpy little heart. A precious moment I will treasure always. It was MY moment with my baby.
















Knowing my baby was no longer alive, I had choices. Let nature continue or have doctors step in surgically. It seemed nature was already taking care of things, so I went home. The following 24 hours were the worst of my life. After crying all night, the morning of August 15th I began to bleed. I was informed by my midwife the bleeding would increase, and be heavy for a time. However, I bled beyond the norm. With each contraction, yes miscarriage is a birth, my heart, my soul had to say goodbye to my baby. It was physically painful. It was torture on my innermost being. I would never wish this on anyone. To say goodbye to your baby is the most excruciating pain I could ever fathom.

I ended up in the emergency room after fainting from extreme blood loss. I was on the borderline for needing a transfusion. The doctors and assistants were kind and gentle. My midwife held my hand while I sobbed. A D&C was done, and I woke up empty. So empty.

My oldest daughter, Sarah, was three. My husband, John, kept her occupied with painting during the entire morning. I came home, and she showed me this:








She was my light. She understood the pain. She gave me hope.

The days following were a blur. I had never hurt so deep. How do I do this? What do I do? I scoured the Internet for information, grasping at everything I read. I couldn't seem to find an all inclusive resource that had the answers I needed.

So, I took my pain. I took my anger. I took my grief. And I created Baby Loss and Healing. I didn't want to hurt. I wanted to heal. And that's where I had power. I had the choice to let this kill me or to let myself grow. I felt that if I could find just one person that I could help that was living this same nightmare I could find peace in my loss.

And now, three years later, just days before Max's due date, the tears flow. Not everyday. It's not haunting like it was at first. But they flow. And when they do I let them. I feel them, and for me, it's my little Max saying hello right from where he will be forever. Inside my heart.


By Susan Horn

Susan, and her husband John, both originally from Michigan, live in Oregon with their three daughters, Sarah, Ellen and Anna. John travels around the Northwest as a CNC Machine Service Engineer. Susan runs a home based business, Sweet Pickles, focused on promoting babywearing, a passion she discovered thanks to a wonderful friend. Susan is also the founder of a new non-profit organization, Tingly Toes, which provides a lending library of baby carriers to families of children fighting cancer.