Joseph's Story

There are truly no words to describe what Ben and I have seen and experienced in this past week.
It has been easily both the most sacred and the most painful thing I have ever experienced in my life.
I've prayed for strength as I've prepared to record an account of my experiences. I'm at a place in the grieving process where there are just so many emotions all competing for my attention, so for the most part I just don't feel most of them. It feels like sometimes I go from laughing and peaceful to crying and feeling my heart break anew instantaneously, however, I've come to realize that all of these emotions are there all the time, I just am not capable of feeling everything at the same time.
I've decided to record and share Joseph's story because, frankly, prior to Sunday I had no idea what to think when I heard that someone had a miscarriage or a stillborn. It is such a deeply heartbreaking, personal experience that most women, understandably, do not wish to share their story. While my heart is no less broken than any other woman who has been through this, and while I cannot claim to speak for anyone else's experience, I have decided to share this because I want others to be able to understand and have a new perspective on this subject so that they will have a better idea of what couples may be experiencing.
Another large factor in me sharing this is that we find so much joy in Joseph. We are so proud of our son and wish to share what an immeasurable blessing he is with the world.

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Sunday morning I woke up bright and early and ordered Ben to stay in bed. I ran into our spare room and pulled out a broom, a pillow, some work gloves and a bright green t-shirt that said, "What a dad!" in Spanish. I eagerly placed them on the bed in front of Ben, threw my arms around him and said, "Happy Father's Day!" All the gifts were things that my practical husband had requested for gifts, with the exception of the shirt, which turned out to be his favorite gift. He served his mission in Bolivia and likes to jokingly speak with me and my broken Spanish occasionally. As we ate breakfast, I started to feel a familiar migraine coming on. I told Ben I didn't think I'd be able to make it to sacrament meeting today and to come back and get me after that part was over so I could teach my primary class. He agreed and I went back to bed, woke up feeling better, and the rest of the morning went as planned. 

After church we came home and started making a banana cream pie to bring over to my dad for his Father's Day barbecue. Right as I was about to finish up with the filling at about 1:40pm, I felt the need to use the restroom, so I asked Ben to take over for me. After I sat down, an enormous gush of liquid left me all at once. 

I immediately knew what had happened.

Trying not to panic, I yelled for Ben to come quickly. I told him that I thought my water had just broke. Both of us were in shock and the first thought was to call the doctor's office. They let us talk to the on-call doctor, because my doctor, Dr Horsley, was out of town. The doctor told us we needed to go immediately to the ER. We quickly made our way to the hospital. On the way I called 911, because I didn't have the number for the hospital. I explained what had just happened and asked that they tell the ER to have a wheelchair ready for me when we pulled up to the doors, because I didn't think walking was a good idea right then. A moment later we pulled up and, sure enough, a nurse rushed to my door and whisked me away. Ben parked the car, ran as fast as he could and caught up to us at the end of the hall, just as she was finishing explaining that she was supposed to take us straight to Labor and Delivery. We took some secret back-ways to the other side of the hospital, where a L&D nurse took over and wheeled me to the furthest corner room in the wing. I later found out that this room is specially situated to provide families who are going through a very difficult time with privacy from the rest of the wing, which is filled with happy, new parents.

My first nurse, Dawn, came in and started going through the routine procedure for when an expectant mother believes her water has broken. The amazing thing about Dawn, though, was that she managed to do everything she needed to do, without ever letting me feel like I was just another patient. She explained everything that was happening in detail, while still being very sensitive and compassionate. We love Dawn. She started by putting some PH strips in me and checking them to see if they were right for amniotic fluid. She did a few and they all came back negative. Then she listened for Joseph's heartbeat, and found it beating along at an unstressed 140/ bpm. While she was doing this she was explaining to me that these were both great signs and that I had probably just experienced a weird side effect from a bladder infection or something. Then she went to do another examination and said that she was starting to double guess herself, because she thought she saw a little bit of amniotic fluid now. The PH test still came back negative, but she decided to order an ultrasound, just to check how much fluid I had lost. She was explaining that if I had just lost a bit of fluid, then they could do things to keep our baby in the right position, to stay in the fluid that was left, until the age of viability, which was 24 weeks, at which point they would transfer me to Mckay-Dee hospital, which specializes in premature births. I was at 16 weeks in my pregnancy, and not thrilled at the prospect of spending two months in the hospital, on constant medication and bed rest, but I braced myself to do whatever I had to, to keep my baby safe. 

When the ultrasound tech finally showed up, he apologetically informed me that he wasn't allowed to talk about what he was seeing on the screen. He did let me look, though. I could see my precious baby, squirming a bit. His heart rate was still around a healthy 140. He wasn't under stress or in pain. I didn't realize that this would be the last time I would see my beautiful child while he was alive. Had I known, I wouldn't have let the man with the ultrasound leave so fast. 

Dr Craig was on call that night and she came in to talk to me about what they had found out from the ultrasound. I can't remember exact words, but what they had found out is that I had lost almost all of the amniotic fluid all at once when my water broke. I was still having a difficult time processing what they were saying. My baby was still perfectly healthy. I wanted to know what the next step was. What were they going to do to fix it? After the doctor had left, I turned to Dawn and asked, "So, without amniotic fluid, what will happen?" She was still for a moment before she gently explained, "Amniotic fluid is crucial for the baby. The baby uses it to breathe and do other important things." 

"Won't me or the baby make more?" I asked.

"You won't be able to make enough in time. I am so sorry." She whispered.

Then it hit me.

My body had failed. As a result, my perfectly healthy child was going to leave me.

I have never known such pain as the pain that knowledge left me with.

Dr Craig wanted to immediately induce labor. Through my sobs, I agreed. 

Dr Horsley is an old friend of mine. I baby-sat his five wonderful children for several years and just fell in love with his entire family. There was no one else I trusted with the care of me and my child. That's why, after failed attempts to reach him by phone, my mom drove over to their house and explained to his wife what was happening. His wife got a hold of him and he called me right after calling and talking to Dr Craig. He expressed his sincere sorrow for our situation, and gave some advice. He explained that he highly recommended we wait for our baby's heartbeat to stop before we induce labor. This would make it a lot easier for me to accept. I am so grateful for this advice. I can see now that it saved me from additional heartache.

The next several hours were torture. My child was inside of me, dying, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. I just had to wait for his perfect heart to stop beating. This entire time is a blur in my mind. Both of our parents came and went. We watched a movie. We prayed endlessly, read scriptures and found peace in General Conference talks. One talk in particular, Elder Scott's from the most recent conference, touched us. It spoke of how those spirits who have left their body are closer to us than we know. 

That evening I had a sacred experience that let me know that my Joseph had passed on and that he was alright. 

I called for the nurses and requested that they look for a heartbeat. By now, Tiffany was my nurse. She couldn't find a heartbeat on Doppler and called in a more experienced nurse, Dee, for a second opinion. Dee couldn't find anything either, so she got an ultrasound machine. When she finally found Joseph, she explained what was on the screen. She said, "Here is his head, looking over on this side you can see his chest, and right here is where there would be a heartbeat." 

I stared at the screen. His little chest was still. He was lying on his side, his back towards us. My Joseph was peacefully sleeping.

Dee began to cry as she expressed her sympathy for us and then hurried out of the room. Ben held me and we were both racked with sobs. For the first time we truly mourned.

I mourned for all the things this meant I would not experience in this life. I would not see what color his bright eyes were. I would not hear his first words. I would not feel his little hand on my chin as I nurse him. I would not watch him nod off in my arms as I sing him to sleep. I would not hear his laughter as we play yet another game of peek-a-boo. I would not get to set a cake in front of him on his first birthday and watch as he gleefully digs in. The list went on and on without end.

Most of all, I would not get to hold him in my arms for the rest of my life.

I immediately missed my son. I realized just how deep my love for this child I'd never met was. I would have done anything at all in this universe, to get him back, even just for long enough to whisper, "I love you, " into his mortal ear. 

This was one of countless times throughout this experience when an unexpected wave of peace came over me. I determined that I was too exhausted at that moment to induce labor, so I decided to try and rest until morning. I drifted in and out of fitful sleep for a few hours, alternating between weeping, silence, and whispered conversations with Benjamin. There was a chair in the room that transformed into a bed. Ben moved it over next to my bed and slept there, holding my hand. When I would start crying, he would crawl up into my bed and hold me until it passed. Around 3am, we called Ben's dad, Gordon, to come and give me a priesthood blessing with oil. Ben had given me two blessings already, but he had forgotten his consecrated oil, and I felt strongly that I needed it. Gordon showed up and helped Ben administer a blessing to me, granting me strength to do what I needed to do right then and peace and comfort. After that I was able to sleep until just after 6am. Around 7am, I decided that I was going to eat breakfast and then ask them to induce labor. 

I ate, not because I was hungry, but because I knew that I needed to. I was going to be on liquids or ice chips until after labor, and I needed whatever strength I could get. 

At about 8:30am, they gave me the first dose of the pills to start me.

Then it was back to waiting.

The next few hours are also a blur. Parents came and went again. We were briefed on what we needed to decide as far as what to do with our son's body. We decided we'd have a small, private funeral and bury him in the Logan Cemetery on Wednesday morning.

Most people were very, very kind. Some people seemed to forget that even though they had no emotional attachment to this "fetus", we did. He meant everything to us. He was and is our son. We had been looking forward to meeting him more than we had looked forward to anything, ever. 

Then, around 11, the contractions started. I asked for some pain medication and what they gave me immediately went to my head. I would close my eyes and see kaleidoscope shapes and colors. I did not feel anything, emotionally, or physically. Suddenly, I understood why people get addicted to drugs. It makes it so you really don't have to face reality when it's painful.

It was not what I wanted.

I decided not to ask for another dose until I really needed it. The pills wear off after about a 1/2 hour to an hour. Coming back down was awful. Suddenly I felt everything again. All the thoughts, emotions and physical pain came rushing back. I reminded myself that I didn't want anymore yet. I had to be mentally present for every second I would get with my son.

I threw up, I think just once, but I can't really remember. A couple of times I felt sharp, deep pains in my chest. When I told the nurses about it, they informed me that it was from extreme emotional stress. I believe it was the feeling of my heart breaking again and again, so it could grow big enough to fit in the enormous feelings of love I was being flooded with. Love for my Heavenly Father, love for my Benjamin, and, of course, an enormous amount of love for my Joseph Gordon. 

At some point we decided on a name for him. We decided on Joseph Gordon Allred. Joseph, because it was a name that I had picked out in my sleep awhile back and we both ended up really liking it. Gordon because we have numerous wonderful men on both sides of the family with the name Gordon, and we wanted to honor them all. 

The pain began to increase in frequency and intensity. I got another dose of pain medication, expecting to be carried away again. This time it barely even took the edge off the pain. The only reason I knew it had really even entered my system was because between the contractions, my head would get extremely fuzzy. I could not stop myself from crying out in pain.

Whenever I had imagined going through labor before, the only comfort that I had was knowing that at the end I would have a baby in my arms and would be flooded with such a level of ecstasy that all that pain would all be worth it. I always counted on that knowledge to get me through labor.

Now I was going through labor with the sole purpose of bringing my son's body into the world, after he had already left it. Words fail me here. I cannot describe the emotional and physical anguish I experienced. They could not keep my mom out in the hallway during the worst of it and she would come in and hold the hand that Ben wasn't holding. 

Then the nurses were back to check on how things were progressing. As they had been that entire shift, they were idly chit-chatting back and forth. They realized that Joseph was waiting just inside and ready to come out, so they called up Dr Horsley. While they were waiting for him, they continued to ignore us and talk to each other. I did not know how they could not feel it. How couldn't they feel the Spirit in that room? It was filled with angels. It had been sanctified by the sacrifice that Ben and I had laid at the altar of the Lord that day. We had come to accept that this was what Heavenly Father had planned for us. He had strengthened us for it. He had held all of us in His hands through the entire experience. We knew that this was right. It was okay. We were still in deep mourning for our precious son, because we missed him and loved him. But we knew that Joseph was all right and we knew that, although we would always miss him, we would be able to accept this as well. And yet these women talked away as if this was just another routine experience in another routine day.

How did they not feel it?

I didn't have the energy to yell at them for how careless they had been that entire day, so instead I whispered, "Please, use quiet voices." They quieted down a bit and soon Dr Horsley came into the room and helped to better set the tone for these women.

He understood that the ground he was walking on was sacred. 

Dr Horsley asked Ben to step up more towards my head and focus on my face while he delivered Joseph. They had been very concerned that Joseph might not be in very good shape, or that the placenta might not come out immediately, which would require surgery. 

They needn't have worried. There were no further complications. After cleaning Joseph up a little, Dr Horsley explained to us that he was perfectly developed for his 16 weeks. His skin was still very red, because he was so young, and there was bruising on one side from where he was resting when he passed on, but they weren't anything that had caused him pain. His head was just a bit bigger than we're used to, again because he was so young, but all his features and everything was as it should be. Then the nurses handed him to us.

And I suddenly understood beauty. Joseph was the most beautiful child I have ever seen. He really was perfect. Perfect ears, perfect closed eyes, perfect lips that were turned up in a small smile, perfect nose that looked just like mine, perfect collarbone, perfect tiny hands, with fingernails and all the knuckles, perfect feet that were exact miniature versions of Ben's.

He was our child. 

Ben went and put on his Father's Day shirt. 

"I'm a daddy." He said

We held Joseph in our arms and wept and prayed.  Then an amazing thing happened. We stopped crying and started just talking. Talking about how wonderful and amazing our son is. As we talked, we began to be filled with more and more true joy, until we were even laughing a little. Our son was just so perfect! 

I learned a lesson about joy that night. I learned that it is possible to be experiencing the most heart rending emotions humanly possible, and yet still have joy. Joy is deeper than happiness. It is possible to have joy in your children in any circumstance, simply because their very existence is a miracle and a blessing to you.

Then the volunteers from Share Parents arrived. These women are angels. They volunteer countless hours serving women with stillborn children, and each of them have been through the same thing. They brought tiny outfits we could pick from that would fit our Joseph. They helped us to dress him, including putting a miniature diaper on him. We picked a white blessing gown for him, with a white knitted cap, and tiny blue booties. They gave him a little teddy bear to tuck under his arm. There were also tiny sets of identical bracelets to choose from. One would go on Joseph's wrist, the other would go on a necklace for me. There was a gold ring, the right size for a newborn's finger, which fit over Joseph's whole hand that we set with him while  the volunteers took pictures of him with and without us. The ring also was mine to put on a necklace. They put all the pictures on a CD and printed out a couple for us to take home with us right then. They provided us with a little blue blanket to wrap him in. They also gave us an extra of the diaper, gown and blanket to keep for ourselves. They left us with their names and phone numbers and the instructions to call them absolutely anytime we wanted to talk or needed anything at all. They put all of these things in a special memory box for us to keep. As I said, these women were truly angels.  Then they left us alone so our parents could come in and meet Joseph, the first grandchild on both sides.

Our parents' visit in the room was very short. There wasn't much to say. There were many tears and whispers of, "He's so precious," and "He's such a blessing."

Ben and I spent some more time alone with our first born son. We held our Joseph. We sang to him. We laughed. We cried. I spent most of my time repeating the words, "I love you," again and again. I knew if he had been able to stay around longer, I would have said those words to him countless times, so I wanted to say it as many times as I could while I held his mortal body. I also explained to him that I knew he was no longer in his little body, but I knew he was with us and could hear me anyway.

After a couple hours had passed, we finally decided that we were ready to tell our sweet Joseph goodbye, and hand him over to Dee, who was once again our nurse. We called her in and then each held him and kissed him one last time.

Then I had to turn away as she walked out with him. 

The feelings were overpowering.

And then, once again, so was the peace.

Share Parents had given me a teddy bear. They recognized that it was in no way a replacement for a baby, but it would give me something to hold as I left the hospital. I cannot tell you how much that bear means to me. I call it my Joseph Bear. When I get really sad and am having a hard time, missing my son, I hold the bear close to me, and somehow, it makes me feel better.

We left that hospital much different than we entered it.

We entered it scared, but still with all the lovely hopes and dreams of a newlywed couple expecting their first child.

We left that hospital with a solemn knowledge that we were, are, and will always be Joseph's parents. We left with a greater capacity for joy and love.

I've had a quote in my head through this whole experience. It's a quote from a man by the name of Francis Webster who crossed the plains with the ill-fated Willie and Martin Handcart companies. He was in a meeting where people were criticizing the trek. Francis stood up and said, "Every one of us came through with the absolute knowledge that God lives for we became acquainted with Him in our extremities!... I knew then that the Angels of God were there. Was I sorry that I chose to come by handcart? No! Neither then nor any minute of my life since. The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay and I am thankful that I was privileged to come in the Martin Handcart Company.” "

Throughout my remaining time on Earth, there will be an empty spot in my heart and my arms, where my son Joseph belongs. But, I will never look back on this experience with any regret. I am so blessed to have Joseph. He has been nothing but a blessing in my life. Through my experiences with him, I have come to know my Savior and my Father. I have felt the hand of God and I will forever be changed by it. I've learned more about all of life's most important lessons in these past four days than I learned in the previous 24 years combined. 

I have also come to know and understand my Benjamin better. I have never felt more blessed in my choice of a husband. He's been my best friend since I met him, and he's been the best husband anyone could ask for. But now, he's so much more than that. He is the other half to my soul. I could not have gotten through this without his strength and tears at my side. Even when he doesn't feel the same way as me in the grieving process, he respects my needs and I try to do the same for him. He listens and cries with me and holds me.

I'm so blessed to have two angels by my side. One on this side of the veil, one on the other.

More than anything, I am forever grateful for Joseph.