By Mary Miller
Mommy to Joseph
Infant loss due to premature birth
April 2024
My journey to motherhood wasn’t easy. After being diagnosed with infertility, I was told I’d need IVF to conceive. I experienced three heartbreaking miscarriages before this pregnancy—my first successful one. I chose to wait to learn the baby’s gender until birth, but I loved this little one with all my heart from the very start.
Everything had been going perfectly. My baby was growing well and hitting every milestone. I had a routine checkup with my OB that went great, and I was just one week away from my 20-week anatomy scan. But on April 1, 2024, I got a call that the ultrasound was canceled due to the sonographer being out sick. My mom suggested we go to a nearby elective ultrasound place we’d been to before, just for reassurance. The tech and I had gotten to know each other well from my past pregnancies, so I felt comfortable there.
As she began the scan, I could immediately tell something was wrong. Her tone changed. Her face changed. She gently explained that she was seeing funneling and that my cervix was shortening and thinning. She called the local hospital, and we went straight there.
Because I was two hours from home, I didn’t know any of the doctors at this hospital. After a cervical check and ultrasound, they told me I needed an emergency cervical cerclage. My OB couldn’t be reached due to the late hour, and I was left with no real say in the decision. I was terrified. I had multiple panic attacks that night, even after being given anxiety medication. Nothing helped.
The next morning during surgery, my water broke. The cerclage was unsuccessful. The doctors coldly informed me that I would need to terminate or deliver my baby that same day. They repeatedly pressured me to terminate, but I held firm—I did not believe in that and asked them to stop bringing it up. I chose the “wait and see” path, hoping for a miracle.
Three days later, I felt pain while using the bathroom. The nurse found that my son’s foot was already in my birth canal. But he stayed stable. No contractions. No labor. So I was moved back to a regular room. The doctors encouraged me to walk, but every nurse—and my doula—advised against it to help prolong the pregnancy. I stayed in bed for seven days, trying to protect my baby.
On the morning of April 7, everything changed again. I was in excruciating pain and called for a doctor. A check revealed my son had moved even further into the birth canal. An emergency ultrasound confirmed that half his body had entered my cervix. I had two options: deliver without an epidural and risk needing painful surgery for a retained placenta, or get the epidural and prepare for surgery afterward.
My doula helped me feel empowered in my decision. I moved through labor naturally as long as I could. But when I realized my son’s umbilical cord had emerged, I knew it was time. I got the epidural, and the doctors rushed in.
“If you want to meet your son alive, we need to do this now.”
I pushed twice. At 3:12 p.m., I gave birth to my beautiful baby boy—13 oz and 10 inches long. I hadn’t known his gender until that moment. Through tears, I asked my doula, “Is it a boy or girl?”
She said, “Boy.”
I named him Joseph Alexander Dean, after my grandfather who was like a father to me. I held him, memorizing every inch of his face. My eyes flooded with tears, full of love, pride, and heartbreak. My son lived for 41 miraculous minutes. He defied every expectation. And then, he was gone.
Afterward, I was rushed into surgery due to hemorrhaging and a retained placenta. My epidural hadn’t worked properly—I could feel everything. I begged to be put under, but they couldn’t. Thankfully, at the last minute, I went numb and the surgery proceeded.
When I returned to my room, On Angels’ Wings was there, taking photos of Joseph. I was so relieved someone had taken the time and care to do something so meaningful during such trauma. The photos mean everything to me. I have them printed in my home and saved on my phone—each one shows his beauty in a vulnerable time.
Joseph was perfectly healthy. It was my diagnosis—cervical insufficiency—that changed everything. I’ll need constant monitoring and advocacy in any future pregnancy. But Joseph gave my life a renewed purpose.
I now carry a tattoo of his tiny footprints and his name on my right forearm. I tell his story often. It helps others open up about their own loss. And though I’ll never fully “heal,” I’m finding peace, one day at a time.
The support from OAW helped me realize I’m not alone. I’ve read stories from other parents and look forward to attending future events to connect with more moms like me. Their compassion—through photos, support groups, and simply listening—has brought light to a very dark time.
If you’re going through something similar, I can’t recommend On Angels’ Wings enough. They give your baby’s story a voice. They help you feel seen. And they remind you: you’re not alone.
