Angela’s Story

He was our little miracle. After years of trying and finally agreeing to start fertility treatments in the new year, we were beyond ecstatic to find out we got pregnant naturally in September. We were over the moon. Before we knew it, we were at every baby store in town, researching every baby product on the planet, and bought all the books we could get our hands on. I remember my husband’s face when we got our stroller; he kept pushing it around and around in our living room.

Fast forward to March 31, 2020. I woke up after a rather restless night, which wasn’t out of the ordinary because at this point I was 29 weeks, and told to be measuring “larger than normal.” Although, this time, I felt particularly bottom heavy, and I noticed I hadn’t felt him move much that morning. The day progressed, and the worry took over when hours passed and I had yet to feel him move. He was non-responsive to the cold drinks, the sweet treats, and even laying on my left side—all the textbook suggestions. I called my husband, and we went straight to the hospital that evening. 

During this time, we were at the heat of the COVID-19 pandemic here in Ontario, and the government had just ordered a lock down. In fact, our local hospital had just announced a COVID outbreak within a few of the units that evening which restricted my husband from going into the Labor Assessment Unit with me. He had to stay in the car and wait as I texted him with updates. As I got checked-in and placed in a room, I texted my husband to let him know where I was. 

I vividly remember being in that room with another pregnant woman. She was in the bed next to me, with her baby’s heart beat loud on the speaker. She was on the phone talking. As the nurse ran the doppler all over my belly, trying to find where best to hear our baby’s heartbeat, I remember being annoyed because the lady beside me was still on her phone having a loud conversation about what her husband wanted to name their baby. 

“I don’t know,  I think he wants to name him Hesus, like Hey-sus! You know, like Jee-sus?!” said the lady.

Seconds later, another nurse came in placed another doppler on my belly. Then she left abruptly and closed the door. A resident entered with a portable ultrasound and placed the probe on my stomach for three whole seconds. She then turned the monitor off and told me I needed to be moved to a private room and that my OB had been paged. This was when I started to piece things together. Being a nurse myself, I clearly identified the look on their faces—the look of worry that we are all trained to suppress with calm body language. So I took a big breath and fearfully said, “Please, tell me what’s wrong.” 

It was in that moment that everything went silent as she uttered the words, “Im sorry, there is no heartbeat.” 

My world came to a complete stop. I remember bending over and putting my hands over my face, because I couldn’t bear to face the reality that my miracle was gone. There was a sharp, stabbing pain in my lungs as I ran out of air, because I couldn’t find the energy to properly fill them. I will never forget the look of shock on my husband’s face when he walked into the room,  knowing right away something had gone terribly wrong. He held me as he begged the doctor for a second ultrasound, just in case there was still hope that our son’s heart would spontaneously start beating again. We begged and we begged. God had performed such miracles before, He could do it again. 

But He didn’t. 

We were given the choice to start induction that evening or go home and wait for my body to naturally go into labor. Given the circumstances of the pandemic, we decided to stay where we were rather than go back and forth into the community. I was induced that night, and I started slowly contracting a few hours later.   

We cried, prayed, called our closest friends and cried some more that night while we waited for my contractions to get stronger. I held onto my belly tightly as my husband held me, because we knew it wouldn’t be long until we would’t be able to hold it anymore. 

At 9:45am on April 1, 2020, I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy—Ocean Alexander. My heart in my arms. He was absolutely perfect. He never opened his eyes. We never heard him cry. He just quietly came to us that morning, peacefully sleeping. 

We held him, and we cried harder than we have ever cried in our lives. The pain only increased as we held his flawless little body without any clear explanation as to why he wasn’t still alive. There was so much pain in the why, so much pain in the wondering of what could have been.

But there we were, sitting in that hospital room, just the three of us, and there was no getting out of it differently. We had asked God for a miracle, but He didn’t do it, so we asked Him just to hold us. Just because He didn’t answer our prayer to heal our baby, doesn’t mean He didn’t show up. We cried because physically we saw death, but we worshipped because spiritually we felt peace. 

While I was pregnant, I always said that Ocean was never ours, that he was always God’s. We would just get the opportunity to raise him. This was now the true test of my belief in that statement. We worshipped and we offered Ocean to our heavenly Father, painfully but wholeheartedly. We lifted our hands to heaven in complete and utter surrender to Him in our sorrow. We lifted our son to the One who made him and brought him to us in the first place.

In the months to come, as we navigated through our grief, God spoke to us through the love of our family, friends, and even complete strangers. There was never a day where we felt alone, even during the pandemic. In a world where we were mandated to socially distance, He drew in closer than ever. 

I look back now, and I’m reminded of the lady on the phone saying “Hesus.” My husband is Spanish and I’m Filipino, so the version of this name brought comfort on a whole different level. I believe God used that conversation to remind me of His name, the name that is above any name and situation. God made sure that the last thing I heard before my world stopped was, “Jesus.” And although the world may have turned silent, and it felt like we were at a standstill, He reminded us that He was still God. 

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I am a nurse in Ontario, Canada. Married to the love of my life, Mario for four years. Mama to my angel baby Ocean, our 2 year-old pup Loki our rainbow baby due April 2021.

We would be honored to share your story as a Hope Mom on our blog. On Saturdays we feature Hope Moms’ stories in order to showcase God’s faithfulness even in the midst of such deep sorrow. If you would like to have your story shared on our blog for this purpose, learn more and submit here.

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