Shelbie’s Story of Hope
It was the last week of May. I left after work and decided to go to the hospital because I was concerned that I was having contractions. When I arrived, everything with the baby looked healthy. His heartbeat provided a steady rhythm on the monitor as the nurses tried to get the contractions to stop. My amniotic fluid was high, and I had been going in for weekly ultrasounds, but the doctor had told me that while high amounts of amniotic fluid could result in preterm contractions, it didn’t always lead to preterm labor. My contractions did eventually stop around 6:00 that night, and I was sent home. But at midnight, they started up again.
We went to our prescheduled ultrasound and appointment the following Friday. At the appointment, we found out that the fluid had decreased quite a bit, but nothing to be too alarmed about. Throughout the week, I thought I could feel him rolling, but the movements were less intense than they normally were. I wrote it off as him being confused by the sudden change of fluid.
On Friday, June 1, we went in for our weekly fluid check. His little face appeared on the screen, and deep down I just knew something wasn’t right.
He was still.
The tech went over his chest once. No movement. Twice. Where was the flutter I was so used to seeing? She said, “I am so sorry, but there is no heartbeat.”
I’ve never felt so sick to my stomach in all my life. My husband instantly flew out of his chair and laid his upper body over me in a hug, as if to shield me from the overwhelming wave of pain that crashed into every fiber of my being. I’m sure every patient in that small section of the doctor’s office heard my screaming and sobbing. But I didn’t care. At 29 weeks, our first-born son’s heart stopped beating.
We were moved into a room to wait for further instruction from the doctor. She was extremely sympathetic, answered all the questions we had right out of the gate, and even eased into telling me what I already knew. I still had to deliver my dead son. She gave me a choice. I could wait for up to a week, or go to the hospital that day to begin the process for delivery. She gave us time—as long as we needed—to think through this decision.
Immediately, my thoughts turned to my husband. I clung to him. I knew that this was the kind of thing that could tear apart a marriage. I whispered, “Please, don’t let this ruin us.” In that moment, I knew that the people we were before, the couple we once were, had also died with our son. Not only did I lose a child, I lost who I was. I lost a very significant part of my relationship. I lost the man I married. That is a lot for a single person to lose in an instant.
We called our work and our family members, picked up our things, and numbly made our way to the hospital, not knowing what to expect. As we got to the front desk of the birthing center, I knew I had a choice to make. I could go down the easy road, the one marked by anger, negativity, pointed fingers, and self-pity, or I could go down the hard road, trusting that God would use this awful experience for my good and His glory. I chose the hard road.
God deeply provided for us, bathing us in His blessings. We were blessed for five days by the nurses and staff at St. Elizabeth Healthcare. I was surprised at the number of staff that were waiting in our room, ready to comfort us. They helped my husband and I get settled, setting me up with IV’s and monitors. Before they even went to get the doctor that would attend to me throughout the weekend, they stayed and answered the questions we had. When our family came to the hospital, the nurses answered all their questions too. They prepped us all for what to expect when the baby arrived.
We were blessed with Doctor B who called me every week during my pregnancy to check in on me, and who was equally as devastated as we were about the loss of our child. He knew what it was like to lose a baby around the same gestation as ours, and he was the doctor that would be with us for the weekend.
The nurse wheeled me back into the room where we would stay for four more days. There they began to start the process so I could give birth to Reece as naturally as I could. They were afraid if they did things too fast it would cause my uterus to rupture, the same fear was with a c-section as well. My nurse coached me through the contractions, and told me how great I was doing.
Maurice James Lee was perfect and pink. He had curly brown hair and even had some on his shoulders and arms. He weighed 3lbs 12oz and measured 17in long. The doctor gave the nurse my boy so I could hold him skin to skin. She patched me up and stood there crying alongside the nurses as my husband and I wept. We got to love on him and keep him with us for two amazing days. My husband’s cousin is a photographer affiliated with Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep. She captured Reece’s birth with amazing photos and videos. She was able to capture every detail, even parts I forgot about. I now have the pictures in a book.
We were blessed to have our families with us the entire time. Day after day, they stayed with us. Our room was packed with my parents and sister and my husband’s parents and sisters. We shared many stories and laughed so hard together. Our aunts and cousins even visited as well. It was a time where we grew closer as a family. A pastor from our church came by to pray and talk with us, and another pastor from our church led the funeral service the following week. Our small group stopped by to love on us, cry with us, and most importantly pray with us.
We were blessed by the nurses who sat beside me, holding my hand, and crying with me. They prayed with me during my stay at the hospital. They also made matching bracelets for Reece, my husband, and I. While at the hospital, we received a box from Raising Blue. It held a ceramic kit so we could always have Reece’s footprints to show off. It also had a blue crocheted blanket and hat, a book, and other items that I was able to use to help through this time.
Through what felt like hell, God never abandoned me. The truth is, even in our darkest time God was there, and He provided for us richly. He was there with me in that ultrasound room. He held me close as I clutched my husband before we made our way to the hospital. He was with me all those days and nights in the hospital. He sent person after person to aide us while we were there, including the doctors and nurses. He formed and knitted Reece in my womb and placed him in me to take care of for 29 weeks.
Our children are a gift from God, and they are His to call home whenever He sees fit. I weep, not only tears of grief for not knowing my child for as long as I wanted to, but with tears of utter joy that my baby is in heaven. He is with God, not having to suffer the pains of this world. As soon as Maurice James Lee Summers opened his eyes, he saw the face of our Savior. Oh, what a sight to see!
I know God is going to use our sorrow to glorify Him—He has from the very beginning. Did we suffer? Absolutely. There will never be a day that I do not miss my son or think about what could have been. But I know I did not go through this alone.
That pain still exists. I still relive the day when my son’s heart stopped beating. I recall the moments that happened over that course of time. Yet God has blessed me in ways that I didn’t even think were possible. On May 21, 2019, our beautiful baby girl, Emmelia Louise “Emmy Lou” Jean Summers was born. I’ve also been given opportunities to help other women and families that have gone through the same grief that we have. God’s plans are always greater than our own. Since the birth of our Emmy, I have been suffering from night terrors and anxious thoughts. The deep-rooted scars from the trauma of loss still linger within me. But, this has taught me to hold onto the hand of Jesus even tighter. He will not leave me. He is the same God that He always has been—in the valleys and in the mountain—and I can show countless examples through my life of this, especially within the last year.
Am I still anxious and hurt? Yes. Do I have scars from my trauma? Yes. Am I a better person today? Yes. But, I have so much to be thankful for, and I would choose to go through what I went through all over again if that meant just knowing my Reece for that short period of time. For it is better to have loved than to never love at all.
- Shelbie
Hope Mom to Reece
I live, across the river from Cincinnati, OH with my family and our beagle, Copper. I have taken the events of this tragedy to help other loss moms in our community and nationally. “You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name, He may give it to you.” John 15:16, ESV
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