Theo’s Birth Story: A Story of Courage

October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month . As we wrap up the month, we are inspired to share a story from a courageous mama who has experienced loss firsthand. Lindsay Dougal is a doula in Utah and shares the birth story of her middle son, Theo Gussie Dougal. Theo and Lindsay’s Birth Experience It was a crisp, early summer morning on June 14 th , 2015.

I was two days shy of my due date with our second son when I went into labor. Oh! The excitement. We made our way to the hospital where we were checked in and situated in our labor and delivery room.

Our nurse came into the room and asked me to climb into bed so we could see how baby was doing. In between intense contractions, I maneuvered myself onto the bed. She placed the monitor on my belly, and…silence. Deafening silence.

The nursed moved the motor about, searching for any sign of a heartbeat; with each movement her face fell, and my heart raced. “When did you last feel baby move?” “Huh? Yesterday, I think? I don’t know for sure; we had a crazy weekend.” Three professionals and an ultrasound later, it was confirmed—no heartbeat.

Every anxious feeling and concerning inquiry I had throughout my pregnancy (that never amounted to anything other than “baby looks great”) came flooding into my mind. The two days between my last prenatal appointment and going into labor were my son’s last. My pregnancy was textbook, then it wasn’t. He was alive, and then he wasn’t.

The midwife checked my labor progress—7cm dilated. I was in active labor, so we pressed on. My plan for his birth was an unmedicated one. I’d done it with my first and so desperately wanted it for my second.

The midwife compassionately suggested an epidural—because “people in this situation often find it easier to deal with one kind of pain.” While I know this is true and have complete and utter respect for any person who chooses an epidural (in any situation), I knew in that moment that I would regret not moving forward with my plan. I wanted—needed—to feel everything. It was like an offering to my perfect son. He deserved no less than what I planned and knew I could give him.

I remember wanting labor to be over so I could finally meet him, but wanting it to last forever so we wouldn’t have to say goodbye. Theo is Born Four and a half hours after my first contraction, our beautiful Theo Gussie was born still and silent. A 7lb 15oz , 22” long bundle of perfection—the biggest of my kiddos! He had the longest little hands and feet, and beautiful dark, curly hair—the spittin’ image of his papa.

The day of his birth is one of the most tragic and beautiful of my life. My husband bathed and dressed him, just as he had with our first. Family members who lived nearby came to the hospital and met our precious son. We spent about 12 hours with our baby boy.

We sang to him, kissed him, and showered him with love. We introduced him to his older brother; took pictures with him. Then we said goodbye. We made our way home that evening with empty arms.

There, we attempted to better explain to our then three year old son why his much-anticipated little brother wouldn’t be coming home. I have never seen such wisdom, or appreciated the frankness of a child more than in those quiet moments. Moving Forward After Theo’s death and birth everything had changed, yet nothing had changed. We were parents to two amazing little boys, but the world only saw one.

Though his life was short, Theo taught me —and continues to teach me —so much about compassion, courage, and love; the love of family and friends, and perhaps more importantly the love of complete strangers. I’m continually learning to be compassionate with myself and to love without judgment. I don’t sweat the small stuff. I’m learning to let go.

I see, even more now, the critical importance of human connection and vulnerability. Here we are, almost four and a half years later, and I still ache for my son. I will ache for him every single day of my life. Of this, I am convinced.

But that ache comes from a deep and abiding love; and through that ache, I see the world with new eyes.