Standing in the Storm: Navigating Stillbirth, Medical Trauma, and the Fear of Pregnancy After Loss

I’ve had my own short stint with pregnancy, and I’ve talked to so many women about the "messy" parts of motherhood. But hearing Alyssa talk about being at the 38-week finish line, only to have the floor fall out from under her, broke me in a way I wasn't expecting.

We need to talk about the silence that surrounds late-term stillbirth. We need to talk about what it feels like to carry a nursery's worth of hope in your heart, only to leave the hospital with a folder of funeral home pamphlets instead of a car seat. Alyssa’s story isn't just about heartbreak; it’s about the terrifying, resilient, and beautiful reality of trying again when you know exactly how much you have to lose.

The Day the Kicks Stopped: Alyssa’s Story

Alyssa was the girl who lived for her dolls. She was the one who took the "robot baby" home in high school and actually loved it. By 2021, she was living her dream: married to her husband, a merchant marine, and 38 weeks pregnant with their first daughter, Marianna Yvette.

The pregnancy was "perfect." No red flags. No warnings. But four days after her husband returned from sea, the movement stopped. Alyssa describes that gut-wrenching spiral—the sugary drinks, the "maybe she’s just out of room" excuses, and the midnight drive to the ER in sweatpants, leaving her hospital bag behind because "it’s probably just my anxiety."

The silence in a dimly lit ultrasound room is a sound you never forget. "There was no words... I could just read it all over her face," Alyssa told me. She was told there was no heartbeat. But the nightmare was only beginning. Because Alyssa was full-term, she couldn't just "be done." She had to go through a grueling induction and labor for a child she knew wouldn't cry.

The birth of Marianna was followed by a horrific medical crisis. Alyssa suffered a massive hemorrhage, losing five units of blood. While her family was grieving a granddaughter, they were nearly losing a daughter, too. "I was knocking on heaven's door," Alyssa said, recounting how she woke up in the ICU, separated from her baby, fighting for her own life while her heart was already shattered.

3 Things I Learned About Pregnancy After Loss

Navigating the world after losing a child is like walking through a minefield of "firsts" and "what-ifs." Here is what Alyssa taught me about the reality of "Rainbow Babies" and the grief that stays.

1. The Guilt of the "Smile"

Grief isn't a straight line; it’s a chaotic roller coaster. Alyssa shared a moment about a month after her loss when she caught herself smiling. The guilt was immediate. She felt like she wasn't "allowed" to be happy.

• The Lesson: You are allowed to feel okay. Joy does not diminish the love for the child you lost.

2. Monitoring is Your Best Friend

When Alyssa got pregnant again, the standard "see you in six weeks" wasn't going to cut it. She had to advocate for her peace of mind.

• She requested appointments every two weeks.

• She utilized stress tests and constant ultrasounds to manage the paralyzing fear that the "fluke" would happen again.

• The Takeaway: If your medical provider doesn't understand your need for increased monitoring after trauma, find a new one.

3. Grief and Joy Can Coexist

Alyssa now has two living children, Ivy and Porter, but their presence doesn't "fix" the loss of Marianna. When her son Porter was born, he had the exact same measurements as his late sister.

• It’s a "bittersweet symphony"—holding a crying baby while mourning the one who never got to cry.

• The Truth: You don't "move on" from a lost child; you carry them with you into the next chapter.

The Expert Take: Why We Must Say Their Names

As a host, I see so many people try to "protect" grieving parents by not bringing up their loss. We think we’re being kind by not reminding them of the pain. But Alyssa corrected me on this, and it’s a lesson we all need to hear: If we don't talk about them, they cease to exist.

Alyssa’s decision to start a dance scholarship in Marianna’s name and her openness on social media isn't "dwelling on the past." It’s an act of motherhood. She is parenting Marianna by keeping her memory alive. As someone who values brand storytelling, I realize now that the most important story we can ever tell is the one that proves our loved ones were here, they mattered, and they are still loved.

True resilience isn't about getting over the trauma; it's about integrating it into a life that eventually includes laughter again.

You Are Not Alone

If you are listening to this and you’re in that "dimly lit room" right now, please hear Alyssa’s words: "You feel so alone, but you’re actually not." There is a whole world of "loss moms" waiting to hold you up.

Whether you find comfort in a support group like Empty Arms or by starting a fundraiser in your child's honor, know that your grief is valid, your joy is allowed, and your child’s name deserves to be spoken.

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