The story of Julia.

Firstly, I want to say thank you. Thank you for taking the time to learn our story, the story of Julia Jean who was taken far too soon. Whether you know me and are here for support, you are here to expand your knowledge on pregnancy loss and stillbirth, or you are a part of this horrific club no one asked to be a part of, I’m glad you’re here. Never did I think this could happen to me, but isn’t that how all tragic stories begin? I want to use this platform to share the raw, gutting truth about pregnancy and child loss. In order to take you on this journey with me, let’s start from the beginning. The story of Julia.

September 30, 2021. 

It was a normal, exhausting day. That’s how all of these stories begin, right? Between chasing my toddler around, working my full-time job, and cranking out invitation orders for my small business, I barely had a minute to rest. By the time night rolled around, I was thrilled to finally lay down. All I wanted to do was pass out but my hormones were getting the best of me. I was lying next to my husband (Jesse) who was sound asleep and I started silently crying to myself. I was SO tired and feeling overworked and under appreciated for all I was doing. I was working full-time (remotely), running my very successful wedding invitation business all by myself, doing everything I could to get our new house ready for Julia’s arrival, taking care of my crazy 1.5yo full-time.. not to mention.. all while 7 months pregnant!! I was doing way too much and in that moment it all caught up to me.

In the midst of my tears, I realized Julia wasn’t moving around as she normally would that time of night (you know, just as I am getting comfortable and about to fall asleep). Then the panic set in. When was the last time I felt her move? I was all over the place that day that I could not remember. I immediately got out of bed and went downstairs. I began poking and prying at my belly. Nothing. I put a flashlight up to my belly. Nothing. I drank a glass of cold water. Nothing. Ate a cracker. Nothing. If my emotional breakdown wasn’t hard enough, here comes the pregnancy anxiety in full swing. I started to pray. 

Lord, if something is wrong, please show me a sign. Please give me something. Am I being paranoid? Please let me know if I should call the doctor. 

Silence. 

I wrote it off as paranoia. Surely if something were really wrong I would know. Earlier in my pregnancy I had to call the on-call doctors and they were so unsupportive and dismissive. I don’t want to come off as a crazy, anxious pregnant lady, and I know they’ll just say “that is normal, call back if you have any more concerns” like they normally respond. So, I made a deal with myself. If I still am not feeling her move by the morning, I will go to the doctor first thing. 

It was the longest night of my life. I felt her wiggle and move here and there, but by the time the morning came I knew something was off. I called and they had me come into the office first thing to do a non stress test (NST) that assesses her heart rate and movement. As soon as they wrapped the band around my belly and placed the fetal monitor, I was immediately relieved. There was a large “145” flashing on the screen. Her heart rate was as strong as it always was. Phew. I texted Jesse to let him know everything was okay and that I guess I was just paranoid. He responded with “maybe she just needed lots of rest so she could grow bigger and stronger.” We both felt like we could breathe again. I was on the monitor for about 30 minutes when the doctor came in and told me she wanted to do an ultrasound. While Julia’s heart rate was strong, she let me know that the monitor did not detect any movement during the 30 minutes. Hmm. I let Jesse know and of course he was jealous that he wasn’t there to see her. He hated missing appointments due to COVID. The ultrasound lasted maybe 2 minutes, the quickest ultrasound of my life, but the tech did not say a word the entire time. Something didn’t feel right. A quick ultrasound could mean she saw what she needed to see and Julia was good, or something wasn’t right. I waited for the doctor and when she came in, I noticed a slight panic on her face. She said, and I remember this word for word because it plays over and over again in my mind:

Baby’s heart rate dropped a bit and we still were not able to detect fetal movement on the ultrasound so we would like you to go to the hospital to get additional testing and prepare for an early delivery. Are you okay to drive?

Tears. So many tears. Early delivery? I’m only 29 weeks. She’s too little. So many thoughts ran through my mind. Am I okay to drive? Well, what’s the alternative? I have someone come pick me up and drive me? That’ll take forever. I have to drive. I have to get there right now. I can’t believe this is happening. More tests? Early delivery? Tears tears tears. I walked out of the office and immediately called Jesse. He was so flustered. He needed to quickly pack a bag for Joanna and drop her off with his brother. Thankfully his brother was 5 minutes from the doctor so I met him there to go to the hospital together. I could not do this alone. 

The time between the doctor and the hospital felt like a lifetime. The whole ride there all I could think about was the worst case scenario. I’m going to have to deliver her today. It’s going to be a very long journey in the NICU. I won’t be able to hold Joanna after a c-section surgery, but she is going to need me. Julia is going to need me. She is going to be so scared hooked up to all of those wires in a strange place. All she knows is me. But I can’t be in two places at once. How are we going to do this? Life is about to be so so hard. That was the worst case scenario. 

When I got to the hospital, my parents were waiting downstairs. My dad parked our car and my mom waited anxiously for any kind of news. The hospital had me fill out all of the paperwork as if I were delivering her that day. I had flashbacks to when I went into labor with Joanna and how exciting filling out the paperwork was. Now it’s utter fear. Then they walked me to the labor and delivery room, had me put on the delivery gown, and we awaited the doctor to give us some answers. 

As soon as she came in she did a bedside ultrasound. I was holding Jesse’s hand and preparing for her to tell us she still isn’t moving and they want to get her out. Instead, she turned to me and Jesse, shook her head, and told us 

“I’m so sorry, there is no heartbeat.”

What? What do you mean? I was just in your office 30 minutes ago and her heart rate was strong? I said to the doctor. I was so shocked. So confused. So angry.

The doctor then told me “babies are not supposed to die, but sometimes they do.” What?! No. Babies are not supposed to die. Death cannot come before life.

What followed is trauma that I relive every. single. day. The nurse started explaining to us the next steps. She let us know the doctor would be back to begin the induction and a social worker was going to speak with us later that day about arrangements. It all was happening so fast and I couldn’t breathe. How can this be real? When am I going to wake up from this nightmare?

I remember my parents coming up to the room and my heart broke even more. Seeing their baby girl go through every parents’ worst fear, knowing there was nothing they could do to take my pain away- it was horrible. My dad ran over to me. He hugged and kissed me and through his tears said to me “I hope this is the worst thing you ever have to go through.” My mom on the other side of me held my hand tightly and uttered through her tears “the worst part is yet to come.” I knew what she was referring to, but my dad was shocked and confused. You see, he didn’t realize that not only was my baby gone, but later that day I would have to endure the excruciating pain of labor, and that I would have to give birth to my lifeless baby. 

Before this, I could honestly say I have never been in more pain than when I gave birth to Joanna. The contractions and back labor were paralyzing. But you forget how horrific it is as soon as that crying baby is in your arms. Tearing your body apart is worth it once you look into her eyes and hear her cry out for you. It’s a euphoric moment and makes every bit of the pain worth it.  But to go through that pain, to scream in agony, to rip your body open only to be met by your dead baby? That is pain I would not wish on anyone. That pain is indescribable. 

The doctor started the induction around 10am. For the first couple of hours not much progressed. I just laid there in the bed, wishing over and over that I would wake up from this nightmare. Jesse had the difficult job to start notifying our friends and family. It felt like time was standing still. We were anxiously awaiting the arrival of Julia while dreading it at the same time. The doctor would check in periodically throughout the day to check progression. The social worker stopped by to discuss arrangements for Julia. The nursing staff would come in every couple of hours to check in or assist me if I needed to use the restroom as I was hooked up to an IV and wires. I felt like an inconvenience the entire day to all the staff I interacted with. I knew I wasn’t the only woman who had ever gone through this, but that day it sure felt like it. At one point I asked for a c-section. I just wanted them to knock me out and take her out because the anticipation of giving birth to my baby was too much. 

When the contractions started getting worse I requested medication. They started me on a drip and whatever they gave me made me feel so sick and awful. I couldn’t open my eyes because I felt so nauseous and had terrible spins. Then the contractions got even stronger. The drip wasn’t doing anything anymore and the pain was unbearable. I requested an epidural. I reminded myself that when I got my epidural with Joanna, I had to get through 1 or 2 more contractions and then I went numb. I told myself, just 1 more and you’ll feel nothing. The next contraction came and went. Then another. Then another. My God they were horrible. WHY ISN’T THIS WORKING I shouted through my tears. The pain felt like it lasted hours. I couldn’t open my eyes, I was so hot, I couldn’t breathe, and for a second I was so focused on the pain that I forgot why I was even there. Then, all of a sudden, the numbness finally kicked in. I felt instant relief.. until I felt my body push. I let the nurse know that I felt something “come out”. I thought maybe it was my water breaking or maybe I had wet myself? She peaked under the blanket and ran to get the doctor. ThenI knew. I looked over at Jesse, I held his hand, and I told him through my tears “she’s here. Julia is here.” He held me and we cried together as we waited for the doctor.

The doctor walked in, put my feet in the stirrups, lifted the blanket, and took our baby girl out from between my legs. The silence in the room was absolutely deafening.

Julia Jean Arrieta was born sleeping on October 1, 2021 at 8:23pm weighing 1lb 12oz and 12.25” long. She undeniably had her daddy’s nose and lots of hair. We never got to look into her eyes, but I imagine them big and brown just like mine. Her foot measured as long as my pinky and her hand wrapped perfectly around the top of my thumb. How I wish I could’ve held her in my arms forever. 

That night in the hospital was absolutely horrible. We heard the cries of babies down the hall, congratulatory celebrations for the new parents. Outside of our four walls, the world was normal, but inside, our world had stopped.

In the blink of an eye, my life changed forever. I simultaneously felt a love so deep and a heartache so raw. I was not ignorant to the fact that these things happen, just never thought it would happen to me. To us. 

So here is to my lifelong journey of healing, of sharing Julia with you all, and to keep her memory alive in a world so desperate to forget her and all the other babies born sleeping. I am here to share the raw, excruciating journey and I thank you for giving me the space to do so. 

In loving memory of our Jules: daughter, sister, and forever angel.