Welcome to Broken Beautiful Mamahood

I’m so glad you’ve found your way here! My name is Miri. I’ve been married to my sweet husband for 8.5 years now after getting married at the tender young age of 19. A lot of people told me it was a mistake but I haven’t regretted it at all! He’s been my biggest support and advocate in everything we’ve gone through and it’s been a lot.

One month after we got married, we found out we were expecting our first baby. It was an unexpected surprise, but we were excited and already so in love with them. Unfortunately, two weeks later, we lost that sweet babe to miscarriage. We believe he was a boy and have named him Jack. We decided to try and have another baby but instead we were met with 2.5 years of infertility.

In the meantime, I started nursing school and we decided to start fertility treatment towards the end of my schooling. God had other plans and in February of 2016, we found out we were once again expecting a baby. Two bleeds around the baby led to bed rest and dropping out of nursing school. A few months later we found out we were expecting a baby boy. Everything was going well, aside from my hyperemesis gravidarum (extreme morning sickness) and a test that said our baby could possibly have spina bifida.

Because of that test, we were sent to a maternal fetal specialist, who turned out to be a friend of ours, for our anatomy scan. The technician was quiet during the scan and had trouble getting images, but we didn’t think anything of it. The doctor came in afterwards and was very quiet – she told us my amniotic fluid was very low and she thought that the baby didn’t have kidneys. She took a look again and saw something she thought was a kidney, leading her to believe there was a problem with my placenta. I was once again put on bed rest and told to drink a lot of water and come back in two weeks.

The next appointment was worse, with even less fluid around the baby. The kidney shaped thing could no longer be seen, leading her to believe it was actually an adrenal gland that had taken the shape of a kidney. She told us that without his kidneys, our baby, who we had nicknamed Bean, wouldn’t produce urine and therefore wouldn’t have any amniotic fluid to drink to help develop his lungs. He would either be stillborn, or, if born alive, would live no longer than a few hours.

We left in a state of shock. Surely, after 2.5 years of infertility, we were supposed to have a healthy baby. We went home and started telling family and friends. One friend from college sent me an article about the first baby to survive without kidneys due to a process called amnioinfusions. Amnioinfusions are done by injecting normal saline (salt water, basically) into the womb to replace the lost fluid and help the baby develop their lungs and grow.

We started researching in earnest. We contacted several hospitals who had done them in the past. At the time, only one hospital could treat us – Cincinnati Children’s Hospital. The day before our 4th anniversary, we left home on a one-way ticket and had no idea when and if we would be coming back. After 2 days of tests, we had a large conference with many doctors and nurses who went over the results – the baby was on the small size, his heart wall was slightly thickened, they possibly saw some kidney tissue but couldn’t confirm it, and had no idea if he had a bladder or not. They concluded that we were eligible for their trial and I had surgery to have an amnioport placed a week later.

Long story short, I received amnioinfusions for 9 weeks. During that time, we got to watch our baby wriggle, practice breathing, grow bigger, and kick and drink fluid during every infusion. I was on bed rest, in and out of labor, the whole time. We were living in a Ronald McDonald House in a room the size of a hotel room. I only left bed for appointments and to go to the bathroom.

The goal was for me to reach 32 weeks pregnant. When I did, the doctors were unsure of how to continue since no one had gotten this far before. They told me they would do some research to decide whether or not to continue infusions and when to deliver the baby. My body decided for them when my water broke a few days later.

I was hospitalized again where they managed to stop my labor for 5 days, long enough to administer antibiotics for group B strep and to give steroids to help the babies lungs. On the morning of August 22, 2016, they took me off the medication that was keeping my contractions at bay and waited to see what would happen. A few hours later I went back into full blown labor and the baby’s heart rate started falling with every contraction. They rushed to prep me for an emergency c-section.

Nurses moved in and out of the room. One came in and send she was making armbands for the baby and needed to know his name. I looked at my husband with panic. In all of it, we hadn’t formally chosen his name. He looked the nurse in the eye and said, “His name is Judah Nathaniel Oliver Beorn Morgan.” She nodded and rushed back out. He had given him every name we had still on our list. And it was the perfect name for him.

At 2:10 pm, Judah entered the world silently. He was trying to breathe but just couldn’t do it. They rushed him over to a team of at least 10 doctors and nurses, got him intubated and turned him from blue to pink. My husband went with him to the NICU and I had the anesthesiologist put me under since the spinal hadn’t worked well and I knew, for now, my son was alive.

Judah lived for 6 months. During that time he was able to breathe on his own, do tummy time, watch Christmas movies and football games, drink from a bottle, and spend 6 hours a day with mama and daddy. His journey was full of lots of ups and downs and he was making great progress, progress that only a couple of babies and no boys had ever done before him. Just before Christmas, we transferred him home to a hospital in Texas, whose name I will omit because their medical mistakes cost him his life. Judah left this world as I sang him to sleep one last time on February 25, 2017 at 11:10 am and joined his brother Jack in heaven.

We went home devastated. Our baby boy, who was supposed to make it despite all the odds, had gone home because of a careless medical staff that was supposed to be one of the top rated in the country. We knew, however, that this was God’s plan, though it didn’t take the hurt and trauma away. We tried to settle into a new normal, in an apartment with a crib that would never be Judah’s, in a nursery that was only half finished. We had no idea what to do next.

Once again, God showed us what was next. We assumed, because of our previous journey, that it would take another few years to get pregnant again. We weren’t even sure if we wanted to. But, two months after Judah passed away, we found out were expecting again. It took 5 pregnancy tests to convince me it was true. But, maybe, just maybe, this baby would get to stay.

The next 9 months we waited with bated breath. At 16 weeks, we confirmed that our baby, another boy, had kidneys. He grew and grew. I once again went into premature labor at 31 weeks and had to be hospitalized for 24 hours. I was sent home on bed rest again. As my due date grew closer, I got off bed rest, started packing our apartment to move into our very first home we had bought together just before Judah’s first birthday. We were settling down in Texas and we were starting again.

On January 12, 2018, our baby boy Arthur came into the world with a single cry. Our rainbow baby was here and he was perfect. Three days later, we brought home a baby for the first time. Parenting after loss, like pregnancy after loss, was hard and full of emotion. I cried almost nonstop for the first two weeks. But Arthur brought into our lives so much meaning and love and purpose. He helped us to keep moving forward.

When Arthur was 18 months old, I got very sick. We went back and forth to different doctors and specialists for months with no answers. All my labs were borderline and therefore not actionable. Finally an endocrinologist found that I had elevated testosterone and suggested I see my OBGYN. My OBGYN then diagnosed me with polycystic ovarian syndrome at the beginning of 2020. I started working with a functional medicine dietician and started feeling so much better and even losing weight.

At the end of March 2020, I started feeling really nauseous and assumed it was one of the supplements I was taking. My dietician asked if I could possibly be pregnant since none of the supplements I was taking should be making me nauseous. On April 1, 2020, we found out we were expecting again.

Lockdown added a whole new level of anxiety to this pregnancy since my husband couldn’t come to any appointments. During this pregnancy, I was much sicker and pretty much everything that could go wrong for me went wrong. Thankfully, my husband was working from home, making it easier for us to share toddler duties.

Our daughter Eleanor was born in early December 2020, completing our family and bringing more joy into our hearts. Unfortunately, around the time she was 2 months old, I developed postpartum depression and wanted nothing to do with her. Thanks to therapy, medication, and time, it lifted when she was 9 months and I’ve been working to repair our relationship and bond with her.

Today, Arthur is almost 4 years old and Ellie just turned 1. We still live in that house we bought with Arthur, Eleanor, and our dog and we still miss Judah every day. During this journey, I was diagnosed with anxiety, depression, and PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder). We found that crocheting, knitting, drawing, and exercising helped to control the three and I have since become a fiber and painting addict (the exercise, not so much, because toddler). From there I started my Etsy shop, Elephant Bear and Fox, and I have loved owning my own business and creating for people across the country. My shop is currently on a break while I deal with putting things back together after postpartum depression and getting my PCOS under control but my dream is to have it up and running as a successful business again one day.

Arthur was also diagnosed with food protein induced enterocolitis syndrome (FPIES) which he developed at 2 weeks old. Essentially it’s a type of food allergy where he can’t break down certain food proteins leading to a host of symptoms including vomiting, diarrhea, rashes, and, if the fluid loss is bad enough, shock. Fortunately it’s never led to shock and as he grows older it gets better. He should be totally grown out of it by the time he’s 5 years old.

I call this blog Broken Beautiful Mamahood because God led me to realize that even though it is very broken, because of His grace and love, it is beautiful. It’s my hope to bring awareness to infant loss and parenting after loss with this blog, as well as share the stories of other babies taken too soon. Make sure you subscribe to keep up with it all!

XOXO, Miri