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things started happening. The only time in twelve hours that I was alone in that room, at 12:12 am, on 11-12-05, our son was born. Our doctor was called, and he got out of bed to come in and see us. He didn't have to, he wasn't oncall, but it helped. The nurses called our priest who came in and blessed him. It may be strange to some, seeing as how he wasn't alive, but it was something that we felt we HAD to do. Our doctor even said the prayer with us. We took pictures and held him. Wrapped him in his blanket. At 3 am, the funeral home director came and picked him up. Six hours later, I was discharged and we went to the funeral home.

We discussed options, but a friend of ours had just gone through this in August of the same year. They had their son buried, and we'd talked about it then, how we wouldn't be able to do anything like that. So we already knew that we were going to have him cremated and brought home. We picked out a tiny gold urn. They told us that we would be able to pick him up on Tuesday morning, as they didn't have the crematorium there. It was actually across the street from where I was working at the time.

Tuesday we went to get him and they told us that he wasnt't here yet. They wouldn't have him until Wednesday. I couldn't bear the thought of him being alone for one more night, so I made the funeral home call the crematorium and see if we could go down and pick him up. It wasn't what was normally done, but they all agreed, and we left. We received flowers, but they only saddened us more as we watched those also die. The plants and angels were nice, though.

A month later, as things were starting to get easier to handle, we heard that our doctor's wife had delivered their baby -at five months. He was stillborn. Merry Christmas. THe four of us became close, going to group therapy together. We helped each other out. THey were able to answer our questions, and we could help answer theirs. Neither of us know what happened to our babies. Our son had simply run out of room. The placenta had stopped growing, and he hadn't. When there was no more room, he died. Our children still talk about their baby brother, Sam, and add him to all the family drawings for school. He's always a baby with wings and a diaper up in the air.

Our doctor and his wife welcomed a new baby boy over the summer. We have had two miscarriages since Sam. Everyday it changes as to whether or not we want anymore children. I have a gut-feeling that we will someday. Soon, I hope. It's not always easy having your gut be right, but this time I hope that it is. The next one will be a girl. After that, a boy. Then no more.

I discovered that a lot of people I know have gone through similar experiences, and are willing to share thier stories. Of the seven nurses I had seen throughout my stay, three of them had had stillborns, also. Because of them, I decided to go to school and become a nurse, too, hopefully helping others the way that my nurses and doctor helped us.

Learn more about this author, Elizabeth Regan.
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