Jonah Levi

One week ago, I went in for the anatomy scan for our baby boy. The baby was 19 weeks according to my due date. My husband sat with me in the parking lot, waiting to be called in for my appointment. We were talking and laughing, dreaming about what our future would hold. We were to arrive a half hour before the appointment time, and we waited an additional 20 minutes past the appointment time, but we didn’t mind since we were together. 

They called me, and because of Covid, Phil stayed in the car and I entered the hospital. I waited to be registered for my appointment, was finally registered, and then waited some more. This has been the norm, the entire time I’ve been pregnant. I had some concerns during this pregnancy that had me going for an ultrasound every two weeks. So really, this was routine for us. I was called back for the ultrasound with a tech/nurse I’ve had before. We got settled, and she was talking to a new nurse about how to use the equipment the entire time we were in there. She began talking about the heart and how to do such and such. The tech’s tone and body language changed. She hadn’t shown me the screen at all, but I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I knew… something wasn’t right. She said she’d send info over and the doctor would get back to us. She led me to the waiting room. 

I waited alone, knowing something wasn’t right, for an hour. I don’t think time has ever gone so slowly. I finally asked the receptionist about what was happening and she said she’d find out. 10 more minutes later, she asked me if I was able to go to the doctor’s office right now. I said yes. I walked out of the hospital, trying to keep it together when I saw Phil, waiting outside the car. I was in tears and told him we had to go to the doctor’s office. We get to the office, wait some more. We’re taken to a room, and wait some more. The doctor finally walked in, and the first sound was a sad sigh from her. She delivered the news that our little baby boy, who should have been 19 weeks, had passed away around 15/16 weeks. His heart just stopped. 

Phil and I sobbed as quietly as we could. My entire body had already been shaking for over an hour, and now I couldn’t hide it anymore. The doctor touched my arm, said she was so sorry. She let us cry for who knows how long? I finally gained some composure and asked her some questions. I don’t remember much of what I asked or what her answers were. I just know that at some part in our exchange, we were told we’d have to go to the hospital to deliver our baby. I didn’t realize what that meant at the time, considering the shock, I wasn’t thinking clearly. 

We decided we’d go to the hospital that night. While we were talking to the doctor, I kept thinking about how there were no signs at all. Nothing seemed different. I thought I was feeling the baby. I thought I was very much pregnant for the past few weeks. At my last appointment at the end of May, I was 15 weeks, 3 days. We heard the heartbeat. We had an ultrasound to determine the gender at Ultrasound Zone. Everything seemed fine. Within the next few days after that ultrasound, our baby’s little heart would stop beating. The doctor had previously decided to not have an ultrasound in two weeks like usual, but to extend it to 4 weeks so we could do the anatomy scan and check on the concerns. If we would have had an ultrasound in 2 weeks, instead of 4, we would have known sooner. I feel foolish for not knowing that my baby had passed away inside of me.

We went home and rested for a while. We explained as best as we could to our Emma what had happened. We waited for my sister to arrive so she could watch the girls at our house overnight, hoping that having as much normalcy for them, would mean somewhat chill children the next day when we got home. The stress of the entire day had affected me, and the process of “losing” the baby had begun. We got to the hospital at 6:30pm and a new nurse had just started her shift. She was one of the sweetest nurses I’ve ever had. Our nurse explained what would take place during our stay and then we waited for orders to be sent over from the doctor. We hadn’t had lunch and now it was dinner time and we still hadn’t eaten. I wasn’t sure if I could eat, given what I was about to do. They tried for hours to give me an IV, but I was so dehydrated from crying and not eating or drinking all day, it just wasn’t happening. My nurse would just hold my hand, whispering, “I’m sorry” while another nurse tried for a successful attempt. They decided to let me eat a little something and drink so we could try again. It was about 11pm when their 5th attempt was finally successful. They took 18 vials of blood for testing. I already felt so weak I was sure that after that there was no way I could deliver a baby, no matter how small he was going to be.

At 11:45pm, my nurse finally administered the first dose of medicine. She talked us through the process again: 1 dose of meds every 4 hours. She assumed it would take at least 3 doses, leaving us at about 12 hours before we would deliver our son. She talked to us about pain management, an epidural, etc… all the things you put in a birth plan, when you’re prepared. I couldn’t believe I was having to make these decisions. She would ask if we knew what we wanted to do, and all I could do is look at Phil, and say, “I don’t know!” through tears. She would reassure me it was okay, we didn’t have to know everything now, but wanted us to know what was coming. 

I had to lay still and rest for two hours after the medicine had been given, so I tried to sleep before contractions would begin. Phil and I both slept until about 2:10 and our nurse came in to check on us. I used the restroom and answered a message from my sister-in-law. I was going to try and rest more, but the pain had intensified. We had the nurse come back in, and I told her that the pain and contractions had started to get a little more intense. She said we didn’t have to make a decision on the epidural yet, she could give me pain medication through my IV first and go from there. Immediately, the pain was dulled and she suggested we try to get more rest again because after this, it would be harder to rest. Phil and I fell asleep again until about 3:45am. I woke up in lots of pain, very intense contractions. The nurse happened to enter the room to give me another dose of medicine and check on possible progression. Phil had moved across the room for privacy, but the nurse quickly called him back to my side. Everything had moved along much quicker than expected and it was already time to deliver our tiny baby boy.

I was just waking up still, and had to come to the realization very quickly, that we would be having our baby, 21 weeks before his due date, and he would not take a first breath. Our nurse reminded me to keep breathing through the tears, focus on what needed to happen. For as painful as this was emotionally, the delivery went seamlessly. It was an answer to prayer. My heart felt like it couldn’t take hours and hours of labor as it had for my other pregnancies. The emotional toll was greater than the physical toll, and I asked God over and over to “Please, help make this process as smooth as it could be.”

It was 4am. There was no first breath, no cry. The nurse layed my little baby, 4.2 oz & 7in long, on my chest wrapped in a wash cloth. His color, gone, as he had passed weeks ago. He had clearly quit developing and to see him in this way was more painful than I had imagined. I couldn’t believe what had happened, what was happening. I held him on my chest for a while, and then both of my hands cradled his little body. Phillip stayed close, but was hesitant to look at our little boy. Just the week before we had finalized the name for our baby. Jonah Levi Schneider. Jonah means “dove” and Levi means “joined in harmony”. So much more fitting than we could have even imagined.

The rest of the delivery happened as it should, thankfully. There wasn’t a chance to even call the doctor for delivery until it was all said and done. Our nurse was a hero. To be so sweet, and yet so strong for us. I feel so indebted to her. 

We were able to spend as much time as we wanted with Jonah. Of course, in shock, we didn’t know how to handle this:

Do we take a picture with him? 

Do we send him away as soon as we can to try and begin this process of grieving what should have been instead of what was? 

Do we hold him as long as they let us? 

What even happens to him now? 

How can I be holding my baby who wasn’t due until November? 

Why are we going through this!?! 

Why did we have to struggle with trying to get pregnant for nearly a year, only to have this happen? 

No one will even remember him. 

We were home by 1pm on Wednesday. Within 24 hours, we found out about Jonah’s passing, delivered him, and were sent home. 

There aren’t many words that can be said to someone facing this situation or anything similar to it. I know that saying, “I’m sorry for your loss” has never felt like enough when I was on the other side. Now to be the one who has lost someone, someone who hadn’t even had the chance to really “BE” yet… it’s still not enough. 

I apologize to my husband everyday, “I’m so sorry you’re going through this,” “I’m so sorry that this happened.” It’s not enough. 

To say we are devastated…to say we are utterly heartbroken…is an understatement. We aren’t sure how to continue on. We do know that we want to honor Jonah with the lives we live. We want to make his life counts, because it does. He will forever be our little boy. He will bring more love to our life, even though right now, it just feels like loss. 

Our hearts are heavy. We have felt every emotion possible I think, in the last 7 days. We have asked God, “Why!?” more times than we can count. Even though we feel as though peace has been stolen from us, I know that God has provided more peace to us than we’ve ever experienced before. As my husband so eloquently put it: “His name is Jonah Levi Schneider. While he is not here, we know that we will see him again. We are distraught and broken, but we have hope in the knowledge that the first face Jonah saw was the face of God.“

It’s been one week since I realized I would have to say goodbye, before really even saying, “Hello!” to our little one. We believe he is in Heaven, perfectly formed, perfectly loved. Our Jonah is doing wonderfully. We, however, are not. I just want to be okay. I want to “move on” as some have suggested. I’ll never move on. I will continue on, knowing I am so honored to have the privilege of being a mama to our two girls, Emma and Nora here on earth, and our son, Jonah in heaven. I know that there is always an opportunity for God to make beauty from ashes. To take this broken heart, and mend it. To bring harmony to the lives of my children, my husband and I as we grieve and navigate our new normal. 

God is good. I may not always feel it right now. I may be so SO angry with God for allowing this, but that’s why my God is still good. Even in my anger, He still loves me. Even in my deep sorrow, and sometimes feeling so pathetic, He still lifts me up, carries me. I will take my time, I will grieve. I will set boundaries in my life to protect my fragile heart. Above all, I will honor God, I will honor my son, Jonah. I will make his life count.