Pregnancy Journey
Last year, my husband Jordan and I were enjoying our second year of marriage, carefree and content. We had always known we wanted children, but the idea of trying felt both exciting and terrifying. We weren’t quite ready—until Mother’s Day changed everything. We found out we were expecting our first baby. Jordan’s excitement was immediate, but I was caught in a swirl of joy, fear, and anxiety. Suddenly, I realized how little I truly knew about pregnancy and newborns. Still, the thought of carrying our first little blessing filled me with happiness I hadn’t imagined possible.
Avery’s pregnancy was relatively smooth at first. My first ultrasound fell on my birthday in June, and everything looked perfect. A few days before Jordan’s birthday in August, we had our 20-week anatomy scan. Within seconds of our sweet baby appearing on the screen, we learned we were having a boy. The expression on Jordan’s face is etched in my memory—pure joy and awe as he realized he would be a father to a son. Our little boy was growing well, and I naively believed there was nothing to worry about.
We kept the gender a secret for a few weeks until we could travel back to Pennsylvania for a “Putters or Pearls” gender reveal party. Surrounded by family and friends, Jordan hit a golf ball that burst into a cloud of blue smoke—a perfect celebration for our baby Avery’s life. Everything felt magical.
But at 26 weeks, the first hint of concern arose. My doctor noted that Avery seemed small for his gestational age, based on my fundal height and ultrasound measurements. Two weeks later, he reassured me that growth had picked up, and that was my last appointment before life got hectic. By November, we were finishing renovations on our first home, had taken all our hospital classes, and had the nursery ready. I was 33 weeks along—perhaps a little early to feel fully prepared—but I liked being ready. I thought I was.
Placental Abruption
On Friday, November 9th, I went to work as usual. By late afternoon, discomfort turned into constant, intense pain. I tried to ignore it, assuming it was typical third-trimester aches or Braxton Hicks contractions. But as the pain worsened, I left work early, thinking rest at home would help. Getting to the couch was an ordeal in itself. When Jordan arrived, we quickly decided to go to the hospital—but as I stood to leave, I began bleeding heavily.
On the way to the ER, a part of me already knew Avery might not survive. At the hospital, I was wheeled to labor and delivery, but the initial care was chaotic. Jordan was stuck checking me in while I struggled to get into a bed, left alone bleeding, terrified, and utterly helpless. Seconds felt like hours until an L&D nurse arrived, assessed the situation, and summoned help. The room filled with doctors and nurses, but the truth was unavoidable: the ultrasound confirmed our baby had no heartbeat. I screamed, cried, and felt my world shatter. My sweet Avery, who I had spent seven months preparing for and talking to, was gone.
I went into shock, physically exhausted and emotionally numb. I learned then what many first-time mothers don’t realize—you still have to deliver your baby, even if they’ve passed away. I was given morphine, but it did little to ease the pain. My OB explained that I had suffered a complete placental abruption, a rare condition where the placenta detaches from the uterus. She described the pain as similar to an internal third-degree burn. Because my labor wasn’t progressing quickly enough and the bleeding was severe, I was rushed for a C-section.
Stillbirth
Avery Jordan Spitler was born at 10:53 p.m., weighing 3 lbs 6 oz and measuring 16 ½ inches long. The operating room was silent, and not hearing him cry broke me entirely. Jordan saw him first, and I only have fragmented memories of holding him, sedated and numb. That night blurred into one of the longest in my life. We took turns trying to be strong for each other, while our mothers arrived the next day to support us.
I required two blood transfusions and narrowly avoided losing my uterus. When I finally felt strong enough to be moved to a chair, I asked, “Will you bring Avery to me?” He was the most perfect baby. For the next few hours, I rocked, kissed, and sang to him. In hindsight, I might have wished for more time, more ways to care for him—but at the moment, I did the best I could, and I treasure the memories and photographs we captured.
Grieving Childloss
The following days were filled with grief and adjustment. We had Avery baptized, took imprints of his tiny hands and feet, and made arrangements for cremation. I returned home without him, but surrounded by love and support. Sweet Grace Ministries sent a comfort basket, and friends and family provided endless help, reminding me I was still a mother even without Avery physically with us. His ashes now rest in a special baby urn in “Avery’s Corner” of our living room—a space that became the heart of remembrance and the inspiration for his social media pages, connecting with other grieving parents.
In January, I saw a maternal-fetal medicine doctor who diagnosed me with Factor V Leiden, a genetic blood clotting disorder, and prescribed daily aspirin and, for future pregnancies, Lovenox injections. Travel and time spent with Jordan helped me start to feel alive again, and by February, I returned to work, slowly finding a new normal.
Relocating After Pregnancy
Spring brought new hope: I discovered I was pregnant again. This time, fear overshadowed joy, but I committed to being present for this baby. We relocated from Augusta, Georgia, to Beaufort, South Carolina, where I receive care from maternal-fetal medicine specialists at MUSC in Charleston. While Factor V Leiden may not have caused Avery’s abruption, precautions remain in place. I monitor every movement, every kick, every milestone, learning more about pregnancy than I ever thought I could.
Having Faith
I am now 29 weeks along with our daughter. Her kicks are strong, and each day with her is a blessing, a reminder of hope after heartbreak. Avery’s loss taught me the depth of faith—trusting God doesn’t mean life is free from pain, but that I can endure and grow through it. I think of Avery every day and tell strangers proudly that this is not my first child. My first is in heaven, and I will meet him someday.
