I've wrestled with the idea of sharing this part of my life, but it's become so integral to who I am. It's a chapter I can't forget, as it has profoundly shaped my present and bestowed upon me many blessings. Choosing not to write about it would be to bury it, to feel shame or embarrassment. Yet, it happened—it made me cry, scream, and plead for change. It altered my perspective on life. Keeping it hidden would suggest it should be tucked away to spare others discomfort. But that's not fair to my baby. That implies a lack of love.

So, here it is—the tale of Baby July. The heart-wrenching day that forever changed me, making me the person I am today and paving the way for the birth of my beautiful Rainbow Baby. Around our firstborn's ninth month, the urge for another baby hit me. Despite the challenges of dealing with severe Acid Reflux in our first child, we both felt ready for another. After discussions, we agreed to start trying to conceive in April 2012.

Fast forward to April 2012—I bid farewell to the Nuva Ring! (Oh, how things have changed over the years! I never returned to hormonal birth control.) TTC was in full swing, and after two cycles, we conceived Baby July. I vividly remember that Wednesday, 11 days past ovulation, when I finally took the pregnancy test. Despite initial doubts, the second pink line appeared within the timeframe, marking the beginning of a new chapter—I was pregnant!

Yes, I'll admit it—I was once guilty of uttering the phrase, "we're pregnant!" Not my proudest moment. 

Anyway, since Father's Day was just a few days away, I decided to keep the exciting news from Ben for a little while. I wanted to surprise him. On that Friday, I handed him his Father's Day card, containing a brand-new digital test with the word "PREGNANT" boldly displayed on the screen. Of course, he already had a clue, thanks to my unusually cheery mood and the FRER wrapper I forgot to stash in the trash a couple of days earlier.

To make the revelation even more special, we created onesies proclaiming "Baby Sloan #2" and a Big Brother shirt for Bentley. Our plan was to gather with family on Sunday for Father's Day Dinner at the in-laws'.

We extended invitations to everyone – from our grandparents to Ben's grandparents. Our entire immediate family gathered for the big reveal! I was surprisingly feeling well, although a bit concerned as I didn't experience much sickness with Bentley. Trying not to let worry take over, we enjoyed a lovely dinner. Following that, we transformed Bentley into his Big Brother shirt and distributed little gift bags containing onesies proclaiming "Baby Sloan #2."

Bentley strolled onto the porch, and within 30 seconds, my SIL smacked my MIL's arm and pointed at Bentley's shirt. The crowd erupted with excitement, and we were on Cloud 9. At 4 weeks and 1 day pregnant, I was over the moon.

((BTW, totally off-topic, but dang it... I miss my baby boy's curly hair!!))

The following weeks crawled by, slower than I was comfortable with. In the back of my mind, I sensed time dragging, as if to let me savor every moment of my pregnancy, knowing it might not last until viability. Despite these thoughts, I didn't worry or stress. It was an unusual mental state – a mix of anticipation and peace. Typically, my pregnancies are marked by worry about loss, pre-term birth, and stillbirth. I stress over not being sick or being "too sick." My pregnancies are shrouded in the unknown. But this time felt different.

My mind and body seemed resistant to the usual stressors of pregnancy because, deep down, I knew the baby might not make it. While the thought of a miscarriage would normally bring me to tears, this time, I met it with a calm acceptance. "If it happens, it happens. Everything happens for a reason. Come what may..."

The Fourth of July found us at my IL's house, sweltering in the blazing heat without air conditioning. Fed up, I convinced Ben to take us to the lake for a cool respite, stocked with snacks and water. While enjoying the lake, MIL invited us for dinner – a tempting offer of heavenly AC and her delicious cooking.

After a relaxing time in the "cool tub" (a summer-friendly adaptation of a hot tub), we headed home. The Michigan heat hit us like an inferno, and despite cooling attempts, bedtime brought no relief. Tossing, turning, and tears ensued. Desperate for comfort at nearly 7 weeks pregnant, I pleaded with Ben to plug in the horse trailer for AC. After a million "I'll do it tomorrow," I reached my limit, filling the bathtub with cold water for a makeshift bed. Eventually, Ben plugged in the trailer, and we all slept soundly, cherishing Bentley's laughter before drifting off. Looking back, I believe Bentley chuckled as our Baby July played with him in his dreams, flying off to heaven.

The next morning unfolded, somewhat routine in the horse trailer, yet an unusual serenity enveloped me. Bentley and I tended to the horses and breakfast, but little did I know, my life was about to take a drastic turn.

Around 9 on a Thursday morning, after a bathroom visit, I discovered a sight that shattered my peace – bright red blood. Initially dismissing it as my period, the harsh reality struck me. Red blood and pregnancy, especially at this early stage, signaled trouble.

Panic set in; I screamed, pleaded for it to be a dream, and felt numb. The bathroom resembled a crime scene, with blood and clots staining everything. It was far from pretty; miscarriage rarely is.

Frantically, I called Ben at work, tearfully confessing, "I'm losing the baby. I'm bleeding. I'm losing your baby. I'm so sorry." The uncontrollable sobs continued as I tried to clean up the devastating aftermath.

Begging God to alter this cruel reality, I wiped away more blood, each swipe a stab of heartache. Calling my grandma amidst the chaos, I sobbed into the phone. A futile return to the bathroom shattered any lingering hope as more blood stained the scene.

As the grim truth sank in, my MIL, followed by my grandma and Ben, arrived. Bentley was taken care of, and we loaded into the truck, destined for the hospital.

Upon reaching the hospital, I endured a parade of absurd questions, each more irritating than the last. "Why are you here?" they asked, oblivious to the evident crimson stream down my legs. With sarcastic grace, I replied, "I'm bleeding," only to be met with the genius deduction, "Aren't you a woman with a monthly period?" Oh, the joy of dealing with Grade A Jerks.

In a tear-soaked haze, I changed into a gown, clinging to the hope that this nightmare was an illusion, and I'd awaken still pregnant. Dr. Shank, the ER doctor, made an unforgettable entrance into my life. His vaginal exam, akin to salvaging a moldy steak, revealed the earth-shattering revelation – I was bleeding, possibly indicating a miscarriage. Surprise! I could have spared myself the invasive ordeal.

Wheeling me to the ultrasound room, they filled my bladder artificially, only to discover that an abdominal ultrasound was as futile as their questions. Enter the transducer for a vaginal ultrasound, yet the empty uterus mocked me. Back in the ER room, after what felt like an eternity, the doctor dropped the bomb – the bad news, a likely miscarriage, and the worse news, my numbers suggested kidney failure.

Pandemonium ensued. Tears flowed as I grappled with the possibility of mortality. "I don't want to die," I choked out, met by Ben's embrace, his eyes mirroring my fear. A call to a friend served as an outlet for my flood of tears, questioning how my body conjured so much sorrow.

Numb and drained, I waited, still in the previous night's PJ's, unshowered, teeth unbrushed. IVs attempted to awaken my dormant kidneys. As I reflect 11 years later, the memory lingers – the draining color, the rising fear, and the indelible imprint of my husband rushing to my side, tears in his eyes. Certain moments etch themselves into the fabric of memory, never to fade.

Once settled into the room, I sought solace in the shower – a haven for unrestrained tears and cathartic screams. The water washed over me, but the harsh reality remained unaltered. No dream, just the brutal truth.

Returning to bed after my emotional release, uncertain of my stay duration, Ben and my grandma ventured out to secure an AC unit for our bedroom and bring back my precious little boy. An hour later, the nurse reappeared with unexpected news – a lab error revealed my kidney numbers were normal; I was not in kidney failure. Relief washed over me, but a lingering upset prevailed.

Upon returning home, I imposed bedrest until the uncertainty lifted. Bleeding persisted but without accompanying cramps. On July 6, 2012, I passed tissue resembling a placenta and a tiny umbilical cord, its contents uncertain. Over subsequent days, pregnancy tests painted a fading picture until the confirmation appointment on July 11, 2012, which confirmed hCG levels at a mere 14.54.

This indelible experience remains etched in my memory. Sweet Baby July, forever in my thoughts, resides alongside Bentley's picture, a poignant reminder. Rainbow Baby Bailey, a testament to enduring pain, brings solace. The rawness persists, but time has softened the edges.

In a memory box, I safeguard pregnancy tests, onesies, and shirts crafted to announce Baby July's arrival, intertwined with hospital bands. Tokens of generosity from friends, treasured keepsakes, adorn the box – a perpetual source of gratitude.

Stay Wild & Free,
-Brandy

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