Vivian
A Trisomy 18 Angel
On November 24, 2020, I stood in my bathroom with Vivian’s dad, Cameron, waiting on the results of two pregnancy tests. We were scared and anxious because we had experienced a first trimester loss before. As frightened as we were, we also knew this baby would be the biggest blessing of our lives. We told our families and everyone cried tears of joy. We officially announced our pregnancy with a onesie that had Cameron’s football number on it.
In February, we had our gender reveal. At First Glimpse Ultrasound, we watched the tiniest baby sucking her thumb and bouncing around. When we cut into the cake, there were bits of pink on the knife. Our precious baby girl was healthy and perfect, and we were over the moon. Cameron wanted to name her Vivian, so I chose my grandmother’s middle name, Louise. We named our baby girl Vivian Louise Webb.
The next phase of my pregnancy was wonderful. Vivian measured right on track and had the sweetest heartbeat. Then, just two weeks after our anatomy scan, I was told she had a soft marker, which can indicate a chromosomal abnormality. I was reassured that she did not have Trisomy 18 or 13 because there were no other red flags. The only possibility mentioned was Trisomy 21. I remember telling my aunt in the car that I would feel relieved if Vivian only had Down Syndrome. My heart knew something was wrong.
Cameron came home to go with me to a Maternal Fetal Medicine appointment. As I lay there, my biggest fears became reality. The doctor said, “I am going to be honest, I am very concerned for your baby’s life.” I never imagined this would happen to us. I had seen it before, but not my baby. The doctor explained why he believed Vivian had Trisomy 18 and the list felt endless. To us, nothing was wrong with her. She was everything God intended her to be.
I was 28 weeks pregnant and this was a diagnosis that usually appears between 8 and 14 weeks. I am thankful I did not know sooner because I was able to love her as deeply as we both needed without fear.
We were told to make funeral arrangements before her birth and to love her as much as possible while we had the chance. We did not share her diagnosis widely. It was not out of shame, but because she was precious to us and I did not want her labeled. I wanted her to be treated as a baby, not as a diagnosis. My fear was that she would be seen as a number and not a human being.
I then had to choose between comfort care or full intervention, with no guarantee that intervention would save her. Cameron and I decided that her quality of life would be far better with Jesus than here, so we chose comfort care. We planned an induction at 36 weeks because babies with Trisomy 18 sometimes live longer when born a bit early. We wanted every moment with her. When we arrived to schedule it, we learned I had developed preeclampsia and had to go to the hospital immediately.
Four days later, on June 26, 2021, I gave birth to the most wonderful baby girl. She was 2 pounds 14.3 ounces and 15 and a half inches long. She was perfect from her daddy’s widow’s peak to her long second toe. I had never seen a more beautiful baby. But as I held her on a ziplock bag of ice, I felt helpless. She was stillborn and I could not save her. I wondered if she was scared or cried out for me. I wondered if she needed me in those moments. We lost our daughter, our families lost a piece of their hearts, but the seven hours we had with her were the best hours of my life. Our families met her, we took pictures, and we made handprints and footprints.
The emptiness afterward was unbearable. How was I supposed to live without her? As a teacher, how would I tell my four year olds that my baby died? Before she was born, I prayed that her testimony would be filled with peace and grace. We did everything we could to give her that. When the funeral home came, we wrapped her in a tiny white blanket before they took her. She was buried next to my grandpa in a little pink casket, wearing a white smock dress with pearls and a bonnet.
During that time, the pain was so heavy it felt numb. I would have rather hurt than feel nothing. I was in shock. I loved her so much and never imagined this would be my life. She was supposed to play in mud with tiny rubber boots. She was supposed to go to football games, to Disney World, and duck hunting with her uncle. She was supposed to visit the fire station. None of this was supposed to happen. She should be here. More than anything, I want her life to be honored. I want to make her proud. Our time was short but so very impactful.
Now, more than two years later, with another child in our home, I have learned that grief is hard. I do things I never thought I would, things others question. But no one can judge how a mother grieves. You never regret doing anything that honors your child. One thing I am proud of is pumping and donating my breast milk after Vivian’s birth because it felt like a piece of her could live on in the children who received it. She changed so many lives.
We honor Vivian often and include her in daily life. We take family photos with her heartbeat bear and bring it everywhere we go. It is our way of carrying her with us. In the 36 weeks I carried her, she knew nothing but love and she was safe. She is safe now in heaven. She does not know hurt or disappointment. That gives me peace.
Vivian is everything to us. She will never be replaced. One day, we will have a full table, but there will always be one empty seat saved for Vivian.
Available Items: Footie, 2-Piece Set, Graphic Tee, and Blanket