Stacey Fletcher: The silent tragedy of stillbirth and why it’s time to get loud about prevention

I can hear the words so clearly in my mind.

It was December 11, 2007, at 2 p.m. I was 39 weeks pregnant, and I had checked into the hospital for a non-stress test because that week I had been feeling dizzy and my doctor was worried about a blood clot and wanted to check on the baby.

The ultrasound tech pressed the wand into my stomach without making eye contact and immediately said the following words that would change my life forever: “As you can see, there is no heartbeat.” Eight words that ripped through me and still echo in my head 16 years later.

It’s amazing how many actual thoughts can go through a person’s mind in a split second, especially in a mind as it goes into instant shock and shuts down. I remember seeing my husband’s face — the horror, the sadness, the anger, the heartache that only death can bring. I watched him call our parents and fill out paperwork for the hospital. He called a mortuary, found a burial plot and shared the devastating news, with our three excited boys, that their brother had died.

After 31 exhausting hours of labor, I held my breath as our sweet baby boy entered the world, still hoping that somehow our doctor was wrong and that we would hear him cry — but we did not.

We named him Benjamin. He was 19 inches long and weighed 7 pounds 4 ounces. He had curly brown hair and was perfect. We held him for a short time and tried to memorize every detail, every feature, knowing that our time was short and slipping away.

We snapped a photo of our hands together, and in the next few days, we would dress him for the first and last time, only to place him in a white casket and say goodbye.

Sadly, we would never find the reason for Benjamin’s death. We were told that we could pay for an expensive autopsy, but that in most cases the cause of death is never discovered, so we made the decision not to pursue one.

Not once did anyone approach us about alternative options such as blood work, genetic testing, placental testing or an external autopsy that could have provided answers. So, to this day, we still wonder what happened.

Each year, 23,000 families in our country will receive the news that their baby has died. That’s the equivalent of a bus load of children (65) dying every single day from stillbirth. And many of these deaths are preventable. Annually in Utah, 235 families are leaving the hospital with empty baby carriers and returning home to uninhabited nurseries.

Utah will play a pivotal role in future research through the University of Utah, but our state also holds the potential to save future babies through bipartisan legislation. On March 31, Sens. Cory Booker, D-New Jersey, and Marco Rubio, R-Florida, introduced The Stillbirth Health Improvement and Education (SHINE) for Autumn Act. This act would authorize vital resources for data collection and stillbirth research. It would also provide educational materials to raise much needed awareness around stillbirth.

Another critical component is the Perinatal Pathology Fellowship. We need more trained professionals to help us capture accurate information because, without it, we cannot determine why stillbirths are happening and how to prevent these unimaginable tragedies. Companion legislation, H.R. 5487, passed the House of Representatives with overwhelming support, 408-18 in December 2021.

And now it must pass the Senate. I strongly urge Sens. Mitt Romney and Mike Lee to help us get this critically important bill over the finish line before the end of the 117th Congress.

My hope in sharing Benjamin’s life and death is that I raise awareness around the risk and realities of stillbirth. Please click here to learn more. The time is now to SHINE a spotlight on the stillbirth crisis in America.

Stacey Fletcher is a parent advocate for stillbirth and early pregnancy loss. She lives in St. George with her husband Bryan. They are the parents to five living children and two angels.