Surrogate mother delivers stillborn baby: Biden signs Maternal and Child Health Stillbirth Prevention Act
Suddenly I felt afraid I might die during the procedure, yet I could not express those feelings. My thoughts raced, worrying if I let my emotions spill over or cried uncontrollably, I might suffer terrible consequences. So, during the c-section, I held back my tears. While my husband, the doctors, and the nurses wept around me, I remained silent as I delivered a perfectly healthy but lifeless 8-pound baby girl.
- 1 month ago
October 10, 2024
After losing her surrogate baby at 39 weeks, Camila Vintimilla Caster found purpose in helping other parents advocate for their pregnancies through PUSH. | Photo courtesy of Camila Vintimilla-Caster
TEXAS, United States — In 2020, before the pandemic, I met a couple who could not conceive. Their struggle deeply moved me. I discussed it with my husband, and we decided to become their surrogate. From the very beginning, everything went smoothly. My body welcomed the embryo easily, and I took hormones, avoiding any injections.
As I neared week 38 of my pregnancy, my health took a terrible turn. I felt sick, lost all my energy, vomited constantly, and could barely drink water. Immediately, I started to lose weight and stopped working. After five exhausting days, I went to the hospital at 39 weeks pregnant. During my check-up, tears filled my gynecologist’s eyes as she informed me, “The baby is dead.” Her words shattered me and left me speechless.
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Hairdresser becomes surrogate to help couple facing infertility challenges
For 15 years, I have run a hair salon, dedicating all my passion and energy to my business. Every moment I share with clients feels special as I listen to their stories, offer support during hard times, and help them feel their best. As a result, this rewarding work brings me immense joy.
Three years after opening my business, I married and raised two wonderful children. Although my husband and I decided not to have more children, our lives changed in 2020 when we met that couple facing infertility challenges. Their story profoundly impacted me. After experiencing smooth pregnancies in the past, I felt thrilled and fulfilled to carry their child.
At my three-month check-up, everything appeared normal. The pregnancy remained uncomplicated until week 37, and I was scheduled for a cesarian section at week 39. When the weakness hit me, it drained all my strength. The nausea became overwhelming, and I stopped gaining any weight. It felt odd, especially since I gained weight right to the end of my previous pregnancies. Though I expressed my concerns, the doctor insisted everything was fine, so I worked to keep myself calm.
Mother delivers stillborn baby after weeks of medical neglect
As I neared week 38, each day felt unbearable. I felt severely ill and actually lost weight. Worry gnawed at me, so I requested an ultrasound at my next check-up, but my insurance would not cover it. I insisted something was wrong, but the doctor dismissed my concerns. Instead, they prescribed medication for nausea. The doctors further indicated the baby might be quite large and scheduled the c-section for five days later.
At that awful appointment on week 39, my gynecologist revealed I was carrying a stillborn baby in my womb. Guilt consumed me for not acting sooner, not finding the right words, and for failing to save the baby. Amid the deep pain, I felt broken, unable to seek comfort. Immediately after the diagnosis, the doctors informed me I needed a C-section to deliver my baby.
An hour before the procedure, my doctor asked if I wanted to wait. With no words, I struggled to respond. Suddenly, everything grew dim, and I expressed my desire to go home. My father, who stood by me, wrapped me in his arms and gently reiterated what happened. It felt like a nightmare. Disgust washed over me as I sensed the motionless baby inside me.
Suddenly I felt afraid I might die during the procedure, yet I could not express those feelings. My thoughts raced, worrying if I let my emotions spill over or cried uncontrollably, I might suffer terrible consequences. So, during the c-section, I held back my tears. While my husband, the doctors, and the nurses wept around me, I remained silent as I delivered a perfectly healthy but lifeless 8-pound baby girl.
Devastated by stillbirth, woman confronts grief and isolation
After delivering a dead baby, anguish, and unbearable pain became my constant companion. The devastating experience shattered my world. I recognized how little the U.S. healthcare system does to address stillbirth, even when a pregnancy appears healthy. No one warned me this could happen, neither the fertility agency nor the doctors. I never discovered a baby could die at week 39. Normally, doctors reassure women everything will be fine after the 12-week mark, however, I entered a very dark period in the following months.
At the salon, people eagerly asked what happened, as everyone excitedly anticipated the birth. Many knew me for years, and as I shared my story, I noticed how they struggled to find the right words. I could sense their discomfort. Gradually, I began to feel like I no longer fit into the world I once knew. I felt like an outcast. Death already remains a taboo subject, but losing a baby becomes something no one wants to discuss.
I incessantly reviewed the events, torturing myself with thoughts of what I could have done differently. I did not persist when the doctors denied me an ultrasound. Instead, I took the nausea pill. When I fell sick, I did not rush to the emergency room. Each thought cut me deeper, plunging me into deep sadness. In my desperation, I cried relentlessly. For two years, I sought therapy, but the fertility agency only covered three sessions. Nonetheless, I took their prescribed medication to handle my dire condition.
Mothers unite to pass historic Maternal and Child Health Stillbirth Prevention Act
Amidst the hard times, the baby’s parents often visited, offering me their love and support. The mother encouraged me to join PUSH for Empowered Pregnancy, suggesting I share my story to help me heal and assist others. There, I connected with women who lived through similar losses, all carrying the permanent scar of giving birth to stillborn babies. Eight of us went through this heartbreaking experience, and we found comfort in each other’s stories.
Listening to Marny Smith, who feared childbirth, and planned an elective c-section, left me in distress. When her baby died, her doctor advised against the surgery, warning the physical pain would worsen her emotional suffering. Instead, they induced labor, administered an epidural, and gave her oxytocin. She pushed through labor, vomiting along the way, and the nurses quickly took her lifeless baby away to spare her from seeing him. Afterward, she bled and battled mastitis [breast infection that causes warmth, swelling, and pain in the affected breast], enduring all the typical postpartum struggles, except her baby was not alive. Unfortunately, she joined the 24,000 American mothers who give birth to a stillborn child each year.
At PUSH, we grew our group over two years and tirelessly persuaded senators to support the Maternal and Child Health Stillbirth Prevention Act. The United States leads in fetal deaths, and despite having the means to prevent many of them, outdated policies and widespread ignorance hinder efforts. We dedicated ourselves to changing this as passing the law became the key to opening the door for change.
Finally, President Biden signed the law, marking the culmination of our relentless fight. We sacrificed sleep, marched to Congress, and spoke with every senator from our states, imploring them to vote in favor. When we succeeded, excitement surged through us. We did it, and in disbelief, we realized we became part of something monumental.
PUSH: creating a safe space for women to heal and honor their lost babies
Today, I serve as the communications director for PUSH. In my role, I actively work to support our mission to eliminate preventable fetal deaths in the United States. We create and maintain a safe space for parents who lost their babies, as well as for those who are expecting or trying to conceive.
Without PUSH, I do not know if I would have found the help I desperately needed. What we do not only saves others but sustains us. The bond I share with these women feels unbreakable; they became my family. After enduring such silence and isolation in my grief, I now choose to share my story so other women feel empowered to talk about their babies, say their names, and express their sorrow openly.
Currently, when babies die from fetal death, the system issues no birth certificates, performs no autopsies, and conducts no tests. Families must arrange private autopsies, but the crucial records they obtain quickly disappear. Unfortunately, the system fails to collect this vital data and loses the opportunity to use it to prevent future losses.
Every day, women reach out to us. While reading these messages can be painful, we feel joy from providing a place where they find support. This brings us deep fulfillment. Yet, I cannot forget the anguish they endure. Many women, shattered from trauma, rely on medications. They struggle with depression, experience divorce, or abandon their jobs, careers, and even their sense of self. We carry this burden throughout our lives. This pain never fades. This is the death of a child, not merely a pregnancy loss.
