Milk without a Baby

By Annette Pheiffer

Three days earlier, I had given birth to my son, Jaden, at 31 weeks. He lived for four hours. I had left the hospital without my baby, but my body didn’t know that.

Three days later my milk came in. I woke up with engorged breasts, my body swollen and aching, completely uncomfortable. Another cruel reminder that you were not with me. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. I searched for the breast pump we had bought when I had Kaileb. I thought it would be in your room, but when I finally found it, I realized I didn’t have all the pieces.

I got into the shower and tried to hand-express, hoping to relieve some of the pressure, but it didn’t work. I ached—not just physically, but in a way that reached my bones. All I wanted was to hold you one more time. Tears fell with the water. I didn’t bother washing myself. I just sat there, letting the shower run over me, crying in silence.

When I got out, my breasts were hard and painfully full. I put on the largest bra I owned, which happened to be form-fitting, making me feel enormous and exposed. I debated whether to wait until Monday for my doctor’s appointment or go see Dr. Deirdre, who was scheduled to remove my staples and check me postpartum. My biggest fear was mastitis. The thought of another kind of pain felt unbearable.

I vaguely remembered a nurse mentioning there used to be a pill to stop milk production. Marcel kept asking if I wanted to see the doctor, but I shrugged it off. I didn’t want to be bothered. The pain and discomfort felt insignificant compared to the emptiness in my heart.

When I finally saw Dr. Cadenhead on Monday, she told me there had been a pill—but it no longer existed. Its side effect was death.

I remember going dark when she said that. Not shocked. Not surprised. Just dark.

Grief Doesn’t End

My body eventually began to heal, but grief followed a different timeline.

A few months after Jaden passed, a close friend of mine had her baby. I always made sure I was one of the first people at the hospital to say hello and to congratulate her. But this time, it took every ounce of courage I had to drive there. I swallowed my tears, put on a smile—even if it was fake—and said congratulations.

I felt heavy. Numb. Terrified I might break down. I wanted to be strong for her. I managed. I even held her baby, smiling as I congratulated her and her husband, wishing them well. I didn’t stay long. I didn’t need to. This was her second child, not her first. I was still angry. I was still grieving. It took everything I had just to remain composed.

When I left, I dragged myself into the elevator and down to the parkade. I walked slowly, barely aware of my surroundings. I unlocked the car, got in, closed the door—and then I screamed. I cried. The grief still had its grip on me. It had a way of pulling me out of the world, and it took constant effort just to stay connected to it.

Why I Finally Shared My Story

I started writing The Aftermath of Birth after the birth of my first son, Kaileb, when I experienced postpartum depression and found myself struggling in ways I hadn’t expected. I continued writing after the birth and loss of my son Jaden, trying to put words to a grief I didn’t know how to carry.

For nearly twenty years, the words stayed with me. I would write, put them away, come back to them, and then put them away again. Some parts were simply too difficult to revisit.

It took me twenty years to finally finish the book and let it out into the world.

I wrote The Aftermath of Birth because so much of what happens to women after birth—and after loss—is still not talked about enough. Our bodies recover while our minds and hearts are trying to understand what has happened. And when a baby dies, postpartum doesn’t disappear. Your body doesn’t know that your baby isn’t coming home.

In 2026, I finally published The Aftermath of Birth, a deeply personal account of pregnancy, motherhood, postpartum depression, loss, and the parts of the postpartum experience that are too often left unspoken.

Since publishing the book, I’ve received messages from friends, family, and readers who have shared their own experiences with me. Those messages have reminded me why, after twenty years, I needed to finally share mine.

If my story helps even one woman or family feel seen, understood, or a little less alone in their own aftermath, then letting these words out into the world was worth it.

If you would like to continue reading my story, The Aftermath of Birth is available on Amazon.

I also share more of my story, along with some of the messages and reflections I’ve received from readers, on Instagram at @pheifferannette.