Late Spring, I was scrolling some Instagram content while riding in the car. The organization had its own Instagram page, and we both managed it as we had time. I saw that we had been tagged by someone I didn't know, so I dug in a little. It was always a little exciting to see a tag from a new person thinking maybe they had received a gift and were sharing about it, or maybe another business was partnering with us for something. But what I saw when I got there had my heart dropping into my stomach for second. A woman named Wendy Correen had put Kayla out on blast for this photo. It was posted back in 2017, and it was now recirculating by this woman.
Following up, the author had called out and tagged Hopeful Heart Project as well which was why I saw it in the first place. Quickly I screenshotted what was on my screen literally scratching my head and going silent in the car. This was bizarre, right? I am the first to say there are a lot of dare I say crazy folks on the internet, so this had to be some type of weird mistake. But it wasn't. Within 5 minutes I was locked out of our IG account. It was shut down and I couldn't even find it from my personal account.
Immediately I sent a text to Kayla asking if something was up with our Instagram page. She responded quickly saying we had been hacked so she had to shut it down. Ok, but I also had these weird images and had read the posts, but for some reason I wasn't ready to ask her about it. I mean, was this a situation that was accidental, or was that actually a stock photo from somewhere, I could not make sense of it and with no more access to the accounts, the screenshot was all I had. The next day I did bring it up and ask what was going on. Kayla had been doing some grief journaling at the time using very specific prompts. Those prompts had her using this image for her writing, and she had become so upset she didn't have this exact photo of Hope in her belly that she had to use this one - you see the blanket that is so present in that photo is the same one Kayla had for Hope at her delivery, and the same one she kept with all her things. The pattern was very special to her. In fact, she had purchased a matching blanket and had a bowtie as well as cufflinks made from its fabric and given them to Drew, Hope's dad. I actually got the name of the maker and kept it hoping I might one day do the same.
But you can see the photo has been flipped and cropped quite obviously. Kayla had reached out to this person and smoothed it over and apologized, and just like that our Instagram was back up. She did lie to me though, and it stuck with me. Maybe the lie was just in hopes I would never see the issue, and she wouldn't have to embarrassingly admit what she had done. I felt for her, in all the embarrassing things I have posted on socials over the years I got it, just one of those, "try not to let the mortification keep you up at night" things we have all done.
In June of 2021 a friend of Kayla's reached out to me sharing that they had concerns about Kayla and her mental wellbeing. Something had been bothering at me besides the photo fiasco for months. Kayla had started missing deadlines for things, she often didn't make it into the office until later each day, and she was plagued by migraines constantly. I felt so badly for her and encouraged her to rest as needed. She was seeing a neurologist for the migraines, and even getting Botox to try and treat them. Her health was a steady concern, and she was needing more and more treatments for different maladies. I had wished so much that we could provide her health insurance or some type of benefit to offset these concerns, but we were just too small to be able to accommodate that financially.
So when this friend called, I said yes, she is really going through it, but we will figure this out together, tell me more about what you think is going on. The friend then said that actually, "there are some concerning holes in her birth story that I was hoping you could clear up" which I didn't expect. She told me that she wasn’t in the room and that actually no one was in the room for the birth. This was so confusing to me and the opposite of what Kayla had always told us. She also said she picked her up from the hospital sitting on a bench outside, with nothing with her except her overnight bag. This tracked for me, too. Kayla had said she left the hospital against medical advice because she simply couldn't handle the crying of living babies all around her - not unlike so many other loss parents. She then returned to the hospital to pick up Hope's memorial box the hospital had created for her that had hand and foot molds, footprints, hair wisps, cards, and notes. I had received a similar box on my discharge. A box of everything you will ever have to remember your child instead of a baby in your arms. This woman informed me that from what she was told, Kayla had driven herself to the hospital and then a nurse had volunteered to drive her car home for her at some point during the night. Kayla had told me she took an Uber to the hospital, so again I was scratching my head. I wanted to so badly to have answers to these questions. She asked if I had ever seen her medical chart with which I responded, "absolutely not!" I told her I would talk to Kayla and get to the bottom of this, at which she responded to me, "maybe don't go alone." It was eerie, but I didn't give it a second thought.
An idea was planted in my head at that moment, an idea that I did not believe in any way could be true, that she had lied about her story in some way. It was an impossible idea. Moments after that call, my husband called me from work. He said he had heard some interesting things about Kayla and said there were questions circling about whether or not Kayla’s story she has shared this whole time was accurate. The nurse she had praised for years as her guardian angel, the one to help deliver Hope, wasn't even working at this hospital system at the time. Bombs started imploding in my head.
He left early from work, picked me up and we met up with two other close loss moms to try and get a handle on what we had heard. Lindsey and Ahna met us, and we decided we would approach the situation delicately and supportively. When she arrived, we started lightly asking how her day was - she was on an active bereavement doula case that day. We told her we had heard some strange rumors and that we would support her no matter what, just tell us the truth. Even if it wasn’t exactly like you said, just explain it and we can work through this, we are your friends and we care about you. With that, we shared each piece that had been shared with us.
She just sat there and shook her head repeating “this is gross”, “this is so icky” while splotches of red creeped up her chest and neck. We nodded along and all had tears in our eyes. Collectively we said this is simple to get past. You have all the proof you need. You have your stillbirth certificate. She nodded along, and seemingly agreed with us. We hugged and told her it would be ok, and we came away with answers for the questions posed. Something about being mistaken about the nurse's face, that she was sad that no one was at the birth, and embarrassed that she left early - left her daughter earlier than she absolutely had to. This was why she started the doula service in the first place, so parents wouldn't make the mistakes she had and that she had debilitating regrets. It was devastating to hear these words through her tears. The car thing seemed irrelevant. After this event Kayla and I headed over to a funeral home to create hand and foot molds for a sweet baby who had been born the day before. We worked together mostly in silence as respect and love for this baby, but also my mind toiled. We made two to three porcelain casts of baby's feet and hands to ensure we got at least one good one for the family. They would need to dry for 24 hours. On our way home I begged Kayla to let me help her through this. She was such a close friend at this point, my kids spent time with her on a regular basis, she babysat them, we had spent holidays and vacations together. We were going to fix this because of all people, this woman did not deserve this. I had just witness how tenderly and thoughtful she had been with this little baby, and my heart was just full, and also in shreds.
I asked Kayla to simply send me a photo of her and Hope when she got home. I knew I had seen one before years ago when I had asked. I encouraged her to send it as proof to literally help me sleep that night. Because this idea was still stuck in my head that something wasn’t right. I could not shake it. Finally, the next day she texted me the photo. Relief!
Ok, now let’s get to work. Kayla had already agreed to get her certificate, and we reminded her she has hospital bands, hand and footprints, and hand and foot molds of Hope, just like the ones we literally just created. She had a ring made from her breast milk and Hope’s baby hair wisps. There were countless ways to prove this. Weeks later Kayla came over to my house with a beautiful box containing hospital bands for her and Hope, hand and footprint cards, hand and foot plaster molds, her blanket, a onesie with a spot of blood stain on it, and other trinkets. We sat together with my 7-year-old daughter and gently held the items with tears in all of our eyes. This was a witch hunt I thought to myself and sent the well-meaning friend a message that said as much.
That July, we had begun to consider some actual office space of our own where we might hold our own events rather than finding different venues around town all the time. The market actually had quite a bit to offer so just like that we were calling on some for rent signs and touring a handful of small office spots downtown. It wasn't the smoothest process and Kayla and I had a few disagreements during that time. I had become frustrated by her ever-evolving disassociation from work, but I reminded myself and others that she was going through it right now, so be patient, be kind. This wasn't unearned. Kayla had been so kind to my kids, and patient with me throughout the years as well. There were days I simply could not get out of bed with depression and grief consuming blocks of my time and energy. I would text her and say, "Hey I just cannot today, I'm sorry". She would simply reply back with heart emoji's, a gentle encouragement, and sometimes a coffee on my doorstep. We were working hard to create an environment where mental health was a priority, so granting time and space to each other was the least we could do.
Unbeknown to me, the well-meaning friends did not end their concerns at my word. They went right to the source in early August. Drew, Hope's father, became involved. Kayla had reached out to me, furious, because he had been in contact with her regarding the rumors we had so easily squared away. But still somewhere in my mind the uncertainty still nagged at me too I guess. Drew then took a meeting with HHP's board chair citing his concerns. When the information made its way back to me, we agreed we needed to make a plan to proceed. We could not let this rumor harm the organization, and we needed to get Kayla straightened out and on board with ending this for good.
Over the next several weeks I was distracted with HHP events, our future office space, my families busy summer plans. But through it all, the conversations around what was going on never really stopped. I asked her if she personally had a copy of Hope's Stillbirth Certificate. For me it was the last piece of the puzzle, and it would shut down the uncertainty in my mind. She said she did, but she had given it to her lawyer who lived in her hometown for safekeeping. She had been worried about someone snooping in her medical charts and had run that concern up with this lawyer. He had the actual document in his possession. I finally told her that to sign a lease in a new office space for us, I'm going to need to see that document. And a day or so later, we were together, and she pulled it up on her phone and said her lawyer had taken a photo of it after pulling it out of his file cabinet. There it was. Hope's name, Kayla's name, no father's name, the seal of North Dakota. That's it. Ok, good.
Drew, his girlfriend, and Kayla's old friends were still not satisfied since she hadn't provided any of this to them. Late August, after a long summer of complete unrest Drew, and his current girlfriend had filed a restraining order against Kayla. They claimed she had been sending constant emails asking for money for hospital bills, some light stalking, and that she had moved in above his workplace in order to do these things. It all seemed bizarre. She claimed she hadn’t emailed him in years and that they happen to frequent the same establishments, and really, he should pay for part of the hospital bill for their child, I could sympathize with that. During the early days when we had met, she had shared with me and other moms that he was at the birth of her daughter along with 3 of her close friends. She said that Drew and his girlfriend insisted on having time alone with Hope after she was stillborn. Kayla refused, and we all agreed with her - how could anyone take precious time a mother has with her daughter in this scenario? So, we all had her back. We told Kayla how ridiculous this was, that we would go to court with her, and support her. The court date came and went, and we were not invited to attend. It really wrecked her in a way I hadn't seen. She felt like Drew was dragging out this narrative just to be cruel to her. All of it seemed so untimely. It had been years since Hope had died, and what did they have to gain from a restraining order? With the order inevitably being granted we all laughed at one point of how ridiculous it all was. Until it became public record. The court documents didn't only mention emails, living proximity, and bump ins at local venues. It included a lengthy list of concerns that Kayla had not had a baby at all, and that since Drew was indeed not present at the birth, he had no way of knowing whether Hope had even been born. A few people found the court documents, and then the phone calls began. I received a handful of hurtful messages on my phone before finally getting a copy of the documents myself and reading through them. There were certainly copies of emails and text messages as I expected, but also something I wasn't prepared for. A letter from the North Dakota Vital Records Office in response to a request for a Stillbirth Certificate for Hope Violet with the surname of Sorum or Balstad. The letter indicated no such record existed. But what if Drew's name had never been on the certificate? Would just anyone be allowed to access such records? I didn't think so. I wouldn't want my son's information readily available to anyone who asked. Pretty sure that's how social security scams start?
We tentatively shook our heads at this, the idiocrasy of this system at vital records, and tried to keep going as far as the mission was concerned. But we needed to get even more serious about finding a way to get Kayla out of this mess, even if it was just for the sake of HHP.
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