When his wife screamed from the bathroom one morning in January, Ben Houk thought maybe she found a mouse in their west Davenport home.

But there was no mouse.

Jessica Houk was pregnant.

The couple wanted children. Jessica went through gastric bypass surgery and lost 100 pounds to do so. Almost as quickly as her doctor gave the OK to start trying, the home pregnancy test came back positive.

She took 15 more in the next few days just to make sure. Definitely pregnant.

The Houks spent the next few weeks test-driving strollers and finding an infant-sized St. Louis Cardinals outfit. Ben's a big fan. Eager to see their child, they went to the Crisis Pregnancy Center in Davenport for a free ultrasound. Usually, the first ultrasound is at 20 weeks. They were 12 weeks along.

They thought they might get to find out whether they were having a boy or girl. Instead, they were told to visit their doctor.

The doctor put a box of Kleenex on his desk and told them: "I don't see how your baby is going to live."

"I couldn't breathe," said Jessica, 25.

They had to make a decision few Iowa parents ever have to make. They could terminate. Or they could continue the pregnancy, even though they knew the baby may never take a breath. At best, the baby would live for a very short time.

They chose to continue on.

"It's kind of like having cancer," said Ben, 28. "You want to spend as much time as possible with the person."

They found a doctor to care for them. They gave her a name: Hannah Faith. Daddy gave her a nickname just for him: Hannah Banana.

They had no idea how much the next months would change their lives.

The diagnosis

Jessica and Ben Houk's love began over a plate of country fried steak with eggs and all kinds of gloppy gravy.

A guy with crazy hair went to visit the woman he had met at a friend's wedding, this feisty blonde who waitressed at a casino restaurant. He knew there was something different about her.

He's so gentle - gentle Ben, she said.

She's so beautiful and funny, he said back.

They married in October 2006. She walked down the aisle to "Canon in D." They began to make plans for a family.

On the day they went to the ultrasound, they met sonographer Char McGovern. As the ultrasound progressed, McGovern knew something was wrong with the baby. But she is not allowed to diagnose, not at liberty to say what 29 years of experience tells her. A doctor must do that.

McGovern had never personally seen the extremely rare condition she thought she saw. It's called ectopia cordis. Some of the baby's organs, including her heart, were growing outside of her body. It is not treatable.

"My heart was just breaking," McGovern said.

After the visit to the doctor, Jessica went to work researching to find out what this was. The couple went to University of Iowa Hospitals and Clinics to learn more. They were frustrated by the message they heard: The hospital had no data about carrying such a baby to birth.

So they found a doctor with a different message.

Leroy Yates practices in Bettendorf. He encourages couples to make the best choice they can live with, he said.

"This helps in grief recovery that the parents do not feel guilty about ending the life of their child," he said. "The impending death of the child is bad enough without the parents later blaming themselves for it."

Pink balloons

When Jessica learned the baby was a girl weeks later, she bought pink balloons and made a pink cake to tell Ben the news. They made a green, pink and brown nursery.

They posed for professional pregnancy portraits. They bought things for Hannah - clothes, toys, a blanket. They tossed coins in a fountain for her. They set up a Facebook page and a Web site to tell the story of her life - www.babyhouk.com.

The Web site has logged more than 10,000 hits.

It allowed the couple to tell Hannah's story without having to handle people's reactions, Jessica said. Still, some people, in different words, told them they were nuts. Sometimes, "I thought I was nuts," Jessica said.

Regular ultrasounds tracked Hannah's growth.

But before her July 1 visit, Jessica had a feeling something was wrong. The nurse had difficulty finding a heart beat. An ultrasound revealed Hannah had died.

"We knew what we were looking at, our baby, a very still baby with no heartbeat. Not the squirmy, punching and kicking baby that we had seen on the screens previously," Jessica wrote on Hannah's Web site.

McGovern, the sonographer who performed Hannah's first ultrasound, was the sonographer who performed her last.

They hugged and cried.

"The specialness about Jessica and Ben is they just wanted a baby," McGovern said. "Most people will say they want a healthy baby. They just wanted a baby."

'She is your baby'

Ben and Jessica headed to Genesis Medical Center that night. They knew they would be saying hello and goodbye at the same time.

They had prepared for this day for weeks.

"We knew she was sick for so long, we had a lot of time to plan it out," Jessica said.

What about baptism? What kind of certificate would they receive to document Hannah's existence? How would they handle the funeral? A burial?

All choices made, protocol to navigate.

Jamie Park headed to Genesis to support them. She and Jessica had met through mutual friends. Jamie lost her daughter, Mallory, four years ago, two weeks before her due date.

Jessica and Jamie had spent time talking about exactly what the Houks wanted for Hannah and for themselves. They used Jamie's regrets as a guidepost.

"She is your baby," Jamie told the Houks. "You can do whatever you want."

Look at her body. Bathe her. Dress her. Hold her at the funeral home. Keep her for as long as you want at the hospital.

Hannah was born at 9:18 a.m. July 2. She weighed 10 ounces and was 9 1/2 inches long.

For hours after Hannah's birth, surrounded by their parents, grandparents, siblings, friends and medical staff, they held Hannah, had her baptized and took hundreds of pictures.

Remembering Hannah

Some days, it's nearly impossible for Jessica to get out of bed. She has not returned to work, but she volunteers with an animal rescue in Clinton, Iowa. She struggles when people who knew she was pregnant, but do not know Hannah died, ask her to see the baby's pictures. It happened twice on Tuesday.

Ben, meanwhile, works as a machinist at M.A. Ford. He stands by Jessica's side. His co-workers have been "over-the-top" supportive, the couple said. They are some of the countless people - family, friends and complete strangers - who have helped them through in ways big and small.

Ben and Jessica visit Hannah's grave a few times a week. They often take a picnic lunch.

"Being with her is what counts," Ben said. "It's where we want to be."

They keep her nursery filled with her trinkets and mementos. One of the most important things is a Ziploc bag with Hannah's blankets and clothes inside. Open the bag, and they can still smell Hannah's baby smell.

They talk a bit about having a second baby.

Friday was Hannah's due date. Today, family and friends will mark the occasion with a memorial at church and at the cemetery. There will be balloons, doughnuts and juice.

On her birthday every year, Jessica and Ben will take an outfit or a basket of gifts to a baby girl born at Genesis. Preferably, close to the room Hannah was born in.