I don’t even know if I want to call it a miscarriage because I feel like miscarriages happen earlier on. Mine was so far into my pregnancy. It’s like a death…that’s what it was to me because the baby was so close to being full term. So that was a loss. We called him AJ. It was a boy. I remember having a hard time getting pregnant. Then, we found out we were pregnant and I was super, super happy. Everything was fine. It was a really good time in my life. I was really excited. Because I’m African, my family had been waiting for this moment for a long time. You know, for me to get pregnant. I was 30 going on 31. I remember the week leading up to what happened, I was having what I know now to be contractions. I just thought it was normal pregnancy aches and pains. Tuesday, I went to work, but ended up leaving early because I wasn’t feeling well. I went to the doctor and I remember them telling me they didn’t know what’s happening–that it looked like I was having contractions. Those were their words. They told me there wasn’t much they could do if I was miscarrying. They couldn’t do anything to stop it. So, they sent me home. The following day, Wednesday, I was in a lot of pain and it continued for the next couple of days. That Sunday, I felt better. All of my pain was gone. I went to church that morning. After church, my husband, Trez, and I were making dinner. My husband was on the balcony grilling and I was in our kitchen cutting up fruit because, you know, I’m pregnant, so I was going to be healthy.

It was trickles, at first, down my leg. And then, a huge gush. My water broke right there in the kitchen. I didn’t know what was happening. I really didn’t. Because I’d never been pregnant before, right? So, I’m like did I just pee on myself? What’s happening? I started yelling. I’m yelling for my husband. Calling his name over and over again. He comes in and he’s like what’s happening. I’m like I don’t know. He tells me to go sit on the toilet. I sat down and that’s when I realized it. The liquid was clear. It’s water. My water broke. I was very calm after that, once I realized what was going on. I told Trez to grab a plastic bag and to drive me to the hospital. I quickly turned almost robotic. That’s how I cope. I put the bag on my seat, I sat down and Trez drove us to the nearest hospital. We rode in silence. We got there. It was a Catholic hospital. When we arrived, the technician took my levels and gave me an ultrasound. She didn’t say anything to me. Her job was to observe and take notes. After a few silent minutes passed, I started asking her questions and with each one she told me the doctor would be in soon to answer any questions. So, at that point, I began to understand what was happening. I knew what that meant. They transferred me to a room. Finally, the doctor walked in and when she did she said, “Charlotte, there’s no more fluid.” She told me I had two options. I could wait it out and see what happened…see if I went into active labor. She told me they could keep me as a patient, but because they were a Catholic hospital, they couldn’t induce my labor because my baby still had a heartbeat. Doing so conflicted with their religious ethics. The doctor then said, “But I need you to know that if you decide to stay, you’re running the risk of infection. The alternative is for us to transfer you to another hospital. So, what do you want to do,” she asked. I said, “Ok, transfer me.” My husband and I didn’t say a word to one another the entire ride to the other hospital. Again, it was silent. I think I was in shock more than anything. We got to the hospital and I was admitted.

They told me what was going to happen. The doctor came in. She said, “Are you ready?” They gave me something to induce my labor. The labor, it was, like, just normal labor you know, breathe, push…the only difference was, I wasn’t going home with a child. So, I pushed. I pushed. And the baby came out. Nurses took him away while the doctor performed a D&C. I was transferred to a recovery room. It all felt like an out-of-body experience. After some time, a nurse walked in. She was so nice. She came in and she asked if I wanted to see my baby. I said no. I knew I couldn’t handle it. I asked my husband…he was sitting right next to me, I said, “Do you want to see him?” He said no. So, she left. And then she came back. She said, “I think you should see your child.” Again, I told her no. Like, literally, leave me alone lady, that’s what I was thinking. She left. And then she came back again. I said, “Ok, fine, yes!” Anything to get her to leave me alone. She came back with our baby. I saw the child, baby AJ. Trez kind of looked, but not really. That baby looked just like me, my nose and everything. We had our quick moment and that was it. The nurse took him away and moments later she was back again. “What do you want to do about funeral arrangements,” she asked. That was something I hadn’t even considered. Something I didn’t realize I’d have to consider. I told her I needed time to think about it. She, again, told me she’d be back.

When she left a bunch of male doctors came in with charts. I felt as though they were treating me like a case study. “Well we’re looking at your charts and we don’t really know what happened,” one said. And I’m like, “Ok.” And then he said, “But we do know this, you can’t have children.” That’s what they said to me. The other one spoke. He said, “We think it might be your fibroids. Might not be your fibroids. We don’t know. And even if we remove your fibroids the chances of you having a baby aren’t great.” And I’m thinking, but you said you don’t know what’s wrong, so how can you be so sure about me not having kids? They left. I was devastated. That lady came back in...the nurse. She said, “Don’t you worry. You’ll be back here one day,” she paused for a second and then she said, “And you will have children.” And then she left. And I have never seen her since. I think she was an angel, honestly. When we were discharged from the hospital, yet again, it was a silent ride. Trez and I didn’t say a word to each other. It happened so fast, but it felt like life was moving so slow. We got home. I went to my bedroom and just sat there and tried to figure out what just happened. Like just a few days ago, I was here and I was pregnant, you know? Trez went to work the following week. I stayed home for 10 days. It took me 10 days to get up. To move on. The most traumatic part of it all was when I was in the shower and I had breast milk. I had breast milk and no child. Because your body doesn’t know the baby didn’t make it and it produces what it thinks you need. I fell apart in the shower and then, I went back to my bed and contemplated suicide. Because I was like, what is this? What sort of life is this to live? And then, the Holy Spirit led me to the book of Job. And I read that book. And it literally saved me.

Within three months, I was pregnant again with my daughter, Neriah. I lost a child April 11, 2011 and by July 2011, I was pregnant again. It wasn’t like I was trying to get pregnant again. The doctors told me I couldn’t even have children. I didn’t take an at-home pregnancy test, I just went to the gynecologist. She was sure I wasn’t pregnant again so quickly, but said she’d give me a blood test just to be sure. She said it’d come back in about a week. They called me with my results, “You’re pregnant!” And then came the last thing I wanted to hear, “We’ll want to be careful because the same thing might happen again.” That put the fear of God in me. As each month of my pregnancy passed, I was increasingly paranoid. One day, I was like, I can’t live like this. I was at a checkup later on in my pregnancy and my doctor said it again…that I had a high risk of losing this baby. My paranoia went through the roof. When we got home from my appointment, I told Trez to wait for me in the living room because I needed to go talk to God. I closed my door. I got on my knees. And to this day, I’ve never prayed a prayer like that. I cried and I said, “God, you told me that no women shall be barren in this land.” Exodus 23:6. That’s what I stood on. I cried. I said, “I cannot live paranoid. I can’t do it. You gave me this child and you’re going to see this through.” I got up and I never prayed about it again. That’s it. And she came February 27, 2012.

I think the craziest part is what happened recently with my second daughter, Micah. One day, I was driving to church. Each Sunday, we pass the hospital where I lost my first child on our commute. This particular day, as we rode past the hospital, I heard the Holy Spirit say, “You’ll be back there one day.” And I’m like I’m good. I never, ever want to go to that place again. Two months later, I got a call from my daughters’ casting agency. They didn’t tell me what the project was for. They just said, “There’s a commercial shooting here in Chicago and they’re looking for kids Micah’s age. You should audition for it.” So we did. Micah did horrible. The casting tape she submitted was bad. After we submitted the tape, I found out it was a commercial for the very same hospital where I lost my first child. If she got the job, it meant I’d have to return to that place for the first time since losing my baby. I prayed. I said, “God, if she gets this, I’ll share my story.” She got the commercial. I went back to that hospital on the day of her shoot, the mother of two live children. And my daughter appeared in their commercial. It was titled, “The Outcome.”