We Lost our Babies - When God Says It's Time, It's Time

Updated: Jun 17


I silently watched as Michael scrolled through his Instagram feed, double tapping on the photos of the beautiful women he followed. They looked nothing like me. Most of them were petite, and beautiful with ‘slim thick’ bodies.


A tear rolled down my cheek, and I quickly wiped it away. I had gained 10 unexplained pounds, and I was already feeling bad about myself. The pressure to lose weight was sitting heavy on my chest, and I began to wonder:

Am I too fat to be loved by him?

Am I pretty enough?

Is he not attracted to me?

Let’s keep it real! All men “like” photos on Instagram. In fact, I have seen him do it in the past, but this time hit different. It was like a punch to the gut. Michael is a supportive and loving partner! In fact, he is my best friend. I had no idea why this bothered me in the way that it did. I went home, stress ate Chick-fil-A, got in the bed, and slept for twelve hours.


When my alarm went off the next morning, I woke up exhausted in a way I had never felt before. I ended up laying back down and jumped up when I realized I had slept through the entire day.


Michael called to check on me, and a wave of emotion moved through me. I channeled all the pettiness from my ancestors and unleashed them on him something serious. The sheer thought of him angered me! I broke up with him, yelled, and cried uncontrollably, then slammed the phone down.


I knew in that moment something was wrong.


I made an appointment with my doctor at Kaiser Permanente. I shared my concerns, and he took one look at me, and without running any tests, told me I had sleep apnea. Black girl. Overweight. Makes sense, right? He referred me to the Sleep Clinic for an at-home sleep study to confirm his suspected diagnoses.


Later that week, I went to Kaiser to pick up the equipment for sleep study and I began telling the front desk attendant my symptoms. Suddenly, I burst into tears. I am ugly crying, snot soaking through my mask, and I am an emotional mess.


The sweet doctor (who I was there to see) saw this all unfold, walked out to the counter, grabbed my hand, and said:


“Baby come with me. It is going to be alright.”


I figured she was taking me to get a psych exam, but to my surprise, we walked down to the Lab, and she requested a urine sample.


HCG: You’re Pregnant Sis!


I call Michael in sheer shock! Everything made sense, but I was still in disbelief! I was referred to an OBGYN in the building, who then requested a blood test to confirm the urine test.