Azalia’s Story

On October 25, 2018, I was scheduled to be induced at 10 PM to deliver my daughter, Azalia. I was living in a hotel at the time, with no home and no job, after struggling with pre-labor complications throughout my pregnancy. That morning, something felt terribly wrong. I woke up sick — violently sick — something I hadn’t experienced since my first trimester. My mom took me to Burger King where I managed to eat a double cheeseburger meal with onion rings and a pink lemonade. But my heart was heavy. I spent most of that day in tears, overwhelmed with a sense of dread I couldn’t explain.

I called my OB’s office, desperate for reassurance. They told me it was just “first-time mommy jitters.” I tried to believe them. I rested, bathed, and did my best to relax, but even soaking in the tub, I found myself getting sick again. Deep inside, my gut told me something was wrong. I wanted to rush to the hospital, but fear and doubt held me back. I kept telling myself it was nerves.

When I finally arrived at the hospital for my scheduled induction, my worst fears became reality. I wasn’t given the care I needed. An emergency C-section was denied. Because of that, I lost my sweet Azalia.

The hours that followed were a blur. My delivery room was flooded with people — family, friends, faces I couldn’t …