Charlotte
by Monica Kim

I am ready to talk about the death of my daughter, Charlotte.  

Did you like my first sentence? Was it catchy enough?  

Every death of a child is tragic and Charlotte’s was no different.

She was born 10 weeks premature, the younger of two identical twin girls. Apparently, twins come from the maternal side of the family and since we have zero twins in our family, it was a miracle (?) or a cruel act of fate by which we became pregnant with twins. I say “we” because this is the politically correct thing to say but really, it was me and my body that endured the torment of the pregnancy and birth. Why we must consider the man, even in situations of pregnancy, makes me feel angry but that’s a story for another time.

I want to tell you about Charlotte.

She was beautiful. No, really, she was a stunner. Dark curly hair (again, no idea where that curly gene came from), olive skin smooth as a baby’s bottom and the most incredible almond shaped eyes. They were dark like mine but much larger and eye lashes that could be seen for miles when you looked at her profile. My father simply called her “beauty.” I ache for her even now. I can feel her on me and smell her.

Babies are meant to be soft and squidgy. She was all that, and in fact, limp, because she could never sit up, so ravaged her cells from cerebral palsy. While her older sister Annabel was developing by leaps and bounds walking and talking at 14 months, Charlotte always had her hands clinched together and eventually, the dystonia made her body stuck in a fencing position. Her head was rigidly turned to the side, one arm up, the other down. No chance of en garde given how weak her legs were. She was still beautiful in my eyes.  

My earlier pregnancy with my son Oliver had been tough with morning sickness. The waves of nausea I felt with Ollie was however nothing compared to the wrenching and (almost) mental breakdown I encountered during the pregnancy with the girls. I was so sick the NHS put me on the anti-sickness medication reserved for cancer patients going through chemo. However, even that was not enough so the doctors toggled Ondansetron with something else. I threw up so much and so often that eventually only bile came up. My body was ravaged by the growth hormones of two girls – I lost 6 lbs rather than gaining weight and eventually my body went into ketosis.  I spent a week in the hospital, where my consultant confirmed he had never seen someone so sick in his 20 plus years of practice. He said it with a smile, I was an exciting medical experiment. Yeah, I guess I was special. It was kinda fun to know I could surprise someone.

They discharged me when the insurance ran out. But I had to go into the hospital every day for hours so I could stay hydrated and get my anti-nausea meds intravenously. Even now, when I think about it, it’s all a bit too much. When I close my eyes, I can see myself in the hospital room, tubes coming out of me and a bucket for the sick. I can still smell the combination of toast, cooked meat and drugs. The cocktail itself causes nausea. I think I’m going to be sick now.

To write about it even now, over 10 years later, is painful.  

But wait, this is what I really want to say about Charlotte? Even though her short life was fraught with pain, multiple operations and eventually, death. I want you to know that she was here and that she was important.  It’s a miracle that by hook and by crook we were all born. Centuries of cell division which survived famine, war, rape, and disease. Well, Charlotte was all that and so, like all of us, her very existence was a miracle in itself. Charlotte was here. She meant something to me and I just want you to know that. Charlotte was here.

December 2025
London, UK