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We went in for what we thought was a routine OB appointment. Our doctor found something concerning but couldn't tell us more, only that he was referring us to a maternal fetal medicine specialist. As he said goodbye, his last words to us were "I'm sorry, guys." And just like that, we were sent home to wait.
The call never came that day. Or the next. When I finally reached the specialist's office on Friday, the receptionist told me there was a seven month waitlist and that I should have advocated for myself sooner. I hung up the phone feeling lost, scared, and completely alone in a system that didn't seem to have room for us.
I called our OB back. He said he would see what he could do.
That weekend, I did what any terrified parent would do: I researched everything. Through a friend in medical school, I got access to a university medical library and spent the entire weekend reading. By Monday morning I had gone through over 400 pages on the double bubble sign and duodenal atresia, and my mind had gone to every dark place imaginable.
Monday I called the OB office again. They were sending the referral to the hospital. I called the hospital and was told there were 400 patients ahead of us, that nurses were triaging cases by urgency, and that I should give it a few more days. They were understaffed. They were doing their best. I understood, but I was falling apart.
By Thursday I called again. Our case still hadn't been reviewed. At that point I just broke down crying on the phone with the nurse. I wasn't angry anymore, I was just exhausted and scared and desperate to feel heard. She said she would try to do something.
That is why we started The Mighty Little Warriors Foundation.
That call was the first time in a week I felt like I could breathe. Not because we had answers yet, but because someone had finally seen us.
The team at the hospital was incredible. They took the time to sit with us, explain everything, and give us the kind of reassurance that made the rest of the pregnancy feel manageable. I also reached out to my doctor back in my home country, and having that familiar voice in my corner brought me a peace of mind I hadn't expected to feel. Being an immigrant navigating an unfamiliar medical system made the isolation even sharper, and those moments of genuine human connection meant everything.
What ultimately carried us through was finding other parents who had walked this road before. A Facebook group, a Reddit community, stories from real families who had been exactly where we were. Knowing we were not alone made everything palatable. Their honesty, their hope, their willingness to share the hard parts alongside the good ones gave us something no medical textbook could.
What ultimately carried us through was finding other parents who had walked this road before. A Facebook group, a Reddit community, stories from real families who had been exactly where we were. Knowing we were not alone made everything palatable. Their honesty, their hope, their willingness to share the hard parts alongside the good ones gave us something no medical textbook could.
My sister-in-law, who went through her own incredibly difficult pregnancy including in utero surgery, gave me the best advice I received through all of it. She told me: you have to make it through the day. Take it one day at a time. Survive today. Focus on what you can do right now that will help you feel better. Tomorrow will come with its own problems, but you don't need to be pre-occupied with them. You need to be occupied with today.
If you are reading this from a hospital waiting room, or from your car in the parking garage, or from your phone at 3am because sleep won't come, we want you to know that we see you. We have been there. And you do not have to navigate this alone.
Reach out to us. We're here.
This is the facebook group that helped us: