In July 2025, we received the joyful news that we were expecting our third baby. Just a few months later, on September 26th, we found out we were having our first son. After two daughters, the excitement of welcoming a baby boy into our family felt like a dream come true.

Our first trimester was filled with reassurance. Every scan looked great. Our NIPT results came back low risk. We felt hopeful, confident, and grateful. We did not have a worry in the world.

On November 26th, at 21 weeks, we went in for our anatomy scan expecting another routine appointment. At first, everything seemed fine. But as the ultrasound continued, we noticed the technician repeatedly scanning over our baby’s heart. Soon, the doctor shared a concern: they suspected Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome (HLHS).

We were referred to Children's Hospital of Philadelphia (CHOP) and were seen on December 18th. That day changed everything.

In a quiet conference room, the cardiologist and OB gently told us what no parent is ever prepared to hear: our baby boy’s heart was very sick. From the day of our anatomy scan to that appointment, his condition had worsened significantly. Something that we absolutely were not expecting to hear because we thought we had already heard the worst. He was showing signs of heart failure. There were hydrops, fluid building around his scalp and other parts of his body. We learned he had severe aortic stenosis, a dilated left ventricle with severe dysfunction, right ventricle dysfunction, severe tricuspid valve regurgitation, and progressing hydrops.

In short, his heart was failing.


We were told the risk of fetal demise was extremely high. We left that room feeling helpless and hopeless. It felt as if there were no options, as if even the medical team’s hands were in the air. We were also told that because I was carrying him, I could begin to experience “mirroring,” a condition where my body could reflect his illness, showing signs similar to preeclampsia such as swelling, high blood pressure, and feeling unwell.

We followed up with Maternal Fetal Medicine and initially scheduled an appointment for January 2nd. But waiting felt impossible. We were seen sooner, on December 23rd. That visit was deeply emotional. We were looking for a response that would give us hope, but unfortunately due to baby Tytys condition, the doctors did not seem to have the hope that we as parents had. 

It was then we faced the hardest realization of our lives:

• At this stage of pregnancy, there was nothing doctors could do to fix his heart.
  
  
• He would more than likely pass in my womb.
  
  
• Love was what mattered most.
  
  
• We needed to prepare for the unthinkable, stillbirth, hospice and comfort care, meeting with the palliative team, funeral arrangements, and even the reality of milk coming in without a baby to feed.
  
  

We began weekly appointments, sacred time to simply be with him. We listened to his heartbeat. We took pictures. An ultrasound technician brought us blue flowers. During those weeks, he remained stable, and every appointment felt like a gift.

Still, we weren’t ready to give up. Even if there was only a 1% chance of survival, we wanted to fight for our son.

We transferred our Maternal Fetal Medicine care to the office located in the same building as our OB. Though the last MFM office was nothing short of wonderful, we felt like we wanted someone to hear us and share the same hope that we did. The new office performed their own scans and confirmed the same devastating findings as CHOP. They also discovered a reversal of blood flow in the umbilical cord — a sign of further progression.

But this team heard our hearts. They understood our desire to try.

They quickly scheduled us back at Children's Hospital of Philadelphia and made it clear: we wanted to deliver there, in the event that any possible intervention could save our baby boy’s life.

This journey has been one of unimaginable heartbreak, fierce love, and unwavering faith. Through it all, we have learned that even in the face of devastating diagnoses, hope can still exist, and sometimes hope simply looks like choosing love, every single day, no matter the outcome.

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