“A dream that once felt impossible is now our everyday life — and we cherish it with every breath. We are, and always will be, grateful beyond measure.”
As another Thanksgiving passes, my heart overflows in a way I can hardly describe. To sit here, surrounded by my husband and our two miracle daughters, both home, both healthy, both in our arms feels like a blessing I once only dared to pray for.
My husband and I always dreamed of growing our family, never imagining we would walk through the heartbreak of infertility. In early 2021, after years of trying, my OB-GYN referred us to the Infertility and Reproductive Medicine practice located inside Cooperman Barnabas Medical Center (CBMC). At age 31, I learned both of my fallopian tubes were blocked. IVF became our only path forward.
Through every injection, every appointment, every emotional high and low, my husband stood by me. I thought IVF would be the hardest thing I’d ever do, but I didn’t yet know what motherhood had in store.
After years of trying, after our third embryo transfer, we finally saw the word we had waited a lifetime for: PREGNANT. It felt like God had finally whispered, “It’s your turn.”
Our First Miracle — Born at 32 Weeks (2022)
The pregnancy was not easy from the start. Because of high blood pressure, I was referred to Maternal Fetal Medicine (MFM) for weekly appointments. Then twice weekly. Then, at 25 weeks, the devastating diagnosis of Fetal Growth Restriction. I blamed myself. I questioned everything. I wondered if somehow, I had failed her.
Was I not eating enough? Did I do something wrong? The fear, the uncertainty, the guilt, it was overwhelming. I learned to pay attention to percentiles, Dopplers, amniotic fluid, and especially kick counts — even though I barely felt her at all. No kicks, no strong movements like other mothers describe. Only soft fluttering, like a feather brushing from within.
At just 32 weeks gestation, everything changed. During my routine MFM appointment, the ultrasound tech stepped out, and in that moment my heart knew. The doctor came in and calmly said the words that would change our lives: “Andrea… the moment is here.”
I drove to CBMC in silence, praying, holding onto a calm that could only come from God. My husband rushed to meet me. When he hugged me, the tears finally came — tears of fear, hope, disbelief, and love all at once. Less than an hour later, our first daughter was born. At 2.7 pounds and 16 inches, she was tiny, pale, fragile, and wrapped in a sterile plastic bag to protect her warmth. I didn’t hear her cry at first. But then I heard the faintest sound — one I thought belonged to another baby — but it was hers. My miracle’s first breath of strength.
She was rushed to the NICU seconds later. That’s all I got before she was swept away by the NICU team. Seconds to memorize her face, her softness, her fight. My heart broke as I lay in recovery with empty arms, knowing my baby girl was somewhere else fighting.
Walking out of CBMC with empty arms a few days later felt like my heart was being torn from my chest. It felt unnatural, wrong, painful in a way that doesn’t have a name. My body ached because it expected to hold her. My soul felt split in two; half of me walking out the door, the other half staying behind in an incubator.
That first night home, her empty crib crushed me. I cried silently, I felt guilt, grief, fear, and helplessness all tangled together. I wanted to be in two places at once — healing my body after major surgery and yet longing to be beside my daughter every second.
Her NICU stay lasted 36 days, and every day I was there. I lived in her room; holding her tiny body against mine, pumping milk, singing, reading, offering every ounce of love I had. The scent cloths became my treasure. The nurses, my lifeline.
Every day I passed Turtle Back Zoo on the way to the hospital, I would whisper, “One day I will travel this road not to the hospital — I will bring you here.” And when she turned one, we did. It felt like the beautiful end of a chapter.
Our Second Miracle — Born at 31 Weeks (2024)
We thought our NICU chapter was complete. But in early 2024, we found ourselves staring at a positive pregnancy test — something we believed was impossible. With both tubes blocked, it felt like a miracle! I was scared, yes — my first baby was only 20 months old — but my heart knew this blessing came with purpose.
This pregnancy felt peaceful — until it didn’t.
The pregnancy was beautiful, smooth, and filled with peace. At 28 weeks, we celebrated our very first baby shower, surrounded by love, joy, and blessings. For the first time, I got to experience what I had missed before — the celebration of bringing a baby into the world. But the day after the shower, our hearts shattered again. Another ultrasound. Another pause. Another look. Another doctor entering the room with that same serious expression.
Our second daughter also had Fetal Growth Restriction. Steroids were given. Dopplers scheduled. On September 26, 2024, our MFM physician saw reversed blood flow and immediately sent me to CBMC. This time, there was no rush. Instead, there was waiting — long, emotional, lonely waiting. Twelve days in antepartum. Twelve days away from my first daughter. Twelve days of nurses checking monitors, adjusting belts, trying to find the rhythm of my baby’s heart as it grew harder each day.
One day in early October of 2024, the feeling in the room shifted. I knew. Everyone knew. The moment had come again. Our second daughter was born that day at 31 weeks, weighing 2 pounds, 8 ounces, measuring 15 inches of pure bravery. And again, I had to walk out of the hospital without my baby. The emotional pain was familiar, but not easier. Leaving her behind reopened every wound from 2022. I cried all the way home — grieving the moment I didn’t get, grieving the separation, grieving how motherhood had started for me twice.
Her NICU stay lasted five weeks, and this time, the challenge was different. I had to split myself in two — one child at home, one in the NICU. It was exhausting, heartbreaking, and beautiful all at once. And still, the nurses and staff carried us, supported us, encouraged us through every tear and every milestone. She graduated and came home in mid-November of 2024, just in time for the holidays — just in time to complete our family of four.
We are Forever, Eternally Thankful
Thank you to our family and friends, who were always at the heart of our daughters’ medical journey — who stayed updated, who cared deeply, and who helped us in unimaginable ways.
Thank you to every nurse, doctor, ultrasound tech, respiratory therapist, maintenance worker, security guard, and member of the CBMC team. Thank you for saving our daughters and for saving us. Your compassion, your kindness, your gentle words, like “You’re doing a great job, Mommy,” meant more than you will ever know. You became the hands that held our babies when we couldn’t. You became our strength when our hearts were breaking. You became our family when we walked those halls with heavy steps.
Today, our miracle girls are 1 and 3 years old and are home. Safe. Thriving. Laughing. Growing. A dream that once felt impossible is now our everyday life — and we cherish it with every breath. We are, and always will be, grateful beyond measure.
-Ariela and Anahi’s Mom
Learn more about the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at Cooperman Barnabas Medical Center.