The diagnosis changed everything for me. It was the moment my world shifted and everything I knew about parenting and strength was redefined. I never imagined that raising my child would look like this. My days on parental leave were not about meeting new moms at Mommy & Me classes, long walks around Stanford’s beautiful campus, and coffee shop meetups as I had imagined. Instead, we spent our days going to hours-long doctors appointments, adding and multiplying fractions to fortify breast milk, and figuring out how to make sure none of those Creon pellets remained on my baby’s gums for too long (IYKYK!).
The diagnosis changed everything for everyone around me too. Grandparents who wished that they could take away this horrible diagnosis directly affecting their first grandchild while watching their daughter struggle. A sister who wished she could take her sister out for a spa day, shower her niece with the softest stuffies, and make it all go away. A husband who, while dealing with his own emotions, also struggled to watch his daughter’s day quickly consumed by medicine and breathing treatments instead of tummy time and adventures in the Baby Bjorn.
As much as I wanted to stay strong, I had to acknowledge the truth: I couldn’t carry this burden alone. But in those moments of vulnerability, I found strength in unexpected places. It was in those quiet and painful moments with my pediatrician and the CF team where I truly felt unconditionally supported without having to worry about anyone else. In those moments, it wasn’t just about the medical advice — it was about the empathy in their eyes, the way they made sure I felt seen, heard, and supported. I could share my fears without judgment or guilt. It was my safe space to cry, question, vent, and mourn what I thought life would be versus what it actually was turning out to be. They didn’t just care for my daughter, Ria — they cared for me too.
Finding a community where people truly get it can be incredibly hard. A place where you don’t always show up as your best self, yet they support you unconditionally. A space where mascara-streaked tears fall down your face, and no one makes it awkward. A community where small wins, like making it to an appointment on time, are celebrated like milestones. Without this support in those early days, life would have felt so much harder. Today, we’re thriving—we even found room in our hearts to welcome another baby—and I know it’s all because of the unexpected community of medical caregivers that carried us through.
By Rohini Thukral McKee