A Story I Never Thought I’d Tell:

Loss, Resilience, and Moving Forward

Disclaimer aka Why I’m Sharing This

I never thought I’d be writing about this. Losing something you never even got the chance to fully embrace is a kind of grief that’s hard to put into words. And yet, here I am—writing, sharing, opening up about something that so many women go through but rarely talk about.

Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? This topic has become almost taboo. We’re expected to grieve quietly, process privately, and move on as if nothing happened. But if you’ve been through this, you know that’s not how it works. The emotions are real, the pain is real, and the loss—no matter how early—is real.

I’m sharing my story because if you’ve gone through something similar, I want you to know: you’re not alone. You don’t have to carry this silently. You don’t have to pretend it didn’t happen. And you definitely don’t have to “just get over it.”

This is my story. It’s raw, it’s personal, and at times, it’s painful. But if it reaches even one person who feels lost, confused, or alone—then it’s worth telling.

So…

Last summer, I spent three days in the hospital in Orlando. It was not on my bucket list, but life had other plans. If you’ve been following my blog, you know by now that the universe loves throwing me plot twists.. some funny, some ridiculous, and some that leave me staring at the ceiling asking, Seriously?

This was one of those times.

The Pregnancy That Wasn’t Quite Where It Should Be

It all started when I got a positive pregnancy test. I was around eight weeks when I went in for my first appointment, feeling pretty lucky. No morning sickness, no nausea, just vibes. I was already considering writing my future pregnancy guide called “Breeze Through Your First Trimester Like a Pro.” Spoiler: that book is never happening.

The nurse began the ultrasound, moving the wand around in what felt like a suspenseful, unnecessarily long silence. I watched her face, waiting for the Congratulations! moment, but instead, she just kept clicking, measuring, scanning, like she was trying to find something that wasn’t there.

“Everything okay?” I finally asked, breaking the awkwardness.

She hesitated and then said, “The doctor will talk to you.”

Now, I’m no medical expert, but I’ve watched enough Grey’s Anatomy to know that’s not a great sign.

The doctor came in and, in the calmest voice possible, told me I probably had an ectopic pregnancy. Let me pause here for a quick Ectopic Pregnancy 101: This is when the embryo implants outside of the uterus, usually in a fallopian tube. It’s not viable, and worse, it’s dangerous. If left untreated, it can rupture and cause life-threatening internal bleeding. Keeping the pregnancy wasn’t an option.

The words hit me, but it took a moment to register. Not an option.

I wasn’t sure how to feel. I was still processing the fact that I was pregnant, and now I had to process that I wasn’t.

But a part of me—stubborn, desperate, delusional—was still trying to find hope. Maybe they were wrong. Maybe there was some mistake. Maybe, just maybe, I’d be that one-in-a-million case where everything miraculously worked out. I knew I was grasping at straws, but I couldn’t help it.

Straight to the Hospital (With a Bagel Pit Stop, Obviously)

The doctor sent me straight to Winnie Palmer Hospital, and we left immediately. Well, almost. I hadn’t eaten all day, and we all know I’m not one to handle hunger well. So, before heading to the hospital, we made a quick stop for a bagel.

Bad decision.

When I got to the hospital, they confirmed everything: the pregnancy hormones were high, but there was no embryo in my uterus. It was in one of my tubes, and they needed to operate.

But, because I had eaten that amazing bagel, I had to wait eight hours before surgery. So there I was, sitting in a hospital bed, feeling completely numb, counting the hours, wishing more than anything that this wasn’t real.

A Surgery That Was Supposed to Be “Quick”

At first, they told us it would be an easy, straightforward procedure. A quick laparoscopic surgery, and I’d be home the next day.

Except, no.

Because the doctor got busy with other surgeries, and instead of my 6 p.m. slot, I was finally wheeled into pre-op at 1 a.m. I was starving, exhausted, and emotionally drained. Adriano, my rock through all of this, stayed by my side the entire time. He held my hand, wiped my tears, and reminded me over and over again that I wasn’t alone. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through that night without him.

Finally, they rolled me into surgery, gave me the anesthesia, and I was out.

Waking Up to an Overwhelming Loss

The next thing I remember is opening my eyes and feeling something heavy in my chest, an emptiness so deep it almost didn’t make sense. A wave of emotions hit me all at once, and before I could even think, I started to cry, and I just couldn’t control it or stop it..

I had lost something. And even though I had known this was coming, even though I had been told what would happen, nothing prepared me for the way it actually felt. It wasn’t just a medical procedure, it was a piece of me that was suddenly gone. For a brief moment in time, there had been life inside me, and now there wasn’t.

Adriano was there, holding my hand, his presence unwavering. He didn’t try to tell me it was okay, because it wasn’t. He just stayed, letting me process it in my own way. And in that moment, I realized that even though I felt completely empty, I wasn’t alone.

The Plot Twist: It Wasn’t Just a Simple Surgery

What was supposed to be a quick surgery turned out to be far more complicated.

While I was unconscious, Adriano had gone home for a quick shower and to grab clothes for me. The second he got there, his phone rang.

It was the doctor.

Turns out, the embryo wasn’t in my tube after all. It had implanted in the wall of my uterus, making the situation much more dangerous. Instead of just removing the tube, they had to remove part of my uterus as well.

And the small laparoscopic incisions? Nope. I woke up with a C-section cut across my belly.

Three Days in the Ritz-Carlton of Hospitals (A.K.A. Definitely Not a Hungarian Public Hospital)

I spent three days in the hospital, and honestly? Winnie Palmer Hospital was something else. Coming from Hungary, where public hospitals feel more like a survival challenge than a place of healing, I was fully prepared for fluorescent lights, grumpy nurses, and a rock-hard bed in a crowded room. Instead? I had my own private room, a sofa bed for Adriano (who, like a true hero, never left my side), and—wait for it—room service.

Yes, actual room service. I didn’t have to pay for my meals, and Adriano’s were only five dollars each. Five dollars! Back home, you’re lucky if you get a bowl of mystery soup that doesn’t look like it’s been sitting there since last week. And the food? It wasn’t just edible, it was actually good. I almost forgot I was in a hospital, until I tried to move, and my entire body reminded me otherwise.

But despite the comfort, I felt broken. Not physically, though the recovery was brutal, but emotionally. I had lost something I never even had the chance to fully embrace. And no amount of fluffy pillows or good hospital food could change that.

The Price of Getting Sick in America: $120,000 for Three Days in the Hospital

Let’s talk about American healthcare, the land where a simple hospital visit can cost more than a luxury sports car. When I saw the total bill for my hospital stay, my jaw actually dropped: $120,000. Yes, you read that right. For three days in the hospital, one surgery, and a little thing called not dying.

This wasn't my only bill, but the total of the others was less than $1000.

Luckily, I have good insurance with a low deductible, so I didn’t have to pay anywhere near that amount. But the fact that this is what it would have cost without insurance? Absolutely insane. Imagine going through a traumatic medical emergency, only to get slapped with a bill so big it could buy you a house. The system is broken, and the scariest part? So many people aren’t as lucky as I was.

In America, getting sick can be financially ruinous. And that’s not an exaggeration, medical bills are one of the leading causes of bankruptcy here. No one should have to choose between their health and their financial survival. But for many, that’s the harsh reality. And honestly? That’s the real sickness in the system.

Recovery: Moms, You Are Actual Superheroes

Recovering from this was no joke. I couldn’t shower alone. Couldn’t walk to the bathroom without help. Every little movement hurt. And all I kept thinking was: How do moms recover from a C-section and then immediately take care of a baby? Like, excuse me, but how?! I had zero responsibilities besides healing, and I was struggling.

Women are built differently. That’s all I have to say.

Can I Still Have Kids?

Yes. But not in the way I once imagined.

Because of the scar on my uterus, I can’t carry a pregnancy to full term. If I do get pregnant, I’ll need a C-section at 35 weeks to avoid any risk of rupture. It’s not ideal, but it’s possible. And for that, I’m grateful.

For now, I’m focusing on healing.. physically, mentally, and emotionally. And learning to be okay with the fact that life doesn’t always go as planned.

Never Alone: The Blessing of Having Adriano by My Side

Through every moment (every test, every agonizing hour of waiting, every wave of uncertainty) I was never alone. Not for a single second. Adriano was there, right by my side, unwavering, steady, and strong when I didn’t have the strength to be.

I can’t even begin to explain how much that meant. In the middle of what was one of the hardest experiences of my life, I wasn’t left to sit with my thoughts in a cold hospital room, feeling scared and helpless. I had him. Holding my hand, wiping my tears, making sure I had water, blankets, whatever tiny thing could bring me even a sliver of comfort. When I cried, he held me. When I was in pain, he reassured me. And when I had nothing left to say, he stayed, because sometimes, presence speaks louder than words.

I know not everyone has that kind of support in moments like these, and that’s why I feel beyond blessed and endlessly grateful. Adriano didn’t just show up—he lived through this experience with me. And even in the hardest moments, knowing I wasn’t alone made all the difference in the world.

Final Thoughts

I never imagined going through something like this. I never thought I’d be the one waking up from surgery, crying over a loss I didn’t even know how to process.

But here I am.

If you’ve been through something like this, I see you. I know how lonely it feels, how confusing, how painful. And I want you to know: you’re not alone.

Life doesn’t always go the way we planned. Sometimes, it lifts us higher than we ever imagined, and other times, it knocks us down so hard we don’t know how we’ll ever get back up. But we do. We find strength in the most unexpected places, in the people who stand by us, in the lessons hidden within our hardest moments.

This experience changed me, it broke something inside me, but it also built something new. A deeper understanding of resilience, a stronger appreciation for love and support, and a reminder that even in our darkest times, we are capable of healing.

We can’t always control what happens to us, but we can control how we move forward. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: life will test you, but it will also give you the chance to rise. And when we do, we carry those lessons forward, not just for ourselves, but for others who might need to hear them, too. 💛