At 32 weeks pregnant, Linda and Kel walked into what they believed would be a routine ultrasound appointment. It was meant to be one of those reassuring moments near the end of pregnancy—a chance to confirm growth, review dates, and perhaps catch a glimpse of their baby’s face on the screen. Instead, that July day became the moment their entire world shifted.
The doctor’s expression changed. The room grew quieter. And then came the words no parent ever expects to hear: their unborn son, Eli, had been diagnosed with left-sided Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia (CDH).
CDH is rare and frightening. A hole in the diaphragm allows organs such as the stomach, intestines, spleen, and even the liver to move into the chest cavity, crowding the lungs and preventing them from developing properly. It is a diagnosis that carries uncertainty, complex medical decisions, and an overwhelming flood of questions. Linda recalls barely hearing the details at first. The terminology blurred together. Kel, steady and attentive, absorbed everything the doctor said, already trying to understand what this would mean for their son.
In those first moments, disbelief overshadowed everything else. This wasn’t part of the plan. This wasn’t how their story was supposed to unfold. Yet within days, shock turned into action. The couple was told they would need to change hospitals, prepare for intensive care, and face unknown survival statistics. Just two days later, they found themselves touring the NICU at St. David’s Medical Center in Austin, Texas—learning about ventilators, surgical plans, and the reality that their baby’s first days of life would look very different from what they had imagined.
As the days passed, fear slowly made room for cautious hope. Doctors explained that Eli’s case was not considered “severe.” His heart looked strong. His lung measurements were encouraging. At 32 weeks, he already weighed an impressive 6.5 pounds. The diagnosis was serious, but there were reasons to believe Eli had a real chance. Linda and Kel held tightly to that hope, preparing themselves to fight alongside their son in every way possible.
Eli arrived on August 23rd, and from the very first moment, he surprised everyone. Born weighing an astonishing 10 pounds, 2 ounces, he entered the world strong and vocal. His cry—clear and powerful—was the sound Linda and Kel had been longing to hear. It was proof that he was here, alive, and ready to fight.
A skilled neonatal team immediately stepped in, carefully checking his vitals and monitoring his oxygen levels. Against expectations, Eli’s oxygen saturation was excellent. He did not need additional breathing support at birth. For a brief, treasured moment, Linda held her son, memorizing the weight of him in her arms before he was taken to the NICU, with Kel walking faithfully by his side.
The next few days were filled with watchful waiting. On August 26th, Eli underwent surgery to repair the hole in his diaphragm. His surgeon, Dr. Julie Sanchez, began the procedure with a scope, intending to assess the size of the defect. What she found was unexpected: the hole was larger than anticipated, classified as Type C—one of the more serious forms of CDH.
Eli’s stomach, intestines, spleen, and part of his liver had moved into his chest cavity. Yet in a twist that felt almost miraculous, this displacement had allowed his left lung to expand more than expected, contributing to his strong oxygen levels. The surgery was delicate but successful. Using Eli’s own muscle tissue, Dr. Sanchez repaired the diaphragm without the need for a synthetic patch—an outcome that brought immense relief to his parents.
Recovery was steady and encouraging. Eli remained on a ventilator for several days, giving his body time to heal. On August 28th, he was transitioned to CPAP. By September 1st, he needed only a nasal cannula. Each reduction in support felt like a victory—small steps forward that carried enormous emotional weight.
Soon after, another milestone arrived: the removal of his Replogle tube, which had been used to suction stomach contents. Not long after, Eli received his very first 5 milliliters of breastmilk through a feeding tube. It was a tiny amount, but to Linda and Kel, it symbolized progress, nourishment, and hope.
On September 7th, Eli reached another major turning point. His PICC line was removed, and he began receiving all of his nutrition through breastmilk. For the next three weeks, the focus shifted to strengthening his lungs and mastering feeding skills. The NICU team watched closely, optimistic but cautious, knowing how unpredictable recovery could be.
Feeding became the next challenge. When Eli struggled to finish his feeds, the possibility of a feeding tube was discussed. But Linda believed deeply in her son—and in her body’s ability to support him. With the encouragement of Dr. Tao, she exclusively breastfed Eli on demand for two days. To everyone’s amazement, Eli responded beautifully. He nursed well, gained weight consistently, and proved once again that he was stronger than anyone had expected.
After 37 long days in the NICU, the moment they had dreamed of finally arrived. Eli was strong enough to go home. Linda and Kel carried their son out of the hospital with hearts full of gratitude and awe. At home, Eli met his big brother for the first time, and their family—after weeks of separation and uncertainty—was finally whole.
Today, at five months old, Eli is thriving. He breathes on his own. He feeds without assistance. He smiles, grows, and continues to defy expectations. His parents know how rare his outcome is. Many babies with CDH face ongoing challenges with breathing, feeding, and development. Eli’s progress reflects not only his incredible resilience but also the expertise of his medical team and the unwavering love that surrounded him from the very beginning.
The journey has not been easy. It was marked by fear, unanswered questions, and moments where hope felt fragile. But it was also filled with strength, compassion, and profound gratitude.
“We are eternally humbled and grateful,” Linda shares. “Eli’s journey was unique, and we know not every CDH baby is as fortunate. But we’ve learned that there is hope for these little warriors.”
Eli’s story stands as a powerful reminder that even in the darkest moments, light can still break through. For families facing a CDH diagnosis, Linda offers words born from lived experience: have faith. There is hope.