When my husband and I exchanged vows, we embarked on a journey that would shape the course of our lives in ways we could never have imagined. One of our earliest conversations was about family—how many children we would have, how we would raise them, and what kind of life we wanted to build. I had always imagined one child as the perfect balance, while Lucas, with his steadfast vision, dreamed of a bustling home filled with laughter and little feet. With four beautiful children and a dog who thinks he’s one of them, it’s safe to say his vision won.
Jokes aside, our life together has been a whirlwind—rich with challenges, growth, and extraordinary moments. Our move to Canada stands out as a pivotal chapter, not just for the adventure of living in a new country, but for what it revealed about the stark contrasts in healthcare, financial security, and the simple yet profound peace of mind that comes with knowing your family is cared for.
The Road to Motherhood: Beauty and Burden
The moment a child enters the world is often described as life-altering, a before-and-after moment etched in time. But what is less often spoken about is the journey leading up to that day—the months of anticipation, joy, and sacrifice. Pregnancy is a tapestry woven with both elation and hardship, and for me, it was marked by both in equal measure.
I was fortunate to conceive easily, but my body waged a relentless battle against hyperemesis gravidarum and preeclampsia. Food became a fleeting comfort, nausea a constant companion, and Lucas—unflinching, steadfast—stood by my side, cleaning up after me when I could not even keep water down. Despite my background as a collegiate athlete, I found myself classified as high-risk, subjected to endless blood draws, tri-weekly doctor visits, and the grueling routine of 24-hour urine collections. To add another layer to the challenge, our first two children were born just under a year apart. I was simultaneously healing, pregnant again, nursing, and caring for a newborn—all while navigating a healthcare system that seemed designed to keep us in a perpetual state of financial uncertainty.
The Price of Care: Navigating the U.S. Healthcare System
At the time, Lucas worked for his uncle’s financial firm in Arizona, a small business that did not offer healthcare benefits. We made the decision for Lucas to leave his job at a major bank with good health insurance benefits knowing we would be going into the private health insurance market. That was the year the Affordable Care Act became available. Despite the promise of lower premiums, it turned out to be anything but affordable.
Our choices were stark: opt for a cheaper private plan with no maternity coverage or enroll in the ACA marketplace with a $24,000 annual premium and a $14,000 deductible. Having recently moved from California and already six months pregnant, returning wasn’t an option. The financial burden was immense—especially when the salary Lucas had been promised never materialized in full despite rising above what was needed and expected.
Even after paying exorbitant premiums, we found ourselves trapped in a maze of unclear billing, where no one could tell us definitively how much childbirth would cost. With the birth of our second child, who required eight days of hospitalization due to lung complications, the bills kept mounting, unpredictable and overwhelming. My hope of having a VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Cesarean) was offered, then swiftly revoked. By my third pregnancy, I sought out a doctor who would support my choice—only to have him vanish two weeks before my due date. A midwife or home birth, options that would have been both empowering and potentially more cost-effective, were completely out of reach financially as they would not have been covered by insurance.
I felt unseen. I felt unheard. And above all, I felt that despite our best efforts, we were paying more for less—less control, less transparency, and less assurance of a safe and supported birth experience.
A New Chapter: Healthcare in Canada
Then came Canada. Lucas was offered a position as a management consultant in Toronto, and once again, I was six months pregnant when we moved. The prospect of navigating a new healthcare system while carrying another child filled me with apprehension, but the reality was a revelation.
At first in the U.S., we paid for care out-of-pocket because we had not hit our deductible for the year—including a $1,000 anatomy scan in the U.S. just before our move, only to discover that the same scan in Canada cost $75. Within three months, I received my Ontario Health Insurance Plan (OHIP) card, and for the first time in my motherhood journey, I felt a true sense of security.
With access to care no longer dictated by insurance contracts and financial acrobatics, we could afford a doula, someone who not only guided me through pregnancy but helped us acclimate to life in a new country. I also found a midwife who made house calls, a concept that felt almost mythical after our experiences in the U.S. This time, my birth plan was actually considered. My health, my wishes, my well-being were all part of the equation.
When our child decided to make their entrance on our wedding anniversary, it became clear that another C-section was necessary. But unlike my previous experiences, this time I felt supported. The doctors at Mount Sinai Hospital in Toronto, among the best in North America for high-risk pregnancies, took every precaution. The total out-of-pocket cost? $400 for a private room. If I had opted for a shared room, it would have been completely free.
The contrast was staggering. In the U.S., healthcare is an industry—a maze where financial stability can be shattered by a single medical event. In Canada, healthcare is a public good, a system designed to ensure that no family has to choose between their well-being and their financial security.
And the numbers reflect that difference. The U.S. spends more on healthcare than any other nation, yet in 2021, its maternal mortality rate was 32.9 deaths per 100,000 live births—nearly three times higher than Canada’s rate of 11 per 100,000. These aren’t just statistics; they are lives. They are families forever changed.
Parenting With and Without Fear
Returning to the U.S. has reshaped our approach to parenting. In Canada, we let our children play freely, knowing that a broken bone or a misstep wouldn’t lead to financial ruin. Here, we hesitate. We calculate risks. We hold our breath a little longer when they run a little too fast or climb a little too high.
This journey—of marriage, parenthood, hardship, and resilience—has taught me more than I could have imagined. And through it all, Lucas has remained unshakable. He has been my partner, my rock, the unwavering force that has held us together through financial strains, health crises, and professional setbacks. No matter the challenge, he meets it with composure, integrity, and an unrelenting drive to do what is right.
These qualities are not just valuable in a spouse, but in a leader, a colleague, a financial professional. If there’s one thing I’ve learned through all of this, it’s that resilience is built in the trenches—through adversity, through trial, and through the quiet, uncelebrated moments of perseverance.
That is the kind of person I chose to build my life with. And that is the kind of person you want in your corner.
