The Truth About the Last Two Years

Here is the truth. All of it. And I make no apology for finally saying it out loud.

On the night of May 9th, 2024, I spent hours in agony while a hospital tried to figure out what was happening to me. By morning, I was airlifted to another hospital and rushed into emergency surgery with a blood clot in my aorta. My surgeon told my husband afterward that if they had waited even one more hour, he would have been delivering him the worst news of his life. There was a night they could not get my blood pressure up. The nurses fought like hell to keep me here. I required a fasciotomy on both legs. I am still learning to walk again. I take medication every single day as a direct result of that surgery, and I will for the rest of my life. I can no longer drive. My husband is my caretaker. This is not something I recovered from and moved on. I am living the consequences of that night every single day.

I want to be clear about something: This did not just happen to me.

Even now, if I am out, I get a few texts checking that I am okay. My teenage son checks on me. Because he came home to an ambulance once and he is not going to let that happen without warning again. My daughter was in Grade 8. Already navigating the cruelty that comes with being a teenage girl, and she was doing it while watching her mom fight to survive and her family slowly fall apart around her. She carried more than any kid should ever have to carry. And she came out the other side, because she is extraordinary, and because strength runs deep in the women of this family.

If you are a parent reading this, I want you to stop and think about your own child. Think about your teenager coming home to an ambulance in the driveway and not knowing if their mom is going to make it. Think about your daughter holding herself together through one of the hardest years of her life while everything around her was falling apart.

What You Saw From the Outside

My emails went unanswered. My response times collapsed. My website and email systems went down during a move. From the outside, it looked like we had closed. Like I had vanished.

And then the rest came.

A contractor defrauded us. The market dropped. The bank called the mortgage. We sold our family home to try to save another. Instead: we lost two properties. One of them was my mother's home. The house she moved into in 2005. The house I bought from my dad in 2021 because I could not bear to let it leave our family. Someone leaked our home address when we listed it for sale. Our family home. I still do not have words for that. We did not make money on the sale. We just lost it.

What Happened Behind the Scenes

Through all of it, I have stayed honest. If I am anything, I am honest. I do not have a lying bone in my body. There were times I covered for people who did not deserve it, thinking I was protecting them.

While I was in that hospital bed, barely stable, someone in this industry — someone people trust and turn to — made a choice. She called my employees one by one. She told them they would face fraud charges if they stayed. They would be implicated if they stood by me. Most of them left. I was in surgery. I was in rehab learning to walk.

Why This Work Still Matters

I started Little Miracles Inc., our egg donor agency, with my mom in 2007, the same year Cameron was born. Canadian Surrogacy Options grew from that same place, that same mission, that same belief that families deserve someone in their corner who genuinely cares about what happens to them. From hope to heartbeat to home. That is what this work has always been about.

Some people have said I talk about my mother too much. That I should be over it by now. I work every single day in her shoes. Of course she comes up. Of course I am not over it.

If You Have Heard Things

If you have heard things about me, I understand why they may have unsettled you. I hope this gives you the full picture. And if you are wondering whether you can trust us, I want you to know this:

I have been through the worst stretch of my life. I almost did not make it back to my family. My husband takes care of me. My son texts to make sure I am okay when I leave the house. I take medication every day that reminds me of how close it was.

And I am still here. Still doing this work. Still picking up the phone. Still answering the questions. Still showing up for the families who deserve someone who actually gives a damn.

That is who I am. That is who my mother raised me to be.

— Robyn Price, Canadian Surrogacy Options Inc.