Esme’s story began in July 2020, at a time when the world itself seemed to be holding its breath. Streets were quiet, hospitals were under pressure, and families everywhere were learning what it meant to live with uncertainty. She was born during lockdown, into a world shaped by masks, distance, and fear—but also by an even deeper appreciation for life, love, and hope. Her arrival brought joy that words can barely describe, yet beneath that joy lived a quiet sense that something wasn’t quite right.
As a new mother, I had already experienced the emotional toll of pregnancy during a global pandemic—the isolation, the anxiety, the constant worry. I thought I was prepared for hardship. But nothing could have prepared me for the journey Esme would take us on, or for the strength she would show from the very first days of her life.
From the beginning, feeding was a struggle. While other babies seemed to grow and thrive with ease, Esme fought for every ounce. Week after week, her weight gain remained minimal. Community nurses came regularly, offering guidance, support, and reassurance, but deep down, my heart told me that something more was going on. When the words “failure to thrive” were finally spoken, they landed like a heavy cloud over everything. No parent ever wants to hear those words attached to their child. They carry fear, helplessness, and a painful sense that you are watching your baby struggle in ways you cannot fix.
I tried everything—different feeding techniques, schedules, formulas, endless encouragement and tears in the quiet moments when no one else was watching. Still, Esme remained small and fragile. By the time she was 11 months old, the worry had become constant, a low hum in the background of every day. Then came a cough. At first, it seemed like just another childhood illness, but it lingered. What we thought would be a simple visit to the doctor became the turning point in our lives.
Esme was diagnosed with bronchiolitis, a viral infection affecting her lungs. Her oxygen levels dropped, and she was admitted to the hospital. Watching your baby connected to oxygen monitors and medical equipment is a kind of fear that is hard to describe. You feel powerless. You watch the numbers on the screen, willing them to improve, praying for any sign of progress. But instead of improving, her condition raised more questions.
An X-ray was ordered. That single image changed everything. The doctors noticed that Esme’s heart appeared enlarged. More tests followed, and then came the words that still echo in my memory: heart murmur. In that moment, time seemed to slow down. My baby’s heart—something so small, so precious—was not working the way it should.
An echocardiogram confirmed what no parent is ever ready to hear. Esme was born with a congenital heart defect called atrioventricular septal defect (AVSD). Her heart had not formed properly before birth. The condition was severe. The doctors told us she would need open-heart surgery to survive. There is no way to truly describe the weight of that moment. It felt as if the ground disappeared beneath my feet. My tiny girl, who had already struggled so much just to grow, was now facing the fight of her life.
The days that followed were some of the longest of my life. Surgery was urgent, but it had to be delayed until an infection cleared. Each day was filled with fear—fear that her condition might worsen, fear that we might not make it to surgery in time, fear of what could go wrong. I held her close, memorizing the feel of her, the sound of her breathing, the way her tiny fingers wrapped around mine. Every moment felt precious and fragile.
Just days before her first birthday, Esme was taken into surgery. Handing your baby over to a surgical team is a moment that stays with you forever. You smile for them. You tell them to be brave. But inside, your heart is breaking and hoping at the same time. The doctors warned us that they might not be able to repair her valve and that a replacement or even a pacemaker might be necessary. The uncertainty was unbearable.
The hours in the waiting room stretched on endlessly. Every door opening made my heart race. When the surgeon finally came out, I held my breath. Then came the words that felt like a miracle: they had been able to repair her valve. No replacement. No permanent pacemaker. They had fixed her heart.
Those words gave us life again.
Recovery was not easy. Esme was incredibly brave, enduring procedures, monitoring, and weeks in the hospital. On her first birthday, her temporary pacemaker was removed—a moment filled with both relief and emotion. From that point on, something changed. Slowly but surely, Esme began to thrive. The little girl who had struggled for so long started to show her true spirit. Her energy returned. Her eyes sparkled. Her laughter filled the room.
After six and a half long weeks, we finally brought her home. The transformation was nothing short of extraordinary. The fragile baby who had fought so hard had become a stronger, healthier child. It felt like we were finally meeting the Esme she was always meant to be.
Looking back, I am endlessly grateful for the doctors, nurses, and specialists who saved her life. At the same time, I can’t help but wonder how different things might have been if her condition had been detected during pregnancy. Early knowledge could have meant earlier planning, earlier intervention, and perhaps fewer complications. Still, I try not to live in the “what ifs.” What matters most is that Esme is here. She is alive. She is thriving.
Today, at three years old, Esme is full of life. She runs, plays, laughs, and explores the world with curiosity and joy. To anyone who meets her, you would never guess that her heart once struggled to beat properly. She is strong, vibrant, and full of personality. Her heart—both the one in her chest and the one that shines through her spirit—is big, brave, and full of love.
As her mother, I am in awe of her. She has faced more in three years than many face in a lifetime, yet she meets each day with courage and happiness. She is a living reminder that strength is not measured by size or age. It is measured by the will to keep going, even when the odds are against you.
Esme’s journey is not just about survival. It is about living fully. It is about celebrating every milestone, every laugh, every ordinary day that once felt so uncertain. Her story is a testament to modern medicine, to the power of family, and to the unbreakable spirit of a child who refused to be defined by her condition.
Most of all, Esme’s story is a message of hope. For every parent facing fear, for every family sitting in a hospital waiting room, for every child fighting a battle no one can see—her journey is proof that miracles are real. Sometimes they arrive through skilled hands in an operating room. Sometimes they arrive through unwavering love. And sometimes, they arrive in the form of a little girl with a brave heart, reminding us all that even the smallest hearts can change the world.