Valentine’s Day 2015 was supposed to be a day of simple joy. When the pregnancy test turned positive, it felt like the world opened wide with hope. A first child. A new beginning. A tiny heartbeat growing quietly, promising a future filled with first steps, first words, and countless dreams.

At the 12-week scan, that hope suddenly trembled.

The sonographer grew quiet, her expression shifting into careful professionalism. She had found increased fluid behind the baby’s neck — a possible indicator of a chromosome abnormality or a congenital heart defect. Or, she told them, it might mean nothing at all.

And so began the longest weeks of their lives.

Because the NHS invasive test carried a risk of miscarriage and could only be done from 16 weeks, they opted for a private, safer screening. They waited, fearing the worst, clinging to the possibility that this could all be a false alarm. The results finally arrived:

Negative.

A wave of relief washed over them. They dared to breathe again. They began imagining a normal pregnancy, a normal birth, a normal life.

But at 18 weeks, when they returned for a detailed heart scan, the ground shifted once more. This time, there was no false alarm. Their baby hadCoarctation of the Aorta, a severe narrowing of the main artery carrying blood from the heart to the rest of the body.

They were devastated.
Doctors and midwives tried gently to prepare them.

Still, nothing can prepare a parent to hear their unborn child will need surgery to survive.

On the 3rd of October 2015, they welcomed their beautiful baby boy, Oliver.
But instead of holding him against her chest, as every mother dreams of, he was whisked away almost immediately. The neonatal team surrounded him, moving with urgent efficiency, stabilising him before transferring him to the PICU at Southampton General Hospital.

Oliver was just minutes old, and already fighting for his life.

At only four days old, weighing a fragile 6lb 6oz, Oliver underwent his first open-heart surgery. His chest, no larger than a hand, was opened so surgeons could save him. That first operation would be followed by two more in the weeks ahead.

No parent can ever prepare to watch their newborn endure what Oliver did.

Three open-heart surgeries in under a month.
Blood transfusions.
Lumbar punctures.
Endless blood tests.
A ventilator breathing for him when his tiny body could no longer do it alone.

For his first week of life, his parents were allowed just an hour of cuddles a day — one hour to hold the child they had waited a lifetime to meet, one hour to pretend that tubes and wires and machines were not the only things keeping him alive.

Those six weeks were the hardest of their lives.

Then, at 6 weeks and 1 day, came the news they had prayed for:
Oliver could finally come home.

The joy was overwhelming — but so was the fear.
No monitors.
No nurses.
Just a newborn with scars across his chest and parents terrified to close their eyes at night.

Oliver adjusted slowly, growing stronger each day. Something in his eyes — a spark, a softness, a resilience — made it clear that he was not just surviving. He was determined to live.

By 14 weeks old, he was smiling, thriving, astonishing anyone who met him with his quiet courage. You would never guess the trauma he had survived, except for the tiny, neat scar on his chest — his “war wound,” a mark of the battles he had already fought.

In January 2016, at his latest check-up, Oliver was given the all-clear for six months. He still has two ventricular septal defects — holes in his heart — which will eventually require another open-heart operation. But today, his parents hold gratitude above fear.

Gratitude for every surgeon, every nurse, every specialist who fought for him.
Gratitude for the hospitals that became their second home.
But most of all, gratitude for the sonographers — the people whose skill and vigilance first detected his heart defect.

Because without that 18-week scan, Oliver might not be here today.

Sonographers are often the quiet heroes of pregnancy — the first line of defence in detecting critical conditions. Their expertise saves lives long before babies ever take their first breath. It is why Oliver’s family proudly supportsTiny Tickers, an organisation dedicated to improving early detection of heart defects and supporting families through the journey they hope never to face.

Oliver’s story is one of uncertainty, fear, resilience, and hope — a reminder that even the smallest hearts can fight the biggest battles.

And sometimes, the bravest heroes weigh just six pounds.