At our 20-week scan, my husband Mark and I had no idea our lives were about to change forever. Our baby girl, Ivy, was our first child, and everything about the pregnancy until then had seemed normal. But during the routine scan, the sonographer struggled to get a clear view of one particular section of her heart. He left the room, then returned, followed by a second and then a third opinion. As they whispered in medical language I couldn’t fully understand, my heart sank. Something was not right.

Within a few hours, we met a cardiac specialist and left the hospital with leaflets, anatomical drawings, and the diagnosis: transposition of the great arteries (TGA). The devastation we felt in those early moments was almost overwhelming. But gratitude soon replaced fear — gratitude that Ivy’s condition had been detected antenatally, giving us a chance to prepare, to make informed decisions, and to face the challenges ahead with knowledge and planning.

During the pregnancy, we focused on making the most of our remaining months with Ivy. We threw ourselves into fundraising for heart charities, raising over £5,000. It was both a distraction and a way to channel our worry into something positive. We also prepared our families for the realities of Ivy’s first hours, days, and weeks. Every decision was informed by hope and love, despite the shadow of uncertainty that hung over us.

Ivy was born in August 2017. My first sight of her was brief; she was too unwell to be cuddled immediately and was taken straight to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU). She underwent a balloon septostomy shortly after birth to stabilize her tiny heart. It wasn’t until three days later that Mark and I were able to hold her for the first time. Those moments were filled with awe, relief, and quiet gratitude — she had survived the first critical stage.

At just nine days old, Ivy underwent open-heart surgery. I still remember the consent meeting vividly. The surgeon calmly listed the risks, each one frightening in its own right. But when he reached the section labeled “benefits,” he wrote simply:“Ivy’s condition is not compatible with life.” In that single sentence, the stark reality hit me: without this surgery, Ivy would not survive. My heart ached, but my trust in the team gave me strength.

The surgery itself went remarkably well. After eight hours, Ivy’s chest was closed, and she began the slow but steady process of recovery. Over the next week, she grew stronger each day. Seven days after surgery, we were finally able to take her home — a milestone that felt like a miracle. From the very first days at home, we focused on giving Ivy as full and joyful a life as possible. We took her to the beach, for long walks in the countryside, and filled our days with love, laughter, and encouragement.

Ivy’s journey has continued to inspire us every day. Over the past six years, she has grown into a vibrant, energetic, and resilient little girl. She still has annual check-ups to monitor a leaky valve and slight narrowing of her arteries, but she takes no medication and shows no sign of the struggles she faced as a baby. Her scar is a reminder of her journey, but it does not define her. Ivy is active and adventurous, loving gymnastics, swimming, cycling, and yoga. She is also incredibly creative — an avid reader, dramatic in her storytelling, and passionate about art.

The impact of Ivy’s early detection and treatment cannot be overstated. If her TGA had not been picked up during that 20-week scan, her story could have been tragically different. We are eternally grateful to the sonographers, doctors, nurses, and heart charities that guided us through every stage. Their skill, knowledge, and compassion saved Ivy’s life.

This journey has also inspired change beyond our family. I’ve made lifelong friends among other heart mummies, sharing stories, support, and understanding that only those who have walked a similar path can offer. Ivy’s story even inspired me to leave my career in financial services and join the NHS. I now help implement state-of-the-art IT systems in the same hospitals that saved Ivy’s life — a role that allows me to give back and make a difference for other families facing similar challenges.

Ivy is more than a survivor. She is a symbol of courage, resilience, and the power of early detection. Her life is a daily reminder that even the smallest hearts can carry immense strength, and that hope, love, and expert care can turn the most frightening diagnosis into a story of life, laughter, and limitless possibility.