When I was expecting, I envisioned — like every mother — the moment I would finally cradle my baby girl. I pictured her smile, her little fingers wrapping around mine, her heartbeat against my chest.
But then, during a routine check-up, my world came crashing down.
The doctors informed me that my long-awaited child — my first, my miracle — would be born with a serious heart defect. I recall the chilling silence that followed those words. I held my belly tightly and whispered to her that I would do anything, anything, to protect her.
A Terrifying Start
During labor, Ali’s heart rate dropped twice. The doctors hurried me into an emergency cesarean section. Everything unfolded so quickly — lights, voices, fear. And then… silence.
I didn’t hear her cry. I didn’t get to hold her, kiss her, or even see her face. My little girl was immediately taken to the intensive care unit, surrounded by machines instead of loving arms.
There, tests confirmed our worst fears: Tetralogy of Fallot with pulmonary valve atresia — a complex, life-threatening heart defect.
While other mothers were leaving the hospital cradling their babies, I was walking down sterile corridors just to catch a glimpse of mine.
No parent should ever have to see their child like that — connected to a ventilator, covered in wires, with monitors blinking and alarms echoing in the background. Each beep felt like a knife twisting in my chest.
The Initial Battle
When Ala was just three weeks old, she underwent her first open-heart surgery. Doctors implanted a shunt to enhance her blood oxygenation — her only chance to survive.
And she made it. Against all odds, she fought through.
We finally returned home, filled with cautious joy. I remember preparing her tiny cradle, dreaming of celebrating her first Easter at home. But our happiness was short-lived.
Just ten days later, her oxygen levels dropped dangerously, often below 70%. Her tiny fingers and lips turned blue, and she gasped for air. We rushed her back to the hospital, hearts racing with fear.
Another surgery was necessary — this time, to save her life once again. It was successful, but we returned home living in constant fear, monitoring every breath, every color change, every number on the pulse oximeter.
Step by Step – The Path to Recovery
As months went by, Ala began rehabilitation to enhance her mobility and heal the scar that marked her chest — a scar that told a story of courage beyond words.
She was under the care of cardiologists in Łódź and Rzeszów, traveling for endless consultations, scans, and catheterizations.
Doctors attempted to help her tiny arteries grow through cardiac catheterization procedures. We lived between hope and dread, counting the days between hospital visits.
Then, in August 2024, came the moment we had been waiting for — her third open-heart surgery, a complete correction of the defect.
The operation was successful. For the first time, we saw her oxygen levels at 96–98%. We cried with relief, believing that the worst was finally behind us.
The Hope That Crumbled
Six months later, during a routine check-up, everything fell apart again.
Doctors informed us that Ala’s arteries were not growing as they should. The implanted valve was leaking, and her heart was struggling to keep up. Her lungs were slowly losing capacity.
We were heartbroken. How do you find the strength to hear, once more, that your child’s heart is failing? That without urgent angioplasty, she could die?
Now, we are back in the storm — facing the terrifying possibility of another surgery.
We don’t yet know if it can be done in Poland, or if we’ll need to travel abroad for treatment. What we do know is that time is running out, and the costs are far beyond what we can manage.
A Call for Help
We are fighting for our daughter’s life, but we cannot do it alone.
Every test, consultation, and surgery costs more than we can bear. But how could we ever stop trying, when it’s her heart on the line?
Today, we are asking — from the depths of our hearts — for your help.
Please, help us save Ali’s life. Help us give her the chance to grow up, to run, to play, to live.
Every contribution, every act of kindness, brings us one step closer to that goal.
Without this next procedure, Alicja’s heart will fail. But with your support, there is still hope — and hope is everything.
We are endlessly grateful to everyone who stands with us in this fight.
Our daughter has already endured more pain in her short life than most will ever know. Yet she continues to smile — fragile, but full of light.
Please, help us keep that light alive.
Help us fight for one more heartbeat.
For Ali.
