When Eleanor found out she was pregnant in February 2020, the world was already changing.
Lockdowns, fear, and isolation loomed — but inside her, a miracle was growing.
She and her partner, Sam, nicknamed their baby
“Sprinkle” after a pregnancy app told them the embryo was the size of one. From that day on, their little one was known to everyone as Baby Sprinkle — a spark of joy in a dark and uncertain year.
Because of COVID restrictions, Eleanor attended her first scan alone. “It broke my heart that Sam couldn’t come,” she said. “It was our first baby — I wanted us to experience that together.” Still, she left reassured. Everything looked perfect.
She was sure that by her 20-week scan, the world would feel normal again.
She couldn’t have been more wrong.
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At the end of May, she lay on the ultrasound table, watching her baby wriggle and kick on the screen. The sonographer smiled, laughing at how active “Sprinkle” was. “Lovely long legs… strong heartbeat… beautiful features,” she said. But then, her tone shifted. “I’m just going to check the heart now.”
Minutes stretched into silence. The sonographer asked Eleanor to roll, cough, change positions. Then she quietly said she needed a second opinion.
That’s when Eleanor’s heart began to pound.
Two sonographers stood together, whispering. Finally, one turned to her and said softly:
“We think there’s something wrong with your baby’s heart.”
Eleanor burst into tears. “I just wanted to see my baby,” she said. “Not hear that something was wrong.” She was taken to a small room to call Sam, sobbing as she tried to explain what she didn’t yet understand herself.
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After an agonizing weekend, they drove to Southampton for a specialist scan with a fetal cardiologist. For the first time, Sam was allowed in — a small mercy after weeks of separation.
For nearly an hour, the specialist examined every tiny chamber, artery, and valve. Then he drew a simple sketch on paper that would change their world.
Baby Sprinkle had Transposition of the Great Arteries (TGA)
— meaning the two main arteries were reversed — along with a ventricular septal defect (VSD), and a likely coarctation of the aorta.
He told them survival chances were around 85%. And then, he asked the question that shattered them.
“Would you like to terminate?”
Eleanor’s tears came instantly. “No,” she said. “No matter what, we’ll give our baby a chance.”
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The rest of the pregnancy became an act of faith. They prepared Sprinkle’s nursery, held a tiny baby shower in their garden when restrictions eased, and tried to focus on joy. “With every kick,” Eleanor said, “I felt our baby telling me, ‘I’m strong, Mum. Don’t give up on me.’”
On September 30th, 2020, after a long night of labour, baby Amelie was born — 7lb 3.5oz of perfection. She didn’t cry but was pink and breathing. “They let me hold her for a moment,” Eleanor said. “She was so beautiful, I couldn’t stop staring.”
Then Amelie was whisked to neonatal care to start medicine that kept her heart duct open. By afternoon, she was transferred to intensive care. Sam went with her; Eleanor forced herself to walk after giving birth so she could join them.
“She was so tiny, surrounded by wires,” she said. “But the nurses were angels. They made us feel like she wasn’t just a patient — she was our daughter.”
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At first, Amelie amazed everyone. She moved to the cardiac ward, began breastfeeding, and started gaining weight. “We thought the worst was behind us,” Eleanor said. But on October 7th
, everything changed.
Amelie’s heart raced past 200 beats per minute. She became restless, stopped feeding, and soon was back in intensive care. Blood appeared in her stool — a sign of infection. An X-ray revealed air in her abdomen. Surgeons rushed her into emergency surgery, where they discovered a
perforated appendix and an infected section of intestine. They removed her appendix, formed a stoma, and placed her on IV nutrition to let her gut heal.
“Signing the consent form felt like breaking,” Eleanor whispered. “But she came back to us. She always did.”
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As Amelie recovered, doctors noticed her heart needed more help. At 13 days old, she underwent another operation to fix her coarctation — the narrowing of her aortic arch. It was a success. But just days later, her oxygen levels dropped again. Her
VSD (the hole in her heart) was closing, causing new strain.
At only 23 days old, Amelie faced her third operation — a balloon septostomy.
When she returned to the ward, she slowly began to thrive. “Those were the sweetest days,” Eleanor said. “She smiled. She rode in her pram around the ward. It finally felt like we were getting our baby back.”
Then, on November 4th, came the day they had both prayed for — her full heart repair. Surgeons would perform the arterial switch and close the VSD. Eleanor and Sam walked her to theatre at 9 a.m., kissed her tiny forehead, and whispered, “Be brave, Sprinkle.”
At 4 p.m., the surgeon called: the operation had gone well — but Amelie’s heart wasn’t coping off the bypass machine. Twice, they tried to remove it; twice, her little body struggled. She was placed on ECMO — a life-support machine that would allow her heart to rest.
When Eleanor saw her that night, she could hardly recognize her daughter. “There were wires everywhere,” she said. “But even then, I whispered, ‘You’re still my beautiful girl.’”
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Over the next few days, Amelie fought back — again. Within 48 hours, her heart showed signs of recovery. Just two days later, she came off ECMO. By the following week, her chest was closed, her drains were removed, and she was breathing on her own.
On November 17th, less than two weeks post-surgery, Amelie moved up to the ward. She began feeding again — first through a tube, then directly from her mum. “After nine weeks of pumping,” Eleanor said with a laugh, “she latched like she’d never stopped. I cried with joy.”
By December 1st, doctors finally said the words Eleanor had dreamed of hearing:
“Would you like to go home today?”
After nine long weeks, Amelie was discharged — strong, smiling, and ready for her first Christmas.
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Today, Amelie is thriving. Her heart is stable, her smile radiant. She still has her stoma while she grows, but that’s just another part of her incredible journey. “She’s the bravest person I know,” Eleanor said. “She’s proof that miracles don’t always come easy — but they come.”
Their family now fundraises for Tiny Tickers, the charity that supported them through every moment. “We owe so much to them — and to the doctors, nurses, and surgeons who saved her life.”
Eleanor smiles when she speaks of her daughter — the baby once called Sprinkle.
“She taught us everything,” she said. “Patience. Gratitude. Faith. And how love can carry you through anything.”
💖 Amelie’s heart may have been broken — but her spirit never was.
A Story of Resilience: A Man’s Struggle and the Power of Community
This morning, while I was fueling my boat in Deweyville, a man approached me with a quiet, broken look in his eyes. He asked if he could return to his home yet. I had to tell him no. His home, like many others in the area, had been destroyed, and the weight of that reality was written all over his face. He shared with me that this was the second time he had lost everything. The pain in his voice was palpable. “The only thing I have left to lose are my daughters,” he said. It struck me deeply.
The man is living in his truck now, trying to survive in a world that has torn everything from him. But even with nothing left, he didn’t ask for a handout. Instead, he asked for work. He’s a welder by trade, owning his own truck and machines. He can weld aluminum or steel, skills that should be valuable, yet in this situation, he still couldn’t find the work he so desperately needed.
I don’t know much about welding or how much work is available, but I couldn’t help but admire his resilience and his drive to keep going, despite everything he had lost. It takes an extraordinary amount of character to ask for work instead of charity, and I have a deep respect for him for wanting to maintain his dignity through this hardship.
I made a promise to him—if I could find any welding jobs, I would put him in touch with people who might need his skills. In times like these, we should be doing everything we can to help each other stand back up, especially when someone is still so determined to fight for a chance.
While we were talking, a fellow officer took a picture of me praying with him at the gas station. I had no idea the photo was taken until it was sent to me later. It’s a powerful image—one that represents the very essence of humanity and community. In that moment, I didn’t just pray for this man; I prayed for all those around us who are struggling, for those who are quietly suffering in the aftermath of loss.
The man told me that he was raised in the church, but that his faith was starting to waver. He has endured so much hardship, and I can only imagine how difficult it is to hold onto hope when everything you’ve worked for has been taken from you. His faith, once a source of strength, was now faltering under the weight of his trials. But it’s in moments like this, when people reach out to help, when a community comes together, that faith can be rekindled.
I shared this story not to highlight my actions, but to remind all of us of the importance of community. We’re living in a time when so many are facing unimaginable challenges—natural disasters, personal losses, and economic struggles. But when we open our hearts, when we offer a helping hand, and when we stand by each other, we can make a difference in the lives of those who need it most.
In the wake of disaster, it’s easy to feel hopeless. But the truth is, hope is often found in the smallest gestures: a prayer, a moment of kindness, an offer to connect someone with work. Every act of compassion, no matter how small, helps to rebuild the strength of a community and the hearts of those who are struggling.
I ask you all to do what I’ve done for this man and others like him—pray for them, help them when you can, and show them that they are not alone. Their stories are often hidden, and their struggles too big to be understood by those who haven’t walked in their shoes. But in sharing their stories, in listening to their pain, and in offering help, we can remind them of their worth and the power of resilience.
I can’t imagine what this man and so many others are going through right now. But one thing I do know is that together, we can help them rebuild.