The Heart of a Hero: Randy’s Heart Transplant Journey
Written by ♥️Mom, Vivian
Randy’s heart journey began in utero. We had a normal pregnancy until his anatomy scan around 18 weeks. During the ultrasound, the technician stated she needed to go get the doctor right away when she said that my husband and I knew something was wrong. The maternal-fetal medicine doctor came in and informed my husband and me that Randy’s heart looked abnormal and that I needed to see a high-risk OB for a more in-depth assessment. The cardiothoracic doctor at Ochsner Medical Center in New Orleans, LA advised us that Randy had a congenital heart defect called Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome (HLHS) and was told he would need immediate, lifesaving open heart surgery. I was full term at 39 weeks and on Jan 6, 2011, my son was born at 8lbs 0.6 ounces. He was at the perfect weight to undergo the first surgery.
The first surgery (Norwood procedure) was like standing on the edge of a cliff, holding my breath, praying, He was just 2 weeks old, so small, so fragile. I remember holding his tiny hand before they wheeled him away, whispering everything I had ever wanted him to know—how much I loved him, how proud I was of his strength. The waiting room felt like a prison, the clock ticking like an endless countdown. Every minute felt like a lifetime. And when we finally got the news, I remembered feeling like I could finally exhale, but the relief was temporary, knowing another battle lay ahead.
Soon after, the second surgery (Glenn procedure) which he had at five months old, Randy started smiling more, and his tiny hands gripped mine with surprising strength. I started to see the little things that made him giggle even in the most difficult times, his curiosity about the world, and his ability to bond with others despite the pain he was in. Watching him made me believe, truly believe, that we could get through anything. Finally, Randy was ready for the third stage, a surgery called the Fontan procedure. He had this around 2 years of age.
I had seen my son go through more than most adults would in a lifetime, and yet he smiled. He laughed. He lived. I realized that I had stopped fearing the future. The surgeries, the tests, the hospital stays, they didn’t define him. What defined him was his fight, his joy, and his heart. And in a way, I grew up with him. His heart had been fragile, but it had also been strong in ways that words couldn’t capture. And so did mine.
Years went by and my boy was growing, thriving, making friends, going to school, and my family and I couldn’t be prouder of him and what he went through. Unfortunately, our lives came to a halt on August 2, 2024, another battle was starting up for my family to face, another difficult decision, a HEART TRANSPLANT, it felt like both a lifeline and a terrifying unknown.
All those years of surgeries had prepared us for the idea that his heart would need more help but hearing that the day had come—that he would need someone else’s heart to survive—was a moment I can still hardly put into words. My heart ached for the family who had lost their loved one, and yet, in that loss, we saw a chance at life, at a future. The day we were put on the transplant list felt like we were holding our breath again, waiting for that call that would change everything. The waiting felt like being suspended in time. Every phone call, every sudden rush of panic when I thought the call had come—it was a constant cycle of hope and fear. But amidst that uncertainty, something shifted. I saw him, my son, not just surviving but thriving in the face of it. He was learning to live with the idea that one day, the right heart would come, and in that, he became something more than a patient. He became a symbol of the fight for life. Then, it came. THE CALL. It was almost surreal like everything paused for a moment before the world started moving again. “We’ve found a match.” I remember my heart racing, and my mind racing. We had been through so much, but this—this was different. It was a new beginning, but it was also filled with fear, that his body might reject the new heart. But all I could think of was that my son, my warrior, was getting a chance at a life that felt more full, more whole.
Randy’s first few weeks after the transplant were a blur—praise, fear, exhaustion. But watching him recover, watching him laugh and play, it was as though he was becoming someone new, even though I knew he was still the same little boy who had fought so hard before. I was learning, too—learning how to let go of the constant worry that had defined my days for so long, learning how to embrace a future full of possibilities, even as I remained mindful of the fragility of it all.
Today I see much more than a teenager who’s survived a heart transplant. I see someone who has defied the odds, someone who has transformed not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually. Every beat of his new heart is a reminder of how precious life is, and how much strength it takes to keep moving forward, no matter what. Every day, I am reminded that we are not just surviving, we are living, and together, we have made it through the hardest part.
