They told me she would need a heart transplant because her tiny heart was too badly damaged to repair. The eventual diagnosis was idiopathic cardiomyopathy, (cardiomyopathy means that her heart muscle wasn't squeezing as hard as it should and idiopathic meaning they didn't know why) but at the time all they knew was that Claire's heart wasn't pumping the way it should and she was dying. I was powerless to do anything but watch her agony. It was torture to not be able to help my child, to not be able to hold her, to touch her. I watched Claire cry and scream for 20 minutes as the doctors struggled to place an IV in her feeble veins. As the drive progressed the paramedic became increasingly concerned and within minutes he made the decision to divert to the nearest hospital instead. The next thing I knew we were in an ambulance en route to the children's hospital with the sirens screaming and a panicked feeling in the air. ![]() I had rushed her to the doctor because she was looking grey and lethargic. ![]() It was a cold January morning in 2007 when my one-month-old daughter, Claire, went into heart failure.
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