Congenital Heart Defect Awareness: Two Baseball Wives on Becoming Heart Moms
Congenital heart defects affect 1 in 100 babies. We just didn’t think ours would be 2 of them. This is not your typical Married to the Game interview. Today isn’t about trades, stats, or life in the stands. Today is about broken hearts. And the God who holds them. In honor of Congenital Heart Defect Awareness Month, we are sharing a candid conversation between two baseball wives who became heart moms just four weeks apart. This is not medical advice. This is simply two moms telling the truth about what this journey has taught us.
Four days after Drew was born, I received a message from a fellow baseball wife. She told me her baby girl would soon be born with a congenital heart defect. Even that first text gave me comfort. In our small baseball world, someone else would understand oxygen levels and surgical rounds… but also clubhouse culture and trades and long seasons. Someone else was about to walk the same road we had just stepped onto. Different stories. Same club. That was my introduction to Aurielle Lindblom and today you will hear about our two heart warriors, Monroe and Drew.
We entered into the “heart mom” club through two very different doors.
Aurielle and Josh knew. We didn’t.
Josh (with the rest of his family) was playing baseball in South Korea when doctors discovered something was wrong with Monroe’s heart. The diagnosis was missed in the U.S., and suddenly Aurielle was sitting in a foreign country, unable to speak the language, watching the atmosphere in an exam room shift. Doctors coming in and out. Whispers. Urgency. When it was finally translated, all she heard was: “Heart broken. Right side of the heart. Lots of surgeries. May not make it to birth.”Hypoplastic Right Heart. Within two days, she packed up everything and flew home with her two older children. Josh stayed in Korea to finish the baseball season.He came home October 15. Monroe was born October 20.
We had a very different story.
There was no warning. No plan. Drew was born, and chaos followed. Confusion. Transport to another hospital. Medical terminology we had never heard before. Transposition of the Great Arteries (TGA). Open heart surgery at eight days old. Monroe had hers at seven days old. Two babies. Two open-heart surgeries. Eight days into motherhood.
The Shift:
For Josh, Monroe’s diagnosis became a turning point.
While sitting along in Korea during the worst season of his career he decided to finish his college degree online. He would eventually finish his masters. What looked like devastation became redirection. Baseball had already taught them something critical: You are not in control. Trades happen. Seasons change. Plans unravel. Baseball broke the illusion of control. Heart mom life finished the lesson.
Daniel’s entire perspective shifted after Drew’s diagnosis.
We were living in her hospital room on a blow-up mattress. Baseball had always been the focus — the dream, the pursuit, the thing everything revolved around. And then one day he looked at me and said: “Baseball doesn’t even matter. Nothing matters except Drew and her health.” The foundation shifted. Perspective arrived in a way we never asked for. The stress, however, was unimaginable. I was recovering from childbirth, pumping to keep my milk supply for a baby who might forget how to nurse after surgery, listening to machines beep and watching numbers fluctuate, entirely consumed by monitors and wires. Healing my own body while praying over hers. That tension — hope and fear living in the same room — is something only heart parents understand.
God winks in the chaos:
We both saw them. God winks. The right doctor speaking English in Korea. The timing of flights home. The right nurses on the right shifts. Scripture at just the right moment. Songs like “Thy Will” playing in an apartment in Asia when surrender was the only option left. The stress was real. But so was the presence of God.
After Surgery-
Nothing prepares you for seeing your baby after open heart surgery. The ventilator. The swelling. The scar down their tiny chest. Both Monroe and Drew had to relearn how to feed. Drew was able to. Monroe needed a feeding tube for two years. Through that g-tube, Aurielle gave her food, medication, everything she needed — and it kept them out of the hospital for 3 years.
At 9 years old:
Today, the hardship looks different. It looks like choosing the right swimsuit. It looks like learning that sometimes chest pain is normal — and knowing what helps it pass a little faster. We talk often about how her scars are not something to hide, but marks of a miracle — beautiful reminders of what God has done and unexpected invitations to share His goodness with anyone who asks.
To the new heart mom: Practical advice we both share:
• Ask for the detailed scans during pregnancy if possible.
• Ask to see photos of babies post-surgery so you are emotionally prepared.
• Leave the hospital. Go home and shower. Go snuggle your other children.
• Find community. You are not alone.
Most Importantly: This diagnosis is not the end of your child’s story. You are going to get through this. The grief you feel is real. The fear is real. The questions are real. You can love your baby deeply and still mourn the normalcy you thought you’d have. That doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.
If you are holding a newborn in a hospital room right now…
If machines are beeping. If medical language feels overwhelming. If your husband is trying to be strong but you can see the fear in his eyes. Here is what we want you to know: This diagnosis does not define your child. This chapter will not be the whole story. There will be hard days. There may be surgeries. There will be follow-ups and scans and questions. But there will also be laughter. Birthday candles. Baseball games. First days of school. Ordinary Tuesdays that feel extraordinary because you understand how fragile and sacred life is. Your child is not broken. Their heart may be different. But it is fierce. And so are you.
The gift inside the trial:
We would never call congenital heart defects a “gift.” But we will say this: Our children’s hearts changed ours. We became slower. More present. More aware of special needs all around us. Less trivial. We celebrate milestones differently.
We see miracles in oxygen numbers and appetite and energy levels. We don’t take ordinary days for granted. What once felt devastating has shaped us into women who understand resilience in a way we never would have otherwise.
CHD affects the whole family, not just the child with the scar. Brothers and sisters grow up understanding hospital rooms, medical equipment, and hard conversations — but they also grow up with extraordinary empathy. They learn to see beyond disability and recognize courage, grit, and purpose.
What trials teach us:
Neither of us would have chosen this path. But we can say this with steady hearts now: Our children’s heart defects did not steal our faith — they refined it. We learned that strength isn’t loud. It’s sitting beside a hospital crib at 2 a.m. whispering prayers you can barely form. We learned that courage isn’t the absence of fear. It’s signing surgical consent forms with shaking hands. We learned that control is an illusion. And trust is a daily decision. One of us had months to prepare. The other had hours.
But both of us learned the same lesson: God meets you in the hallway of uncertainty. Not after. Not once it’s resolved. Right there in it.
Final thoughts from Bree and Aurielle:
We came to this “heart mom” club through different doors. One prepared. One blindsided. But we stand together now — grateful, stronger, and deeply aware of how precious our children are. If you are just entering this club, we see you. There is hope here. There is faith here. There is community here. And one day — not today, maybe not tomorrow — but one day, you will look back and realize: This trial did not break you. It built you.
With love,
Two Baseball Wives.
Two Heart Moms.
One Unshakable Hope.
Thank you for stepping into this part of our story and honoring the courage of these little heart warriors. If you are walking a hard chapter of your own, hold on to hope — the Author is not finished, and He is always writing something more beautiful than we can see.
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Kathy soubliere
Beautiful story of love, faith and the power of prayer! Love hearing and seeing how well both girls are doing now. Pray your story can help others as they navigate through their life with their heart babies.