By: Amy M. Le
Quill Hawk Publishing
Nine months before the fall of Saigon, on July 30, 1974, at 11:35 p.m., I was born in the province of Trà Vinh in southern Vietnam near the Mekong Delta. My father, Vương Quang Tí, a stoic man with six-pack abs and chiseled calves even Hercules would find impressive, gave me the name of Thủy Tiên, which means Water Angel. Thủy Tiên is also the botanical name of a Narcissus Tazetta. This perennial plant grows from a bulb and blooms into a tiny daffodil with a sweet, delicate fragrance similar to gardenias. My name represents a freedom-loving and free-spirited individual. I had yet to live up to that name as I was born with a hole in my heart that left me frail and sick.
My mother, Lê Ngọc Tuyết, was thirty-five years old when she gave birth to me. Unlike my father, she was delicate and light-skinned, living up to her name, Tuyết, which means snow. The day I was born was the happiest and scariest day of my mom’s life. Mama Snow always wanted to be a mother, but her baby came into the world blue, small, and alien-looking.
I was born premature with a heart murmur, and while most murmurs resolve themselves, mine never did. One in a hundred babies born in this world have a congenital heart defect (CHD), and heart defects are the most common birth defects. While most CHDs resolve themselves, many are serious and even fatal if not treated or repaired.
My poor mother blamed herself for birthing a sick, tiny baby whose life expectancy was less than five years, according to the medical staff in Vietnam. I had a hole in my heart that, unbeknownst to Mom at the time, was at least eight millimeters big. Mom’s first thought was her addiction to coffee was the reason for my CHD. She was convinced the caffeine overworked my heart and burst a hole in the upper chambers of it, causing extra blood to fill my tiny lungs and thus making me blue.
If the doctors did not fix the atrial septal defect, my enlarged heart would eventually be too weak, and the increased blood pressure in the arteries of the lungs would lead to pulmonary hypertension. ADHD, Autism, or arrhythmias were heartbeats away from reality. Mom feared my life teetered with the American War and my heart condition.
Mom did what most Vietnamese mothers did–prayed and sought counsel from a fortune teller. She also prayed to the Father, the Son, the Holy Spirit, and, just in case, to our ancestors and Buddha. Every soothsayer said the same thing:
“Your daughter was born at the 23:35 hour at night on July 30, 1974?” Madame Tử Vi (meaning Fortune Teller) asked. Mom nodded and pushed her offering of fruits closer to Madame. “Oh, a female tiger born at night is a tigress who will not have an easy life. Your daughter will be restless, destined always to roam and hunt for happiness, love, and prosperity.”
Then Mom would slip a small, red money envelope under the fruit basket and lean closer. “But what about her heart? She is very sick. She is small and does not breathe well.”
Miraculously, Madame Tử Vi’s predictions changed once she received the money envelope. “Not to worry, Miss Snow, Thủy Tiên is a Wood Tiger, and of the five elements, wood is best for a long, fulfilling life. Her star chart improves with age. She will live a long life.”
Without fail, every fortune teller puckered her face and declared that I suffered greatly from a serious illness between the ages of one and five years old because I was under the poisonous influence of the Golden Metal Snake. “However, not to worry,” they’d say, “the element of Wood ensures your daughter’s energy, even temper, and playfulness will make her a successful snake charmer, leading to independence, wealth, and stability later in life.”
These readings eventually put my mother at ease, but she could not rely on fate or prayers alone. She needed a cardiologist—a heart surgeon who could perform open-heart surgery and repair the valve to prevent the blood mixing. None could be found in Vietnam. No resources, no money, no hope…
Our family was among the hundreds of thousands of boat people who fled Vietnam in the 1970s and 1980s in search of freedom, healthcare, and safety. In March 1980, a church sponsored us to America, and Seattle, Washington, became home. Five months later, in August 1980, right after my sixth birthday, I collapsed and fell down a flight of stairs. My heart gave out. I was rushed to Seattle Children’s Hospital, and eight hours later, I emerged with a repaired heart and a six-inch scar down the center of my chest. Mom’s prayers were answered. Not only did I live past the age of five, and we escaped persecution in Vietnam, but our angels sent Dr. Dale Hall, a triple board-certified doctor who specialized in valve repairs, to be my heart surgeon! My open-heart surgery was forty-five years ago, in 1980. Oh, how far has technology advanced in the medical industry since then!
Today, repairing an ASD is a simple medical procedure available to those with access to healthcare and necessary financial resources. This procedure to close the hole in the wall separating the upper chambers of the heart (atria) is often done through a minimally invasive catheter-based technique using a device to plug the hole or, in some cases, through open-heart surgery with a patch to close the defect; this procedure is used to correct an ASD, where blood can flow abnormally between the left and right atria. The procedure takes thirty minutes.
After the surgery, I had a new lease on life that I continue to renew every year. Today, I am fifty years old and thriving. At the time, in 1974 war-torn Vietnam, hospitals, doctors, medicine, and technology were limited or scarce. My mom had to go into the black market to survive the war, find medicine, and get food I could swallow.
As a child, I was always short of breath. I could not run. I had no energy. I was small and thus often bullied. After the surgery and recovery period, I could run a mile—I always came in last at school—but I could finish the run. And I joined the volleyball and badminton teams. My skin became a healthy tan rather than pale or blue. I no longer had an irregular heartbeat or heart palpitations. And boy, could I eat!
I take antibiotics now when I go to the dentist and do my best to protect my heart health. If it weren’t for my mom and the amazing team of doctors and hospital staff, I would not be here to share my story. On March 5, 2021, forty-one years after my surgery, I reunited with my heart surgeon and his wife, Susan Russell Hall, to personally thank them for saving my life. Susan was the medical illustrator who drew pictures of my operation in 1980. She was fresh out of art school and spent hours in the operating room to draw and document surgical procedures. Dr. Hall and Susan were one in a million, specializing in their respective fields. It was through the grace of being on the Heart to Heart with Anna podcast that I shared my CHD journey. The podcast host, Anna Jaworski, made it her mission to find my surgeon in 1980.
It is also because of Anna that The Heart Community Collection was formed, a resource for the CHD community that was co-founded by Anna Jaworski, Jenny Muscatell, and me. Together, the heart community advocates for one another, encourages regular screenings and treatment, and shares stories to let others know they are not alone.
Every CHD journey is different, but every CHD warrior learns ‘struggle’ and ’bravery.’ The will to fight for another day is what we do best. We just need a little help, and that is where organizations like Healing Hearts Vietnam come in. HHV’s Vietnamese partner hospitals conduct remote cardiac screening clinics for poor and underserved children of Vietnam. Early detection and life-saving heart surgery funded by donors to Healing Hearts Vietnam have enabled more than 500 Vietnamese children with CHD to live healthy and full lives.
To all the heart warriors out there, this poem is for you.
I am a heart warrior.I am a fighter. My strength comes from my faith and is fueled by my perseverance. I am strong, not because of what I can lift, nor what I must endure, but because of my sheer will to fight for a better tomorrow. My perseverance is powered by my heart, the muscle that reminds me I am alive.
I am a heart warrior. My family is my life. I would die for them as they would die for me. I am not afraid to show pain, insecurities, or doubts, for those emotions strengthen my resolve. They let me know I am human, made in His image. I have courage. I have heart. I will rise and not give up. I am a Heart Warrior, and this is my creed.
About Amy M. Le
Amy M. Le was born in Tra Vinh, Vietnam, nine months before the fall of Saigon. She was born with an atrial septal defect, a congenital heart defect that required open-heart surgery to survive. Access to medicine and proper medical care was nearly impossible at the time, and life looked grim.
“My mother was told I’d be lucky if I lived to be five years old,” Amy said. “She was desperate to find a way to save my life.”
The Le family was sponsored to the United States in 1980, and a few months after their arrival, Amy was rushed to Seattle Children’s Hospital to receive the life-saving surgery she needed from Dr. Dale Hall, a triple board-certified surgeon whose expertise in valve repair gave Amy a new lease on life. In the operating room was also Susan Russell Hall, a medical illustrator who drew the surgery details and gave the drawings to Amy’s mother.
Amy is the award-winning author of The Snow Trilogy and CEO of Quill Hawk Publishing, an Asian American, woman-owned hybrid publishing company in Oklahoma dedicated to amplifying diverse voices one story at a time.
After Amy’s mother, Snow, passed away in 2017, Amy went on a journey of self-discovery to learn about her CHD, reconnect with her Vietnamese roots, and unearth the history surrounding her immigration from Vietnam to the United States.
“When I discovered Healing Hearts Vietnam,” Amy said, “I was overjoyed. Not only does the organization work tirelessly to help families in Vietnam get the life-saving cardiac surgery needed, but the team of doctors and volunteers is incredible.”
Today, Amy is not only surviving, but she is thriving. Amy resides in Oklahoma with her husband, son, and pets. She is a full-time author dedicated to giving back to the community. She co-founded The Heart Community Collection, a cooperative of creatives who provide resources to the CHD community.
“I wish my mother had a resource like Healing Hearts Vietnam. Through their work, the lives of many heart warriors in Vietnam can be saved,” Amy said.
You can help children like Amy through your support of Healing Hearts Vietnam, whose mission is to provide financial assistance to make life-saving cardiac surgeries available for needy Vietnamese families. Formed in 2015 by Drs. Chad Hoyt and Tom Forsberg, Healing Hearts Vietnam is built on the values of love, equality, the value of life, and fiscal responsibility.
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