Beyond Heart Failure at 2 Months Old: Crew's Journey

We first noticed something was wrong on Friday morning, March 14. A few small flags had popped up earlier in the week—Crew threw up during his morning feed on Wednesday and again on Thursday. Otherwise, he was acting perfectly fine: happy, nursing well, just his usual self.

Then, around midnight going into Friday, Crew began forcefully throwing up after every feed. He still seemed content, but by afternoon, his skin had taken on an orangey-grey tint. When he threw up again after his 2 p.m. feed, I knew something was wrong.

We were visiting my grandmother, about an hour from home. His pediatrician couldn’t see him until the next day, but my gut told me we couldn’t wait. We drove to a different office, and after an exam, the pediatrician told us to head straight to Connecticut Children’s. They suspected a stomach blockage.

But once we got to the hospital, everything changed in the blink of an eye.

Things went from bad to worse very quickly.

As staff checked Crew’s heart rate, confusion spread. They rushed him, still strapped in his car seat, to a treatment room. Suddenly, more than 15 people surrounded him, scrambling to place IVs in his tiny veins. When the medication was injected, everyone stopped to watch the monitor in horror.
I saw the number: 250 to 300 beats per minute. I knew it was bad—but I didn’t know how bad.

We were admitted to the PICU. After several failed IV attempts and multiple medications, we asked how severe this really was. The answer: “We’re looking for heart failure.”

It was hard to process anything after that. Our perfectly happy, seemingly healthy baby was now strapped to a hospital bed, surrounded by wires, monitors, and machines.

Saturday and Sunday were the hardest days. In many ways, they’re still a blur.

Though Crew’s heart rate stabilized, his other vital signs were declining. Dr. Sanders explained that he would need a breathing tube and could soon go into cardiac arrest. We were asked to sign ECMO paperwork.

“Is this life support?” I asked. “Yes,” Dr. Sanders replied softly.

My family rushed to the hospital to be with us. The breathing tube went in and Crew did great, his heart rate was at a comfortable level, and he was now breathing easier and no longer struggling. However, Crew’s body had already been fighting enough and couldn’t keep up anymore. My mom was in the room when Crew suddenly went into cardiac arrest.

Eric and I were resting when we heard the announcement over the speakers: “Code Blue… Room 305.” Our room.
There are no words for those moments. You unknowingly enter fight-or-flight mode. Our hearts were shattered. Dr. Sanders explained they were placing Crew on ECMO.

Her kindness, gentleness and raw emotion carried us through. The entire team prepared us for the sight of Crew surrounded by machines. They were sensitive, compassionate, and loving.

When Crew was on ECMO, we lived in shock. My husband and I took two-hour shifts to rest. My parents and sisters stayed with us. Nothing mattered except being by Crew’s side.

The machines were overwhelming, crowding his once-empty room, but the care team reminded us: this was giving Crew’s body a chance to rest. We clung to that.

We tried to stay positive, believing he needed our encouragement to heal. Of course, there were moments of doubt—the “rollercoaster of recovery” broke our hearts each time setbacks came—but we pushed forward.

The team focused on small wins. Every tiny step forward became cause for hope. Their honesty, paired with compassion, kept us grounded but not crushed.

We could name every nurse, doctor, and staff member who stood by Crew: Dr. Sanders, Dr. Gupta, Dr. Shai, Dr. Campbell, Dr. Taylor, Dr. Golden, Dr. Silverman, Dr. Guardenier, Dr. Lorenzoni, Dr. Parekh, Dr. Salonia, Dr. Banasiak, Paige, John, Tara, Rachel, Sara, Bobbi, Christine, Allie, Kevi, Chris, Julia, Ebony, Sarah, Rachel, Brittany, Kate. We’re thankful for each of them and remember them vividly.

Our first real relief came Monday morning during rounds. More than 28 people crowded outside Crew’s room, thinking, planning, and fighting for him.

That day, we met Dr. Gupta, Dr. Silverman, and Dr. Golden. They were the first to ask “Why?”—why a two-month-old went from vomiting to ECMO in less than 24 hours.

Until then, we had only been given bad news. But this meeting gave us the first spark of hope.

Slowly, Crew began to heal. Each setback was met with progress elsewhere. His body grew stronger. On Wednesday, he came off ECMO and the CRRT machine. His little heart was fighting back.

As much as we celebrated, we dreaded the MRI. Crew’s cardiac arrest had been long, and we were warned it might reveal brain damage.

When Dr. Gupta came back with the results, she first spoke about his stomach—how earlier concerns were gone. But I could only think: what about his brain?

Then came the words we had prayed for: his brain MRI was normal. No damage.

I was speechless, frozen, and then overcome with tears. Crew was going to be okay. The team celebrated with us, hugging us with joy. Crew was—and is—a miracle.

From that moment, hope carried us forward.

Crew is as happy and smiley as ever; he truly is the happiest baby. He’s six months old now, with two tiny bottom teeth, eating solids, sitting up on his own, and starting to crawl! He’s doing amazing. He is hitting all milestones and moving forward, physically and metaphorically, as if nothing happened. We’re in awe of how far he’s come and how well he’s doing. 

He takes medications throughout the day and night to help control his heart rhythms, and if it weren’t for those tiny reminders at medication time, you’d have no idea he went through everything he did at just two months old. 

Crew is now trying to keep up with his 3 and 13-year-old brothers. The bond and love they share melts our hearts every single day. The giggles are endless. Crew’s happiness is contagious and has let us all heal and move forward without any doubts or second-guessing if something bad will happen again. If Crew is happy and smiling, then so are we. Crew is a fighter, we will never question that and know that whatever happens next, he can handle it.

Gratitude

We will forever be thankful to every single doctor, every single nurse, and hospital staff who took such tender and loving care to save our precious Crew. I can now confidently say that I have met true superheroes.

I will never forget the kindness and support they gave to us every single second of every day we were there; not only did they take care of Crew, but they genuinely took care of us too. They answered every single question and explained every single thing, no matter how many times we asked, always asking if we needed anything or how else they could help.

We have learned so much through them. Through all the scary, the nature of their care, and now, their friendship, was always comforting. We will forever be in debt to their team. Their compassion is unmeasurable. Dr. Golden said something very early on during the ECMO days and it stayed with us to this day: “Thank you for letting us take care of what’s most precious to you”. They treated Crew as our baby, not just a patient.