This is a first-person story written by Julia Morris, who had open heart surgery in January 2025. The procedure is very rare because she was in her second trimester of pregnancy.
Last New Year’s Day, I was praying for a miracle.
This year, I get to hold one in my arms—because of the care, compassion and skill that saved us both.
It all began in the Emergency Department at Kingston Health Sciences Centre (KHSC), where the words “heart attack” and “tumour” stopped my world. I was 23 weeks pregnant—supposed to be picking baby names, not fighting for my life.
Doctors found a nine-centimetre tumour in my heart. Pieces had broken off, sending fragments through my body. Every heartbeat felt dangerous.
In those first moments, dark thoughts crept in—Would my baby survive? Would I? But I forced myself to breathe, to push the fear away. If there was even a sliver of hope, I was going to hold on to it with everything I had.
And somehow, we made it through. Surgery happened—and there were tears. But even after that, there was still a long road ahead. I spent nearly a month in hospital while they monitored everything—my heart, my baby, my recovery. Each day was a mix of relief and fear, gratitude and exhaustion.
When the day finally came, it felt like the world stood still. After everything we’d endured, hearing my baby’s first cry was the most beautiful sound imaginable. I remember holding my breath until I heard it—and then I couldn’t stop crying myself, this time tears of relief, gratitude and joy. The room was full of doctors and resident doctors who had been with me every step of the way, and in that moment, it felt like we were all celebrating together.
But recovery didn’t end there. Because of everything my body had endured, I needed more time—more care—to fully recover. That is when I began the Cardiac Rehabilitation Program at Providence Care Hospital. That’s was where determination took root.
I had to relearn the simplest things—how to believe in my own strength, how to trust my body again. Progress was slow, but every small victory mattered. The therapists pushed me, encouraged me and celebrated each milestone as if it were their own.
There were days I wanted to give up from exhaustion, but never once was I left to face it alone. Step by step, strength returned—and with it, the life I’d been fighting so hard to reclaim.
It was incredible—from the surgeons who saved my life to the porters who smiled as they wheeled me through the halls. Every person, from dietitians to housekeeping, carried this quiet kindness—an unshakable belief that things could get better. No question ever went unanswered; if they didn’t know, they’d find someone who did. Even when the answers were hard, their compassion never faltered. Somewhere between the steady footsteps of nurses and the soft hum of machines, hope began to feel real again.
Now, as I move through this season of firsts—our first quiet mornings without the sound of monitors, my baby’s first laugh, our first Christmas at home as a family of four—I carry their kindness with me. It’s in every breath, every heartbeat and every small miracle we get to celebrate together.
It’s hard to describe what it feels like to hold your baby for the first time—the sheer disbelief, the overwhelming gratitude, the quiet realization that somehow, life has been handed back to you. Today, when I look down at that small, perfect face, I remember everything it took to get here: the skill, the compassion, the sleepless dedication. Every step of my recovery was made possible by the incredible care I received at KHSC and Providence Care—right here, close to home.
These hospitals and health-care sites are more than buildings; they’re places where expertise meets heart, where neighbours care for neighbours with quiet strength and unwavering kindness.
And it’s because of donors like you—people who choose to believe in care for complete strangers—that this kind of healing is possible. Your generosity ensures that moments like mine can happen right here, in our own community. I am endlessly grateful to everyone who believes that local care matters—that it should be valued, protected, and nurtured.
Please support our hospitals this holiday season by making a donation through University Hospitals Kingston Foundation (UHKF). Your impact will be doubled because every dollar donated (before Dec. 31) will be matched—up to $100,000—by a group of generous Angel Donors who wish to remain anonymous.
From the bottom of my heart, thank you for making this a place where hope truly lives close to home—and for giving me all the firsts I now get to celebrate with my baby.
PHOTO BELOW: Julia at Providence Care Hospital rehab with baby Johnny.
