I got this, I thought as I walked into the children's hospital in February.
I've interviewed thousands of people, including moms who've buried kids and teens who survived beatings and shootings. So, I thought I could hold it together for a story about a young person needing a heart transplant.
I had asked hospital staff at Monroe Carell Jr. Children's Hospital at Vanderbilt to help me show readers what it's like to wait for a heart transplant. Vanderbilt Health set the 2025 world record of performing 210 adult and pediatric heart transplants.
They'll pick a teen, I figured. That made me a little concerned for project photojournalist Mark Zaleski, who has two girls close to that age.
I was wrong. On all accounts.
When I walked into the patient's room,
a 36-pound girl with a doll face and long brunette hair locked eyes with me. I was leveled. The innocence in her brown eyes reminded me of my niece. For a few seconds, I had a hard time breathing.
I knew that this little girl had a one-in-four chance of not getting a heart before becoming too sick for the surgery. I masked my concern with a smile.
The 5-year-old, Selma, blurted out her love of Taylor Swift and the color pink. She said she was excited to be the in newspaper and asked if Taylor was ever in our newspaper. I assured her she had been.
As I left her room, I wondered why I assigned myself this story. A look at patient support dogs surely would have been easier.
Alone in my car, I cried. I worried Selma wouldn't get a heart and I worried about the parents of a child who might become a donor. With a new heart, the girl who loves Barbies, Taylor, bacon and pink could live a long and happy life. Without one, she would die.
It's cruel and unfair.
I thought about her parents and her two-years-older sister, Lola, forced to live apart.
She should be running alongside Lola, chasing fireflies in the backyard of their home in Cookeville, Tennessee. Instead, Selma remained tethered to an IV stand she named "Poley," dragging it around with bags of medicine her body needs to keep going.
We spent eight months getting to know Selma. Her family, hospital officials, nurses and physicians granted us rare access to observe life in Vanderbilt's cardiac unit, physical therapy, tutor sessions and medical procedures for a three-part series.
I prayed for her and her family and all of the other critically-ill children I passed in the cardiac unit, including babies whose cries echoed in the hall. I asked for the right words to inspire others to consider organ donation. I also asked for comfort for the parents whose kids will die, forcing an immediate decision on whether to donate amid grief.
Selma wanted to have her say. It's what drew me to journalism, a career where I still hope I can make a difference.
Beth Warren covers health care and can be reached at bwarren@tennessean.com or on X at @BethWarrenCJ.
This article originally appeared on Nashville Tennessean: A little girl waiting for a heart transplant changed me forever
