Against all odds: How a tiny fighter defied every prognosis

Frankie Garner thought she had 10 more weeks to prepare for motherhood. Instead, she found herself in an operating theatre, septic and fighting for her life, while doctors raced to save her unborn baby.

Hours later, her daughter Saoirse lay silent in an incubator, then came the words no new parent expects to hear: She might not make it.

At just 30 weeks pregnant, Frankie, 29 at the time, spiked a 40°C temperature and felt something was wrong. Her midwife didn’t answer, but her gut told her to go to hospital. That decision saved her daughter’s life.

“I just knew something wasn’t right. Not that I was going to give birth, but something was seriously wrong,” Frankie says.

When she arrived at the hospital, blood tests revealed Frankie was septic. Within hours, she was in surgery for an emergency C-section. Later, tests revealed the cause was listeria, a rare infection in pregnancy.

Listeria infection in pregnancy is extremely rare in New Zealand with only a handful of cases reported each year.

Instead of the joyful chaos Frankie and her husband Paul had imagined when their daughter was born, her arrival was quiet, urgent, and terrifying.

“I remember thinking, she’s not crying, that’s not good,” Paul says.

“Then we were told she might not make it.”

Saoirse was whisked to NICU, intubated and fighting for life. While Frankie, still septic and recovering from surgery, barely saw her daughter for days.

“I didn’t realise how sick I was. I felt so guilty, like I’d caused this,” she says.

The prognosis was grim. Saoirse had bacterial meningitis from the listeria sepsis and a grade four brain bleed, the most severe level.

“I made the mistake of Googling it,” Paul says.

“There was nothing good. Everything said she wouldn’t survive or would have severe brain damage.”

Doctors warned of cerebral palsy or lifelong disability. But Frankie and Paul were in shock.

For 10 weeks, NICU became their world, a tight clinical space filled with alarms, machines, and constant activity.

The first five weeks were the hardest, they said.

“You’re living the worst moment of your life, and you can’t even cry in peace. There’s no privacy. You’re back-to-back with other families going through their own tragedies,” Frankie says.

“Saoirse was so tiny. You could fit your hand around her whole body,” Paul says.

Around week five, things began to change. Saoirse moved out of the incubator and her parents dressed her for the first time.

“It finally felt like she was ours,” Frankie says.

By the time she was discharged, Saoirse was off breathing support and feeding tubes. The prognosis still loomed, but Frankie and Paul just wanted to go home.

“We pushed for it. I was spiralling mentally. We thought, we can do this,” Frankie says.

And they did. Today, Saoirse is a happy, healthy, thriving four-and-a-half-year-old.

“She’s loud, she’s funny, she’s so smart,” Paul says.

“Doctors were baffled. From a grade four brain bleed to nothing.”

Regular checkups after they left hospital showed no issues. At two years, doctors told them not to come back.

“They said, there’s no point, she’s above all the milestones and she’s thriving,” Frankie says.

The experience changed them. It took three years to heal mentally before they tried for another child. Lachie, now 18 months, arrived safely.

After spending 10 weeks in NICU, Frankie and Paul know how much the environment matters.

“Privacy is huge. You need a space where you can breathe, cry, and process what’s happening. When you’re in survival mode, even the smallest touches can change everything,” Frankie says.

Christchurch Hospital’s NICU demand has outgrown the space. Funded for 44 beds, the unit often cares for 50-60 babies.

That’s why Māia Health Foundation is partnering with Health NZ on a major redevelopment.

Māia’s enhancements will make the unit more family-friendly, funding refurbished parent lounges and overnight rooms, comfortable recliners and breastfeeding chairs, mobile privacy screens, artwork, eight Transition Care bedrooms, training equipment like an ultrasound simulator, and essentials like milk warmers and noise-cancelling headphones. These improvements will help families through their toughest days. If you would like to support the Tiny Hands Need Big Hearts, please donate here.