5 days ago
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February 19, 2026 — 5:00am
In 1984, Fiona Coote, 56, became Australia’s youngest heart-transplant patient. She met Vanessa Chang, 57, through her surgeon – and Vanessa’s dad – Victor Chang. Today, they’re patron and chair of the Victor Chang Foundation.
FIONA: I met Vanessa when she came to the hospital with Victor after my first transplant [she had a second, also performed by Dr Chang, in 1986]. He’d bring in his kids when he was doing his rounds on a Saturday. Neither of us really knew what to say – that awkward teenager thing. But I remember thinking, “She’s so beautiful.” I was a country bumpkin and she was so elegant and fine-boned – just a gorgeous, gorgeous face – and beautifully dressed!
I didn’t see her again for years, though I kept in touch with Victor and Ann [Victor’s wife and Vanessa’s mother], so I’d hear snippets about her. I don’t think I saw her again until Victor died [Dr Chang was killed in 1991]. I went to the funeral. Just the horror of what the family was dealing with was shattering.
After that, we’d see each other at the occasional event. Every time, we were like magnets: we’d kind of rush together from across the room, chat chat chat. I heard about her marriage, her two children coming along – it was wonderful. And the family would often invite me to dinner. I always felt so loved and welcomed by them all. But I was conscious of not wanting to overstep, not intrude. I was kind of admiring from afar. I was slightly in awe of Vanessa, actually. How strong she was. Ann, too. They had such a dreadful path, and they walked it with such dignity.
Vanessa has the same cheekiness her dad had, the same enthusiasm. For years after my transplant, I used to see Victor every time I went to the hospital. I’d be there for a check-up or whatever, and we’d run into each other. He’d always say: “Fi! What’re you doing? Sit down, tell me what you’re doing!” She’s the same – she rings me up and says, “How are you? Tell me, tell me!”
We catch up when I’m in Sydney, but mostly we talk on the phone or have long text conversations. She’s very direct: sometimes she’ll get a request for me to do something that’s a bit much and she’ll be like, “This is just ridiculous, no way am I letting you do this stupid thing!” Of course I was never going to do it, but it’s lovely that she’s protective of me.
I’m really amazed at the quality of life I have 40 years post-transplant. There are lots of complexities with immunosuppression: the kidneys take a real hit. The main thing I notice is my energy levels, so I take things pretty easy: I don’t work; I take a lot of medications; I see a lot of great doctors. I don’t have a partner or kids, but I have a fantastic support network which includes Vanessa. She’s always in my corner.
We do sometimes say, “Oh, it would be so good if Victor could see us now.” It’s so sad he missed all this – all the beautiful family, all the grandkids. It’s been a really tough road. But here we are, 40 years on, and we have this friendship that neither of us anticipated. It has been one of the real treasures to come from my transplant.
VANESSA: There’s a photo of Fi lying in bed when she’s just had her heart transplant. She’s got her hair in a pony, such a sweet face: that’s gorgeous. She absolutely exudes warmth: it’s impossible to talk to her for longer than about 10 seconds and not want everything to work out for her. She’s just so lovely, and you’re just so on her side.
I think Dad would be delighted if he knew we were friends. But even so, if he hadn’t died, I’m not sure we would be. She would have been one of his favourite patients, and I would have heard about her through him, but we both would have just gone on with our lives. It’s shared grief that created this bond. I lost my father; she lost the person who, along with his team, saved her life. We understand each other. After Dad’s death, she was never intrusive, but she was always there. And I absolutely trust her. It’s really hard to talk about grief, but we can tell each other the truth.
In our 20s and 30s, we were always going to the same fundraising functions and stuff. I’d look around the room thinking, “Who’s here who I actually want to speak with? Fiona! Thank god.” It was just ultra-comfortable. Familiar – like family. Then, when I decided to carry on Dad’s work at the Foundation, Fifi was the one person who I knew would understand and represent him with integrity.
Despite her unbelievable niceness, I remember one day, we were sitting having a coffee and she was telling me a story about something that had happened in the hospital and, suddenly, she was a bit sarcastic. And I thought, “Ah! So Fi is actually not an angel brought down to Earth! OK, she’s ready to come to dinner at my house.” Which is total chaos. My whole family loves her – my mum, my brothers … although I am definitely her favourite Chang. Did she tell you that? I’m sure I am.
In many ways, we’re polar opposites. She loves gardens; I’ve got a black thumb. She’s got her cat; I’m all about dogs. Well, cats for sure, but they have to have a dog personality. I’m a boy person; I think Fi’s probably more of a girl person. She’s not a people-pleaser at all – though because she’s so gentle, people sometimes don’t realise how strong she is – but she does please people. Whereas if I have to have conflict, I won’t resile from it.
My relationship with Fi is unique. I don’t have anything like it with any of my father’s other patients. She feels like she could be the sister I never had – who isn’t half-Chinese. That sounds so corny, but that’s the truth of it. I feel very protective of her. She’s now one of the world’s longest-surviving heart-transplant recipients and it’s very important to me that she stay healthy. She is physically vulnerable: I don’t think people realise the toll that having this [transplanted] heart takes on her body. There’s the drug regimen; the risk of rejection – something terrible might happen at any point. So I do feel protective, and I think she feels the same about me. She knows what happened after Dad died – the media, other stuff that went on with my family. So she watches over us, too.
Amanda Hooton is a board member of the Victor Chang Foundation.
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