She could not lift her newborn son. She could not change his diaper.
Em maio de 2026, uma mulher de 38 anos de São José dos Pinhais tornou-se a primeira paciente do Paraná a receber um coração artificial pelo sistema público de saúde — não por escolha, mas por necessidade absoluta. Após complicações na quinta gestação, sua incompatibilidade imunológica com 99% dos doadores potenciais fechou as portas do transplante convencional e abriu, em seu lugar, o caminho de uma máquina. O caso de Andressa Fátima Reinaldi Banach não é apenas uma conquista médica; é o retrato de como a ciência e a vontade institucional podem encontrar saída onde a biologia impõe um beco sem saída.
- Após o parto, Andressa não conseguia segurar o próprio filho recém-nascido — seu coração havia falhado de forma tão grave que ela dependia de familiares para se mover dentro de casa.
- A descoberta de que seu sistema imunológico atacaria 99% dos corações doados transformou uma esperança de transplante em uma sentença de exclusão médica quase total.
- O estado do Paraná precisou coordenar uma operação interinstitucional — enviando a paciente a São Paulo para a cirurgia e treinando equipes inteiras antes de recebê-la de volta de ambulância aérea.
- O HeartMate 3, implantado em 12 de maio de 2026, usa levitação magnética para substituir a função do ventrículo esquerdo sem as falhas mecânicas dos dispositivos anteriores.
- Andressa recebeu alta em 29 de maio, mas o tratamento não tem fim: monitoramento contínuo, anticoagulação precisa e vigilância permanente são agora parte de sua vida.
- O Hospital do Rocio se posiciona como centro de referência para insuficiência cardíaca avançada no SUS, com equipe treinada e planos para repetir o procedimento em outros pacientes.
Andressa Fátima Reinaldi Banach tinha 38 anos e morava em São José dos Pinhais quando, após complicações em sua quinta gestação em agosto de 2024, o ventrículo esquerdo do coração dilatou a ponto de não conseguir mais bombear sangue. Ela passou duas semanas na UTI e voltou para casa incapaz de cuidar do filho recém-nascido, de tomar banho sozinha ou de se locomover sem ajuda. Por nove meses, sua família a carregou — literalmente.
Encaminhada ao Hospital do Rocio em Campo Largo em fevereiro de 2025, Andressa descobriu que um transplante convencional era praticamente impossível: suas gestações anteriores haviam sensibilizado seu sistema imunológico contra 99% dos doadores potenciais. A coordenadora de transplantes Aline Möckel explicou que o índice ideal seria zero — o de Andressa tornava qualquer coração doado uma ameaça de rejeição imediata.
A solução foi uma máquina. A Secretaria de Saúde do Paraná articulou o envio de Andressa ao Hospital Sírio-Libanês, em São Paulo, onde em 12 de maio de 2026 foi implantado o HeartMate 3 — um ventrículo esquerdo artificial que usa levitação magnética para circular o sangue com mínimo atrito e risco reduzido de coágulos. Oito dias depois, ela retornou ao Paraná de ambulância aérea.
Antes da chegada da paciente, médicos e enfermeiros do Hospital do Rocio viajaram a São Paulo para treinamento específico. O diretor técnico Kengi Itinose reconheceu que, apesar da experiência do hospital com transplantes desde 2015, o dispositivo artificial exigia uma competência inteiramente nova. O secretário estadual de saúde César Neves classificou o caso como um marco para o SUS paranaense.
Andressa recebeu alta em 29 de maio. Ela precisará de acompanhamento cardiológico permanente, controle rigoroso de anticoagulação e monitoramento contínuo do dispositivo e dos demais órgãos. Não há cura, nem fim do tratamento. Mas ela pode agora segurar o filho. Pode tomar banho. Pode viver. E o Hospital do Rocio, com equipe formada e protocolos estabelecidos, já se prepara para que ela não seja a última.
Andressa Fátima Reinaldi Banach was 38 years old and living in São José dos Pinhais, just outside Curitiba, when her body began to fail her in a way that no ordinary medicine could fix. After complications during her fifth pregnancy in August 2024, her heart—already weakened by the demands of carrying a child—simply stopped working. The left ventricle, the chamber responsible for pumping blood to the rest of the body, had dilated so severely that it could no longer do its job. She spent two weeks in intensive care, then went home to a life of complete dependence. She could not lift her newborn son. She could not change his diaper. She could not stand long enough to shower. Her husband and older children had to carry her from room to room.
For nine months, Andressa remained trapped in this state, receiving treatment at Hospital Angelina Caron in Campina Grande do Sul. By February 2025, her doctors referred her to Hospital do Rocio in Campo Largo, where a specialized cardiac team began investigating whether a traditional heart transplant might save her life. The answer came back in the form of a number that closed almost every door: 99 percent. Her immune system had developed antibodies against 99 percent of potential donors—a consequence of her previous pregnancies, which had exposed her body to foreign genetic material. A transplant from any of those donors would trigger immediate, catastrophic rejection. She was, in medical terms, incompatible with nearly everyone.
Aline Möckel, the transplant coordinator at Hospital do Rocio, explained the mathematics of the problem with clarity. The ideal immunological panel for a transplant candidate is zero percent—meaning no prior sensitization. Andressa's 99 percent meant her body had learned to attack almost any foreign heart. The only path forward was not a transplant at all, but a machine. In late spring 2026, the state health department coordinated a plan to send her to Hospital Sírio-Libanês in São Paulo, where surgeons would implant a HeartMate 3—an artificial left ventricle that would do the work her own heart could no longer perform.
The device itself is a feat of engineering. It uses magnetic levitation to suspend a rotor without mechanical bearings, allowing blood cells to pass through with minimal friction. This design reduces the risk of clots and tissue damage that plague older artificial heart designs. Power comes from either a stationary source during rest or portable batteries during daily activity. On May 12, 2026, Andressa underwent surgery. Eight days later, she was transported by air ambulance back to Paraná, landing at Bacacheri Airport in Curitiba and driven directly to Hospital do Rocio for post-operative care. She spent ten days recovering in the hospital and was discharged on May 29.
Before her arrival, the hospital's staff had undergone intensive training. Three physicians and one nurse traveled to São Paulo to learn how to manage a patient living with the device. The entire multidisciplinary team—cardiologists, nurses, technicians—spent a week preparing for her care. Kengi Itinose, the hospital's technical director, noted that while Hospital do Rocio had been performing heart transplants since 2015, this artificial device required something different: a new kind of expertise, a new kind of vigilance. The state health secretary, César Neves, called the case a landmark for public health in Paraná—proof that the state's public system could deliver cutting-edge treatment to those who had nowhere else to turn.
Andressa will require lifelong monitoring. Her cardiologist, Marcely Gimenes Bonatto, will watch her right heart function, her other organs, and the machine itself. Anticoagulation must be carefully controlled to prevent clots from forming inside the device. There is no endpoint to this treatment, no moment when she can stop being vigilant. But she can now pick up her son. She can stand in the shower. She can live.
In Brazil, heart failure affects roughly two million people, with 240,000 new cases diagnosed each year. It is the leading cause of cardiovascular hospitalizations in the public system—nearly two million admissions between 2015 and 2024. For most of those patients, the options are limited: medication, lifestyle changes, and if they are fortunate, a transplant. Andressa was not fortunate enough for a transplant. But the state of Paraná, working through its public health infrastructure, found another way. Hospital do Rocio is now positioning itself as a reference center for advanced heart failure treatments, with trained staff and plans to perform similar procedures in the future. The first patient has already shown that it is possible.
Notable Quotes
She had a very high immunological panel of 99 percent, which was total contraindication for transplant. The ideal scenario is that the patient has a 0 percent panel.— Aline Möckel, transplant coordinator at Hospital do Rocio
It is something unprecedented in Paraná and there is a plan for us to become one of the reference locations for this type of procedure.— Kengi Itinose, technical director of Hospital do Rocio
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
What made Andressa's case so medically unusual that it required this particular solution?
The 99 percent immunological panel. Most people who need heart transplants have some prior sensitization, but nothing close to that. She'd been pregnant five times. Each pregnancy exposed her immune system to foreign genetic material, and her body learned to recognize and attack it. By the time she needed a new heart, her immune system had essentially blacklisted almost every potential donor on earth.
So a traditional transplant would have failed immediately?
Yes. The moment a donor heart entered her body, her antibodies would recognize it as foreign and begin destroying it. Rejection would be instantaneous and irreversible. The doctors had to think differently.
How did the team at Hospital do Rocio prepare for something they'd never done before?
They sent staff to São Paulo to train directly with the surgeons and engineers who specialize in the device. A week of intensive preparation with the entire team—cardiologists, nurses, technicians. They needed to understand not just the surgery, but the daily management of a patient living with a machine doing the work of their heart.
What does Andressa's life look like now, practically speaking?
She's alive and functional in ways she couldn't be before. She can care for her son. But she's also tethered to a device that requires constant monitoring. Anticoagulation management, regular check-ups, watching for any sign of malfunction or infection. It's not a cure. It's a way to live.
Does this case change what's possible in Paraná's public health system?
It signals a shift. The state proved it could coordinate complex, expensive, cutting-edge care through the public system. Hospital do Rocio is now training to become a reference center for these procedures. Other patients with terminal heart failure and no transplant options now have a path forward.