Pregnancy is often described as one of the happiest times in a family’s life. For me, however, my pregnancy with my son Oscar became a journey marked by fear, uncertainty, and unimaginable challenges. What began with dreams of a healthy baby slowly turned into a fight for survival—both for Oscar and for me. And through every moment of fear and heartbreak, one source of comfort never wavered: the unwavering support of Ronald McDonald House Charities UK.

From the beginning, my pregnancy was considered high-risk due to thyroid issues and polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS). Despite this, doctors reassured me that everything looked normal. Oscar was growing well, and there were no immediate concerns. At 16 weeks, we attended a routine gender scan, excited to learn whether we were expecting a boy or a girl. When the sonographer announced we were having a baby boy, joy filled the room. But that joy was quickly shadowed when she noticed something unusual—Oscar’s stomach appeared higher than it should have been. She gently suggested further investigation at a specialist hospital.

The very next day, we received a call from Worthing General Hospital. Doctors explained they suspected Oscar had congenital diaphragmatic hernia (CDH), a rare condition where a hole in the diaphragm allows abdominal organs to move into the chest cavity, preventing the lungs from developing properly. Though they tried to reassure us, fear set in. When my partner Dan searched for information, the reality was terrifying. The survival rates were uncertain, and the risks were severe. Soon after, we were transferred to a specialist hospital in London, where the diagnosis was confirmed. We were told CDH was treatable—but that Oscar’s chances were far from guaranteed.

At 24 weeks, our world was shaken again. I suffered a seizure while driving, resulting in a frightening car accident. Thankfully, my daughter Reece was unharmed, and the crash was minor—but I was hospitalized. Doctors determined that extreme stress had triggered the seizures. I was placed on medication and advised not to drive, making the journey ahead even harder.

Despite everything, I continued the pregnancy with hope and determination. But at 26 weeks, during what was meant to be a routine scan, doctors delivered devastating news: Oscar’s condition had worsened significantly. An emergency C-section was scheduled immediately. Oscar was born far too early, weighing just 680 grams. From the moment he arrived, we knew the fight of his life had begun.

Oscar’s airway was severely compromised due to his small jaw, making breathing impossible without assistance. He was placed on a ventilator and transferred to the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU). Doctors warned us that his chances of survival were slim. We were told to prepare for the worst. Still, I held onto hope—because giving up was never an option.

As the days passed, Oscar faced complication after complication. He was diagnosed with a cleft palate and Pierre Robin Syndrome, a condition that further restricted his breathing. He required a nasopharyngeal airway and feeding tubes. Multiple tests and sleep studies were carried out to ensure his oxygen levels remained safe. At just seven days old, Oscar was transferred to the neonatal surgical ward at Birmingham Children’s Hospital.

It was during this overwhelming time that we were introduced to Ronald McDonald House Charities UK.

We were offered a room at Ronald McDonald House Birmingham, located just across the road from the hospital. Walking through those doors felt like entering a sanctuary. For the first time in weeks, I could breathe. The House provided more than a bed—it provided comfort, safety, and compassion. I could rest, shower, eat a warm meal, and most importantly, stay close to Oscar without exhausting travel. The staff welcomed us with open arms, offering kindness when we needed it most.

Being surrounded by other parents facing similar struggles became an unexpected source of strength. We shared stories, tears, fears, and hope. In the darkest moments, the House gave us light.

Oscar’s journey was anything but easy. There were moments of progress—such as coming off the ventilator—followed by terrifying setbacks. He contracted RSV, suffered severe instability, and at one point developed a lung haemorrhage so serious that end-of-life care was discussed. Once again, we were told to prepare for the worst.

But Oscar wasn’t ready to give up.

Against all odds, he stabilized. After months of fighting, he was transferred to King’s College Hospital for life-saving surgery. Once again, Ronald McDonald House Charities UK stepped in, offering us accommodation at Ronald McDonald House Camberwell, just minutes from the hospital. Being so close meant I could be there for every surgery, every procedure, every small milestone.

Oscar underwent multiple surgeries, including a stoma reversal and procedures to address feeding difficulties. Slowly—so slowly—he began to grow stronger. And then, after 135 days in hospital, we received the words we had been dreaming of:

“You can take your son home.”

Bringing Oscar home was a moment of pure joy, relief, and overwhelming gratitude. After everything he had endured, our miracle baby was finally home.

Today, Oscar is thriving. He is strong, determined, and full of life—a living testament to resilience, medical dedication, and the power of hope. None of this would have been possible without the incredible support of Ronald McDonald House Charities UK. They gave us proximity, comfort, and a sense of normality when our world felt like it was falling apart.

Our gratitude knows no bounds. We continue to raise awareness and give back in any way we can, sharing our story so other families may receive the same support we did. To any parent facing a similar journey: never give up. Even in the darkest moments, hope exists.

Thank you, Ronald McDonald House Charities UK, for being our safe haven when we needed it most. Our family will be forever grateful—and we will continue to share Oscar’s story so that more families can find comfort, strength, and hope, one step at a time.

A Child, a Barrier, and a Community’s Prayers — Cylus’ Fight Begins Tomorrow

 Some updates break the heart before the first sentence is even written. Today is one of those updates — the kind no parent ever wants to share, the kind no child should ever have to live through.

For brave young Cylus, this is the reality he faces every day. A reality shaped by hospitals, machines, and battles far beyond his years. Yet somehow, he meets it with a strength that feels impossible for someone so small.

It began quietly, the way so many frightening stories do. Headaches. Then a deep, unsettling pain behind his eye. Nothing that immediately screamed danger — just enough to make his parents worry, just enough to whisper that something wasn’t right.

And then, suddenly, everything changed.

The entire left side of Cylus’ face stopped moving. His smile — once full and bright — faded into paralysis. Watching that happen to your child is a nightmare no parent is ever prepared for. One day, laughter. The next, fear so heavy it steals your breath.

Doctors moved fast. Scans followed scans. Tests followed tests. Long hours passed in sterile rooms filled with silence and waiting. And then came the news that shifted their world once again: a new mass at the base of Cylus’ skull, pressing against his facial nerve.

It wasn’t just another setback.
It was another battle in a war his body has been fighting for far too long.

Cylus has already faced spreading cancer. He has endured fractures, infections, and treatments that would overwhelm even the strongest adults. Pain has been a constant companion. Fear, an unwelcome guest. And still — he remains.

His courage is not loud. It doesn’t announce itself. It lives in quiet moments — in the way he still tries to smile, even when his face won’t fully respond. In the way he reaches for comfort. In the way his eyes say, I’m still here. I’m still fighting.

Tomorrow, he steps into one of the hardest chapters yet.

Cylus will begin MIBG therapy, an aggressive form of internal radiation reserved for the most serious cases. For four long days, radioactive treatment will course through his body. For four days, he must remain in isolation — separated from the touch of the people who love him most.

No hugs.
No kisses.
No holding hands.

His parents will be close, yet heartbreakingly far away. Watching through barriers. Whispering prayers. Carrying a fear no parent should ever have to carry.

Four days of fighting.
Four days of waiting.
Four days of hoping this treatment can slow what feels unstoppable.

And yet, even now, Cylus continues to show light.

A quiet grin.
A moment of silliness.
A spark of bravery shining through exhaustion.

Those moments are miracles — small, fragile, and powerful.

His family stands beside him, bearing a weight no words can fully capture. The helplessness of watching a child suffer. The terror of an uncertain tomorrow. The hope that refuses to disappear, even when fear feels overwhelming.

Their love is fierce. Their prayers are constant. Their belief in miracles is what carries them from one day to the next.

Because when medicine reaches its limits, hope becomes everything.

Hope that the MIBG therapy slows the tumor.
Hope that his facial nerve can heal.
Hope that the cancer finally loosens its grip.
Hope that Cylus will one day know a childhood free from pain and hospital walls.

This journey has been brutal and unfair. But it has also revealed something extraordinary — the resilience of a child who continues to choose courage, light, and life, even when the world gives him every reason to give up.

Cylus’ story reminds us that real strength is not the absence of fear. It is the decision to keep going despite it.

As he enters this next battle, his family asks for your thoughts, your prayers, and your belief in miracles. They need a community to stand with them, to hold hope when their own strength feels thin.

Please keep Cylus close in your heart over the coming days.
Pray that the radiation reaches where it needs to go.
Pray that his small body remains strong.
Pray that the miracle they so desperately need finds its way to him.

Because even in the darkest moments, hope can still shine brighter than fear.

And right now, Cylus needs all the light we can send.

When Love Becomes Strength: Jax’s Journey Through the Hardest Days

 There are moments in life when a parent’s heart breaks so completely that survival itself feels like an act of courage. Moments when strength is no longer optional, but summoned from the deepest places of love. This is one of those moments. This is the story of little Jax.

Jax is a child whose tiny body is fighting a relentless infection—one that has pushed him and his family to the very edge of endurance. His days and nights are spent in the hospital, surrounded by machines, monitors, and a medical team working tirelessly to keep him stable. His journey has been intense, frightening, and uncertain—but it is also a story of unwavering love, hope, and a family that refuses to give up.

For days now, Jax’s infection markers have continued to rise. What should have been signs of healing instead became a painful reminder that something deeper was wrong. Beneath the surface, his body was fighting a battle no one could yet fully see. Every hour brought new questions, new decisions, and renewed urgency as doctors and nurses searched for answers—hoping for the breakthrough Jax so desperately needs.

Today marked a turning point.

In an effort to give Jax’s body the rest and support it urgently requires, his medical team made several significant changes. A PICC line was placed—a less invasive alternative to the central line that had been running through his neck. Removing the IJ line brought visible relief to his tiny body, which has already endured so much pain. Shortly after, the IV in his left hand was removed after it stopped functioning properly. Then came the removal of his chest tubes and catheter—each step difficult, each decision painful, but all made with one goal in mind: eliminating any possible sources of infection and giving Jax the best chance to heal.

Every adjustment carried both hope and fear. Forward movement is never simple in a battle like this, and each step is shadowed by uncertainty. Still, his family clung to hope—praying that these changes would finally allow Jax’s body to rest and recover.

Earlier in the day, another critical decision was made. The paralytic medication that had been keeping Jax completely still was lifted. What followed was deeply concerning. None of the narcotics he had been receiving were able to calm him. His agitation persisted, his body clearly in distress. It was heartbreaking to witness.

Then, a new choice was made—one that would bring a small but powerful moment of relief.

Jax was switched to Propofol.

The effect was almost immediate. Unlike the other medications, Propofol calmed his body in a way nothing else had. For the first time, Jax appeared peaceful. His breathing settled. His tiny body was finally able to rest without the panic and agitation that had plagued him. It was a pivotal moment—a quiet sign that, perhaps, they were moving in the right direction.

But even this moment of relief came with caution.

Propofol carries risks, and Jax’s doctors are watching him closely—monitoring his blood gases, his heart rhythm, and his blood pressure around the clock. When Jax becomes agitated, his blood pressure can swing dangerously, triggering arrhythmias that place even more strain on his fragile heart. Maintaining balance is critical, and it requires constant vigilance, precision, and care from his medical team.

Through it all, Jax’s parents have not left his side.

They sit with him through the long hours and sleepless nights, holding onto hope with trembling hands. They pray for his body to find rest, for the infection to subside, and for his heart to beat steadily and strongly. Their faith—in Jax, in the doctors and nurses caring for him, and in the power of prayer—remains unshaken, even when fear presses in.

They know healing does not happen overnight. They know the road ahead is long and uncertain. But they also know that every small step forward is a victory.

There will be more tests. More decisions. More moments where hope and fear collide. But one truth remains constant—Jax is fighting with everything he has, and his family is fighting right alongside him.

His story is a powerful reminder of how fragile life can be—and how extraordinary the strength of love truly is. It is the story of a little boy whose spirit refuses to be broken, and of parents whose devotion has become his greatest source of strength.

As Jax continues this battle, his family humbly asks for continued prayers. Every kind word, every prayer, every thought sent his way matters more than words can express. In the face of unimaginable hardship, they continue to believe in love, hope, and faith to carry them forward.

Please join them in praying for healing, peace, and strength.

Stay strong, Jax.
Your fight inspires more people than you will ever know. 💙