ST.More Than 50 Surgeries, One Unbreakable Spirit: Billy’s Extraordinary Fight for Life

 Billy Mitchell entered the world carrying a burden no child should ever have to bear. From the very moment he was born, it was clear that his life would not follow an ordinary path. Billy was born with Apert syndrome, a rare genetic condition that caused the bones of his skull to fuse far too early in the womb, leaving his head, face, hands, and feet severely malformed.

When his mother, Denise Mitchell, first held him, her heart was filled with overwhelming love — but also with fear she could not explain. Billy’s skin appeared tight and unnatural, his head misshapen, and his tiny fingers and toes were fused together like mittens. Within hours, doctors confirmed their suspicions. Billy’s condition was serious, life-threatening, and incredibly rare.

The hours after his birth were filled with uncertainty. Specialists feared that Billy would not survive the night. His airway was dangerously obstructed by abnormally fused bone, making it nearly impossible for him to breathe. Denise and her husband, Paul, were forced into an unimaginable conversation with doctors — one no parent should ever endure — discussing whether life support might need to be withdrawn.

But Billy fought.

Against every expectation, he held on through the night. The next morning, he was rushed to a specialist children’s hospital where thin metal stents were inserted into his nose to keep his airway open. He lay surrounded by machines, tubes, and monitors, a fragile newborn clinging to life with extraordinary determination.

After weeks in critical care, Billy was finally allowed to go home. He joined his twin sister, Lois, and his older sister, Darcy. For a brief moment, the family tasted normality. But peace was short-lived. Billy frequently stopped breathing in his sleep, forcing his parents to remain constantly alert. One night, Denise heard him cry and rushed to his side — only to find that Billy’s left eyelid had been pulled behind his eyeball, causing his eye to protrude from its socket.

His eye orbits were dangerously shallow, a common complication of Apert syndrome, leaving his eyes vulnerable and exposed. Doctors had no choice but to surgically sew his eyelid shut to protect his cornea. Just weeks later, Billy underwent his first major cranial surgery — a front orbital advancement designed to relieve life-threatening pressure on his brain and save his eyesight.

Surgeons opened his skull, detached sections of bone, reshaped his forehead, and reconstructed his head piece by piece like an intricate jigsaw puzzle. Long metal pins were inserted into his skull. For six months, these pins were carefully turned twice a day, gradually creating space for his brain to grow. Each turn was painful — and essential.

By the time Billy was still barely a baby, he had already endured more trauma than most adults experience in a lifetime.

As Billy grew, so did the challenges. His fused fingers and toes prevented him from holding toys, feeding himself, or exploring the world like other children. At just 17 months old, he underwent a nine-hour surgery to separate his fingers and toes. Bone grafts and skin grafts were used to painstakingly create individual digits. For seven long weeks, Billy lay in full casts on all four limbs.

When the casts finally came off, something remarkable happened. Billy’s confidence blossomed almost overnight. He learned to sit up, to grasp objects, and to play. He watched his twin sister closely, copying her movements, determined to keep up. Doctors were astonished by his progress — but those who knew Billy best were not. His strength had been there all along.

Life outside the hospital, however, was not always kind. Denise recalls strangers whispering in the street, pointing at Billy in his pram. Once, she overheard someone say, “God, he looks awful.” Another time, a woman remarked that Billy should not be brought out in public. The words cut deeply — but they never stopped the family from letting Billy live fully and visibly in the world.

Billy was sent to nursery and attended the same school as his twin sister. He refused to be hidden. Despite everything, he became a joyful, curious little boy — obsessed with cars, books, dressing up, and laughter. He loved life, and life, in its own complicated way, seemed to love him back.

Yet the surgeries were far from over.

By the age of seven, Billy had undergone more than 50 operations under general anesthesia. In one particularly complex nine-hour procedure, surgeons removed one side of his skull, reshaped it, and reattached it using titanium springs to allow further growth. His breathing remained difficult, and his eyes grew increasingly exposed as his face failed to develop normally.

The most dramatic surgery came when Billy underwent high-risk mid-face reconstruction. Surgeons cut his head from ear to ear and vertically through his face. His skin was pulled downward, exposing the bones of his face and jaw. His forehead, eye sockets, nose, and upper jaw were dismantled, reshaped, and reconstructed. A red metal frame was attached to his head using wires and bolts.

For nine weeks, that frame remained in place. Every single day, the screws were turned — moving the bones forward by just one millimeter at a time. Painful as it was, this process allowed new bone to grow, slowly transforming Billy’s face and giving him the chance to breathe, see, and live more normally.

When the frame was finally removed and Billy saw his reflection, his reaction was unforgettable. He smiled — a wide, genuine smile filled with pride and relief. His mother says he would have done cartwheels if he could. For the first time, Billy truly loved his reflection.

Today, Billy does not define himself by Apert syndrome. He is not his surgeries, his scars, or his struggles. He is a brave, resilient boy who has faced death repeatedly and chosen life every single time. His story is not one of tragedy — it is a story of survival, courage, and extraordinary human strength.

Billy Mitchell was never given an easy beginning.
But through love, resilience, and unbreakable spirit, he is creating a future filled with hope — and reminding the world what true bravery looks like.

Lenka’s Fight for Life: A Little Girl’s Courage Against Impossible Odds

From the moment Lenka was born on August 1, 2012, she filled our lives with light. She was a happy, curious little girl, always smiling, always moving, always eager to explore the world around her. She loved to sing, to play, to laugh loudly and freely. Every day with her felt like a small miracle, and like any parent, I believed her future would be simple and bright—full of school days, friendships, scraped knees, and ordinary childhood dreams.

I never imagined how fragile that future truly was.

Our lives changed forever during what was supposed to be a routine ophthalmology appointment. We walked into the clinic expecting reassurance. Instead, the doctor looked at us with a seriousness that froze my heart and spoke words no parent is ever prepared to hear: Lenka had a malignant eye tumor.

In that instant, the world stopped.

Fear, shock, and helplessness consumed me. How could this be happening to my baby? She was still so small, still learning the world. Within days, we were transferred to the oncology ward at the Children’s Memorial Health Institute in Warsaw. Lenka was barely an infant when her fight for life began.

Chemotherapy. Surgeries. Endless hospital corridors. Beeping machines. Sleepless nights.

Despite her age, Lenka endured everything with a courage that left doctors and nurses in awe. She cried, of course—she was a child—but she also smiled through pain, reached for our hands, and trusted us completely, even when we didn’t know how to explain what was happening to her body.

As if cancer were not enough, we soon learned Lenka was also suffering from a rare genetic condition called Crouzon syndrome, which causes the skull to grow abnormally. Without urgent intervention, her brain would not have enough space to grow, leading to dangerous pressure, facial deformities, vision loss, and potentially fatal complications.

At just seven months old, Lenka underwent her first life-saving surgery—a ventriculoperitoneal shunt—to relieve dangerously high intracranial pressure. Five months later, she needed another emergency operation to treat cerebral edema. Each time, we handed our tiny child over to surgeons, praying she would wake up again.

But the challenges kept coming.

Despite receiving the best care available in Poland, Lenka continued to suffer from severe headaches, vomiting, balance problems, and vision disturbances. Further examinations revealed a Chiari malformation—a condition where part of the brain is pushed down into the spinal canal. The pressure was causing excruciating pain and threatening permanent neurological damage.

Lenka had already faced more pain before kindergarten than most people face in a lifetime.

Eventually, we were introduced to Dr. Fearon, a world-renowned specialist in Dallas with decades of experience treating children with complex craniofacial conditions. Under his care, Lenka underwent another critical surgery to relieve the pressure on her brain and spinal cord. That operation saved her life once again. Slowly, she began to breathe easier. She regained strength. She kept going.

And through it all, Lenka remained Lenka.

She learned to help herself. She understood more than any child should have to understand. She showed empathy, patience, and kindness far beyond her years. Even in pain, she smiled at nurses. Even when exhausted, she found the strength to comfort others.

Now, at just six years old, Lenka faces the most important surgery of her life: Le Fort III reconstruction. This complex operation will correct her facial structure, prevent life-threatening sleep apnea, protect her vision from permanent damage, and give her a chance to live a more normal life.

But this surgery must be performed by the world’s top specialists—and the cost is overwhelming. More than $80,000, not including travel, medical transport, rehabilitation, and post-operative care. Despite doing everything we can, these costs are beyond our reach.

As her mother, there is nothing more painful than knowing what your child needs to survive—and not knowing how to pay for it.

Every day is filled with fear and hope. Fear of what could happen if we fail. Hope that kindness still exists in the world. Hope that Lenka’s story will reach someone who can help.

Lenka has already beaten impossible odds. She has survived cancer. She has endured surgeries that most adults would not survive. She has shown strength, grace, and courage beyond her years.

She is our miracle. Our fighter. Our reason to keep believing.

Now, we are asking for help—not because we want to, but because we must. Every donation, every share, every act of kindness brings Lenka closer to a future without constant pain and fear. A future where she can grow, learn, play, and dream like every child deserves.

Please help us give Lenka the chance to live.

Her light is too bright to fade now. 💛

Anastasia Is Only Five: A Family’s Fight Against a Deadly Cancer

 As parents, we never imagined that one day we would be writing these words, asking strangers for help to save our child. We believed our lives would follow the simple, beautiful path that most families dream of—watching our daughter grow, go to school, make friends, and discover who she wanted to become. Instead, we are now living inside every parent’s worst nightmare.

Our daughter Anastasia is only five years old.

She was a healthy, joyful little girl, full of laughter and energy. She loved running through the house, playing with her siblings, and turning ordinary moments into adventures. Her laugh filled every room, and her curiosity knew no limits. She was the kind of child who made people smile without even trying. Nothing about her suggested that something so devastating was quietly growing inside her body.

Everything changed in March 2025.

It began with a fever—something that seemed harmless at first. Children get sick all the time, and we truly believed it would pass. We gave her fever medicine, stayed by her side, and reassured ourselves that she would be back to running and laughing in no time. But the days passed, and the fever kept coming back. Anastasia became weaker. She stopped eating. She no longer wanted to play. The spark in her eyes slowly faded, and fear crept into our hearts.

Then we noticed something that felt deeply wrong—her runny nose, something she had always had, completely disappeared. It may sound small, but to a parent, it felt like a warning sign we couldn’t ignore.

We took her to the family doctor, who diagnosed her with strep throat. We were surprised, because Anastasia never complained about a sore throat, but we trusted the diagnosis and followed every instruction. She was given antibiotics, and we hoped—desperately—that this would finally make her better.

It didn’t.

The fever returned again and again. Vomiting followed. Her strength faded even more. Watching our little girl suffer while having no answers was unbearable. We pushed for further tests—blood tests, urine tests—anything that could explain what was happening.

On August 1st, 2025, our lives shattered.

We received a phone call from the doctor. Her voice was shaking as she spoke. She told us that Anastasia’s blood results strongly suggested leukemia. I felt the world stop. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak. I remember holding the phone, praying that I had misunderstood her words.

I rushed to the hospital, hoping with everything inside me that it was a mistake.

It wasn’t.

Anastasia was immediately admitted to the oncology ward. More tests followed. Then came the diagnosis we will never forget: acute myeloid leukemia, stage 4. The cancer had already spread to her bone marrow. Doctors told us this form of leukemia is extremely aggressive and one of the deadliest in children. Hearing those words felt like being torn apart. No parent is prepared to hear that their child may not survive.

From that moment on, our lives became hospital rooms, IV lines, medical machines, and endless fear.

Anastasia, who once danced and laughed freely, now lay in a hospital bed, surrounded by tubes and monitors. Her beautiful eyes, once filled with joy, reflected pain and confusion. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t go home, why her body hurt, or why she had to endure so many procedures. As her parents, we held her hand, smiled through tears, and tried to be strong for her—while silently breaking inside.

Desperate for hope, we refused to give up.

We searched for help beyond our country and contacted specialists at the Schneider Children’s Medical Center in Israel, known for treating the most complex and severe childhood cancers. After reviewing Anastasia’s medical records, they gave us something we thought we had lost forever—hope. They told us that her condition could be treated.

But hope came with an impossible price.

The cost of life-saving treatment—intensive chemotherapy, possible surgery, a bone marrow transplant, medications, and long-term care—exceeds 200,000 złoty. To give our daughter a chance, we sold our home. We drained every saving we had. We gave up everything material we owned.

And still, it is not enough.

Today, we are standing at the edge of desperation, with no other option but to ask for help.

No parent should ever have to watch their child suffer like this. We should be watching Anastasia run, laugh, and dream about her future—not sitting in a hospital room, wondering if tomorrow will come. She is only five years old. She deserves a chance to grow up, to go to school, to fall in love with life the way she once did.

Every donation, no matter how small, helps bring us closer to continuing her treatment. Every share spreads hope to someone who may be able to help. Every act of kindness gives Anastasia another chance to fight.

Please, from the depths of our hearts, help us save our daughter’s life.

We cannot do this alone.

Thank you for standing with us, for believing in Anastasia, and for giving our little girl the chance to live.

A Fight for Joe’s Life: How Hope, Family, and Kindness Carried Us Through

 When I found out I was pregnant with our fourth child, I was filled with nothing but joy. Our family already felt complete with our three wonderful boys, and the thought of welcoming another baby made our hearts even fuller. The pregnancy was smooth and uncomplicated, and I eagerly looked forward to meeting our son, Joe, and settling into life as a family of six.

Joe’s birth was straightforward, and in those early weeks, everything felt normal. We adjusted to sleepless nights, cuddles, and the simple happiness that comes with a newborn. There was no warning, no indication that our lives were about to change forever.

When Joe was just ten weeks old, he became unwell. At first, it seemed like nothing more than a common childhood illness. We visited our GP several times and even went to our local hospital, but each time we were reassured that it was simply a viral infection that would pass on its own. Deep down, though, something didn’t feel right. As the days went by, Joe’s condition continued to deteriorate.

One evening, while I was breastfeeding him, everything suddenly changed. Joe began to bleed profusely from his mouth. Panic set in instantly. I called an ambulance, and within minutes we were rushing to the hospital, terrified and desperate for answers.

From the moment we arrived, the seriousness of the situation became clear. Joe’s condition worsened rapidly—he stopped breathing and required immediate life-saving intervention. He was intubated and transferred to the Paediatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU). Our world became a blur of alarms, medical equipment, and doctors moving at incredible speed.

We were told Joe had pneumococcal meningitis and sepsis. His life was in immediate danger, and every passing minute felt like a battle between hope and heartbreak. We were completely overwhelmed, trying to process how a seemingly healthy baby could suddenly be fighting for his life.

Amid the fear and uncertainty, another reality hit us—we were separated from our three older boys. They needed us just as much as Joe did, and we were suddenly faced with the impossible task of being in two places at once. Hospital life consumed us, and we had no idea how long this nightmare would last.

That was when we were introduced to Ronald McDonald House Charities UK.

We had seen the charity’s name before and were familiar with their work, but never in our wildest dreams did we imagine needing their support. When the hospital offered us a room at the Ronald McDonald House located just across from the hospital, it felt like a lifeline had been thrown to us.

The House allowed us to stay just steps away from Joe while keeping our family together. For the first time since Joe became ill, we were able to breathe. We didn’t have to spend hours travelling back and forth, and our older children had a safe, stable place to stay during a time of complete upheaval.

The Ronald McDonald House quickly became more than just somewhere to sleep—it became our sanctuary. After long, emotionally draining days in the hospital, we could return to a warm, welcoming environment. The staff greeted us with kindness and understanding, offering comfort without ever needing explanations. The simple things—home-cooked meals, clean clothes, quiet moments—meant more than we can ever put into words.

One of the most precious moments during Joe’s hospital stay was being able to cook meals for our three boys and spend time together as a family in the House. From the window, I could see Joe’s hospital room, which gave me peace of mind knowing I was never far from him. In those moments, surrounded by my children, we felt like a family again—not just parents in survival mode.

Joe’s journey was incredibly hard. He underwent multiple surgeries, including procedures to drain abscesses and fight severe infections. Complications followed—blood clots, seizures, and repeated setbacks that tested us in ways we never imagined. There were days when the outcome felt unbearably uncertain.

But Joe was a fighter.

After more than a month in PICU, his condition finally stabilised enough for him to be transferred to a general ward. We remained at Ronald McDonald House throughout his recovery, knowing we could be by his side at any moment.

After nearly three months in hospital, we were finally able to bring Joe home. Leaving the Ronald McDonald House was emotional—it had been our safe haven during the darkest chapter of our lives. While we were relieved to start a new chapter at home, we knew Joe’s journey was far from over. Ongoing care, monitoring, and medical appointments would continue to be part of our lives.

Today, Joe is a thriving, energetic, and joyful child. Every milestone he reaches is a reminder of just how close we came to losing him—and how many people played a part in saving his life. We often reflect on how impossible that journey would have been without the support of Ronald McDonald House Charities.

The House gave us more than a place to stay—it gave us hope, strength, and the ability to stay together as a family when everything felt uncertain. It reminded us that we were not alone.

We will forever be grateful for the compassion and support we received, and we are committed to giving back in any way we can. Our story is living proof of the life-changing impact Ronald McDonald House Charities has on families facing the unthinkable.

To any parent walking a similar path, please know this: even in the darkest moments, there is hope. With early medical intervention, dedicated healthcare teams, and the kindness of organisations like Ronald McDonald House Charities, miracles do happen.

Our Little Heart Warrior: Harrison’s Journey from Diagnosis to Hope

What was supposed to be a joyful milestone in our pregnancy became the moment our lives changed forever.

On July 23rd, 2024, my husband Deen and I went in for what we believed would be a routine 20-week anatomy scan. Everything appeared normal at first. Measurements were on track, and we felt reassured — until the sonographer mentioned that our baby boy wasn’t positioned correctly to clearly see the chambers of his heart. We were told not to worry and asked to return the following week for a re-scan.

I left work that day thinking I would be gone for no more than an hour. Instead, I spent the entire afternoon in the hospital. The sonographer scanned, sent us out, brought us back in, scanned again — over and over — until finally she paused and said the words that still echo in my mind:

“I feel the heart looks abnormal.”

Deen and I looked at each other in complete shock. Fear rushed in instantly. This had never crossed our minds.

We were placed in a consultation room and left waiting for nearly an hour, trapped in silence, not knowing what was wrong or what was coming next. When the specialist finally entered, she asked if we knew what the sonographer had seen. We didn’t. She gently explained her findings — a hole in the heart, and a pulmonary valve that appeared enlarged.

We were immediately referred to fetal cardiology. They told us the appointment would be within days, and unbelievably, we received the referral the very next day. That day felt endless — one that will stay with us forever.

During the fetal heart scan, the team reassured us, saying, “Please don’t worry if we’re quiet — we’re just concentrating and will explain everything afterward.” Still, every second felt heavy.

In the consultation room, the cardiologist carefully walked us through her findings using diagrams of a normal heart and then explaining how they believed our baby’s heart — Harrison’s heart — was functioning. The possible diagnoses were overwhelming: coarctation of the aorta, an atrial septal defect (ASD), two ventricular septal defects (VSDs), and possible aortic stenosis.

The consultant reassured us that the heart could be repaired — but there was another concern: a possible genetic condition, DiGeorge syndrome (22q11 deletion). We were offered an amniocentesis to rule out genetic disorders.

Afterward, we sat in the car and cried uncontrollably. We had no idea what the future held for our baby boy. A few hours later, we returned for the amniocentesis. The hospital staff were incredibly kind and compassionate, guiding us through one of the hardest days of our lives.

The wait that followed was torture. Two weeks of fear, grief, and endless “what ifs.” Then, ten days later, the results came back — completely clear. No genetic conditions. Harrison’s heart defects were isolated.

From that point on, we attended monthly fetal cardiology appointments with the same consultant. She became a familiar face and was about 89% certain Harrison had coarctation of the aorta along with two large VSDs.

In November, I was induced. After days of labor, Harrison was born. I was terrified to hold him, knowing he would be transferred to NICU — but they placed him in my arms first. That moment was everything. Soon after, he was taken to NICU, and we followed immediately. Seeing him there, so small yet so strong, we instantly fell in love with our little heart warrior.

The following morning, Harrison was transferred to the heart center. After seven anxious days of monitoring and tests, doctors ruled out coarctation of the aorta and aortic stenosis. They believed it was “just” a VSD. We were discharged that Friday and finally brought our baby home.

But our relief was short-lived.

At a routine midwife appointment the following Monday, Harrison’s oxygen saturation levels were low, and his resting heart rate was 170 beats per minute. An ambulance rushed him to our local hospital, and from there, he was transferred back to the heart center.

This time, doctors confirmed that Harrison had a large ASD in addition to the VSD — and supraventricular tachycardia (SVT), meaning his heart was beating abnormally fast due to the extra workload from the holes.

We stayed another seven days. When discharged, Harrison was on multiple medications — diuretics to support his heart and propranolol to control the SVT.

We made it home for Christmas, grateful for every moment. But from January to May 2025, Harrison was admitted to the hospital five times. Even mild colds overwhelmed him. At one point, he developed pneumonia. His lung pressures weren’t dropping, and our consultant made the decision no parent is ever fully ready for: it was time for surgery.

No amount of preparation can truly prepare you for seeing your child after heart surgery. The wires, the tubes, the machines — it’s terrifying. He didn’t look like himself. But we knew he was in the best hands. And then something incredible happened.

Harrison recovered quickly. Within five days, we were discharged — something we never imagined possible.

Since surgery, everything has changed. Harrison feeds better. He stays awake longer. He smiles more. He is happier, stronger, and finally able to be a baby without his heart working against him.

We will forever be grateful to the hospitals, doctors, nurses, and staff who cared for our son with such compassion and dedication. Their love for patients and families is beyond words.

We are still waiting for Harrison’s lung pressures to fully settle, but today, he is thriving.

He is strong.
He is resilient.
And he truly is our little heart warrior.