On November 5, 2022, at just 30.5 weeks gestation, Jenson Stephen Peter entered the world at Wellington Hospital—far earlier than planned, yet already showing a strength no one could have predicted. Today, he is a cheeky, energetic, food-loving one-year-old, charging around the lounge with unstoppable enthusiasm. But behind that joyful laughter lies a journey marked by fear, resilience, and extraordinary love.
Jenson’s story began unexpectedly. His mum, Zoe, conceived despite living with endometriosis, a condition that often makes pregnancy difficult. The news came as a surprise—one filled with excitement and hope. For months, everything seemed normal. Then, at a routine 23-week checkup, their world shifted.
Zoe’s blood pressure was dangerously high.
What followed were repeated hospital admissions to Hutt Hospital, endless monitoring, and medication trials. Despite feeling physically well, Zoe’s blood pressure remained alarmingly unstable, frequently climbing above 185/95. The threat of pre-eclampsia loomed constantly, turning what should have been a joyful pregnancy into a period of quiet fear and uncertainty. Doctors knew Jenson would arrive early—their goal was simply to keep him inside long enough to give him the best possible chance.
From 26 weeks onward, regular scans tracked Jenson’s growth. At 30 weeks, the news became urgent. His stomach measurements were dangerously small, a clear sign of restricted growth. Zoe’s blood pressure had reached critical levels, and doctors administered steroid injections to help mature Jenson’s lungs. Time had run out.
The decision was made: an emergency C-section.
On the evening of November 5, at 7:40 p.m., Jenson was born weighing 1.514 kilograms—nearly 500 grams more than doctors had expected. In the chaos of the operating room, one moment stood above all others: Jenson cried. That sound brought overwhelming relief. Zoe caught a brief glimpse of her son before he was rushed to the NICU, where his fight would truly begin.
The NICU was both terrifying and transformative. Jenson required CPAP to help him breathe, caffeine to stimulate his lungs, and constant monitoring for jaundice and blood sugar levels. Machines beeped endlessly, and his tiny body was surrounded by wires and tubes. For Zoe, holding him for the first time on day two was a moment filled with equal parts joy and fear. He was so small, so fragile—but he was hers.
The nurses became lifelines, teaching Zoe how to hold him safely, how to care for him without fear. Slowly, confidence replaced panic.
Jenson’s early weeks were a balance of victories and challenges. He avoided antibiotics, a huge win, but feeding and weight gain remained ongoing concerns. Zoe struggled with milk supply, and donor milk became a vital support. Then, in week three, both parents contracted COVID-19, forcing Jenson into isolation. Unable to be by his side, Zoe relied on daily video calls to see her baby—each one a reminder of how fragile and precious this time was.
Despite everything, Jenson continued to grow stronger.
After weeks in the NICU, he was transferred to the SCBU at Hutt Hospital, closer to home. The smaller unit brought comfort and connection. Grandparents finally met him, and the family began to feel whole. Jenson gained weight steadily, but his resilience was tested once more when he contracted RSV. Yet again, he fought through, supported by expert care and an unyielding will to survive.
Then came the day they had dreamed of.
On December 23, 2022—just two weeks before his original due date—Jenson came home.
That first night, sleeping beside their son, Zoe and her family were overwhelmed with awe, gratitude, and disbelief. On Christmas morning, holding Jenson in their arms, they realized there was no gift greater than this. Their miracle was home.
Today, Jenson is thriving. He is curious, strong, and full of life—reaching milestones that once felt uncertain. His journey stands as a testament to the resilience of premature babies, the dedication of medical teams, and the power of family support. Organizations like Ronald McDonald House and The Little Miracles Trust played a vital role, reminding Zoe’s family they were never alone.
Jenson’s story is not just about survival. It is about courage in the face of fear, love during uncertainty, and hope that carried a tiny fighter from a fragile beginning into a future filled with joy.
Every laugh, every step, every milestone is a victory—a reminder that even the smallest beginnings can lead to the most extraordinary lives. 🌟
Meet Evelyn: Cancer Tried to Take Her Childhood — But Not Her Joy
Evelyn is only four years old, yet she is already fighting a battle that most adults could barely endure. Her journey is not only a fight against cancer—it is a daily, courageous effort to protect something just as precious: her joy.
Hospital rooms have become a familiar world for Evelyn. The steady hum of machines, the unfamiliar faces, the long days filled with waiting and uncertainty—these are not things a child should know so early in life. And yet, in spaces often heavy with fear and exhaustion, Evelyn shines. She has become a small but powerful source of light, reminding everyone around her that hope can exist even in the darkest places.
Cancer has a cruel way of stealing childhoods. It replaces playgrounds with hospital beds, toys with IV poles, and carefree laughter with silence and pain. For Evelyn, life changed the moment illness entered her world. Words like “chemotherapy,” “scans,” and “treatment plans” became part of conversations meant for adults, not a four-year-old child. But from the very beginning, Evelyn showed that strength is not measured by size or age—it lives in the spirit.
The treatments are exhausting. Some days leave her weak, uncomfortable, and overwhelmed. Yet time and again, Evelyn finds her way back to joy. A silly face from a nurse, a favorite song playing softly, or the reassuring touch of her parents’ hands is often enough to bring a smile to her face. That smile—small but powerful—has become her signature. It echoes through hospital hallways, reminding everyone that she is not defined by her diagnosis.
For her parents, watching Evelyn endure this fight is both heartbreaking and inspiring. Every parent wants to shield their child from pain, yet they have had no choice but to stand beside her through needles, procedures, and endless uncertainty. They have learned to celebrate victories others might overlook: a stable test result, a day without nausea, a peaceful night of sleep. Through Evelyn, they have learned that progress does not always look dramatic. Sometimes, progress is simply surviving another day with courage.
Doctors and nurses know Evelyn as more than a patient. She greets them with waves, remembers their names, and faces each day with a bravery that humbles even the most experienced medical professionals. In a place where sorrow often lingers, Evelyn brings warmth. Her presence reminds caregivers why they chose this path—to heal, to comfort, and to believe in miracles, even when they come in small forms.
Cancer does not pause for childhood. It does not offer guarantees. There are days when fear creeps in—days filled with scans, waiting, and unanswered questions. But Evelyn’s fight is fueled not by fear, but by love. Love in every hand that holds hers. Love in every whispered reassurance. Love in the belief that her life is worth every battle fought on her behalf.
What makes Evelyn’s journey extraordinary is not only her endurance, but her ability to remain herself. She still loves stories, play, imagination, and laughter. Cancer has tried to define her, but it has failed. Evelyn is not just a child with cancer—she is a daughter, a source of joy, a teacher of resilience, and a reminder that even in suffering, light can survive.
Her story has touched everyone who hears it. Family, friends, and strangers alike draw strength from her courage. Through Evelyn, they learn that bravery does not always roar. Sometimes, bravery looks like a four-year-old smiling through pain, choosing joy over fear, and holding onto happiness when circumstances try to take it away.
Evelyn’s journey is still unfolding. The road ahead remains uncertain. But one truth is already clear: her life has meaning far beyond her diagnosis or the length of her treatments. She has already changed lives. She has already shown the world what resilience looks like.
In the quiet moments—between treatments, between tests—Evelyn’s laughter fills the room. It reminds her family that hope is not naive. Hope is necessary. It is what carries them forward when exhaustion sets in and fear grows loud. It is what allows them to believe in tomorrow, even when today feels heavy.
Evelyn’s story is not just about cancer. It is about the extraordinary strength found in the smallest hearts. It is about joy that refuses to be extinguished. And it is about a little girl who, without trying, has become a symbol of courage for everyone who has the privilege of knowing her.
No matter what lies ahead, one thing is certain: Evelyn’s light matters. And in a world that can feel overwhelmed by hardship, her joy stands as proof that hope can shine—even in the most unexpected places.
