At just 20 weeks into the pregnancy, Hope’s parents were faced with a reality they never imagined. What should have been a moment filled with joy and excitement turned into one of fear and disbelief when an ultrasound revealed that their baby’s heart was fragile—struggling against impossible odds before she had even entered the world. In that instant, their future changed. Dreams were replaced with questions, and happiness was overshadowed by uncertainty.
From the moment Hope was born, her life became a battle. Her first days were spent not in her parents’ arms, but in the NICU, surrounded by machines, wires, and hushed voices. Surgeries came early, followed by endless monitoring and constant alarms. Every breath she took felt like a victory, yet each heartbeat was also a reminder of how delicate her life truly was. Her parents stood helpless beside her incubator, watching their newborn fight a war they never expected her to face.
As days turned into weeks, Hope’s parents learned to redefine what success looked like. A steady heartbeat. A quiet breath. One more day survived. These moments—so small to the outside world—became milestones worth celebrating. In a place filled with uncertainty, those tiny victories became their anchor, the reason they held on when exhaustion and fear threatened to overwhelm them.
Hope’s heart was weak, and every moment of her life was an unseen battle. Yet she refused to surrender. Doctors and nurses watched in awe as this tiny baby fought with a strength that far exceeded her fragile body. Time and time again, she proved that her spirit was stronger than the odds stacked against her.
Machines became a constant presence, helping her breathe and supporting her failing heart. Each beep of the monitors echoed through the room, a reminder that her life depended on technology. But while machines kept her alive, it was Hope’s will to live that inspired everyone around her. She fought not because she understood the battle, but because something deep inside her refused to give up.
The toll on her family was immense. Sleepless nights blurred into endless days spent at her bedside. Her parents lived in a state of constant exhaustion, their hearts breaking each time they watched their daughter struggle for breath. Yet even in their darkest moments, their love for Hope never faltered. Love became their fuel when strength ran out.
Hope’s mother emerged as her fiercest advocate. When doctors spoke in cautious tones and uncertainty filled the room, she held on to belief. She whispered prayers beside Hope’s crib, promising her daughter that she was never alone. Even when the future was unclear, a mother’s love refused to let go of hope.
Though Hope’s body was fragile, her will was unbreakable. Each day she pushed back against the darkness, showing everyone around her that resilience can exist even in the smallest body. Her determination became a quiet symbol of strength—one that words could never fully explain.
Faith became the family’s refuge. When medicine had limits and answers were few, prayer filled the space where fear once lived. They prayed not only for healing, but for courage—to face whatever tomorrow might bring. Through faith and love, they found the strength to endure.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Hope’s heart began to show signs of improvement. Progress was slow, but every tiny change felt miraculous. A slightly stronger heartbeat. A moment of stability. Proof that her fight was not in vain.
Doctors began to see it too—the first true signs of strength. Her heart was still fragile, but no longer as hopeless as it once seemed. For her parents, these moments reignited dreams of a future they had almost been afraid to imagine.
The road ahead remained long. More treatments. More monitoring. More uncertainty. But something had changed. Fear no longer controlled them. They had seen their daughter fight, and they believed she could keep going.
As Hope continued to grow, her family dared to imagine life beyond the NICU. A future where she could laugh, play, and live freely. Though that future was still distant, it no longer felt impossible.
Her father made a silent promise—to never stop fighting for her. No matter how difficult the journey became, he would stand beside his daughter, anchored by love and determination.
Every milestone became a celebration of life. Every smile, every peaceful moment of sleep, every sign of growth felt sacred. Hope had taught her family that miracles don’t always arrive loudly—sometimes they come quietly, one heartbeat at a time.
The journey is not over. Challenges still lie ahead. But Hope’s family no longer fears the future. They have witnessed the power of love, resilience, and faith.
As Hope sleeps peacefully, her mother continues to pray—not only for her daughter, but for every child fighting the same unseen battles. She has learned that love is the strongest force of all, capable of carrying families through even the hardest storms.
Hope’s life is a reminder that even the smallest fighter can inspire the world—and that sometimes, hope itself is the greatest miracle.
Born at 25 Weeks — Thirteen Ounces of Pure Strength
Born Against All Odds
When Naomi Joy entered the world, doctors were certain she would not survive. Born at just twenty-five weeks of gestation, she arrived fifteen weeks too early—far before her tiny body was ready for life outside the womb. From her very first breath, Naomi’s existence challenged everything medicine believed possible.
She weighed only thirteen ounces at birth, so small she could rest in the palm of a hand. Her skin was translucent and fragile, her movements barely visible. Many doctors had never seen a baby so tiny fight so fiercely for life. Naomi was not just premature—she was one of the smallest miracles the neonatal unit had ever known.
Because she arrived so early, Naomi’s eyes had not yet opened. They remained gently sealed shut, a haunting reminder that the world she had entered was one she was never meant to face so soon. The lights, sounds, and touch of life outside the womb were overwhelming for a body still meant to be growing in silence.
The first time her mother, Angela Bakker, held her, fear overwhelmed her heart. Naomi felt impossibly light, almost unreal, as though she might slip away with a single breath. What should have been a joyful moment was filled with trembling awe and terror. Angela held her daughter gently, afraid that even love might be too heavy.
Doctors did not offer hope. They spoke honestly, warning Naomi’s parents that survival was unlikely. And if she did live, they said, severe complications were almost guaranteed. Blindness. Lifelong medical challenges. A future filled with uncertainty. Every word landed like a blow, yet her parents listened through tears, refusing to look away.
With no power left in human hands, Naomi’s parents turned to faith. They prayed desperately, not for perfection, but for time. For a chance. They promised to love their daughter unconditionally, no matter what her life would look like. In that moment, hope became their only anchor.
Days in the neonatal intensive care unit passed slowly, measured not in weeks or months, but in hours. Machines breathed for Naomi. Monitors tracked every fragile heartbeat. Silence often felt heavier than sound. Her parents learned to wait—wait for numbers to rise, for alarms not to sound, for one more sunrise.
And then, against every prediction, Naomi held on.
Her tiny body endured more than anyone believed possible. Day by day, breath by breath, she continued to fight. With each passing sunrise, Naomi quietly rewrote what survival was supposed to look like.
Milestones that would seem small for other babies felt like miracles for Naomi. The day she learned to breathe without a ventilator, her parents wept. It was not just progress—it was proof that she was stronger than anyone had imagined.
When Naomi passed her hearing test, it marked another astonishing victory. The world was no longer silent to her. Voices, love, and life itself began to reach her, opening doors doctors once believed would remain closed forever.
Weeks turned into months, and Naomi slowly gained weight and strength. Her body, once barely clinging to life, began to show determination. What had once been impossibly fragile was becoming resilient.
She underwent surgery to place a feeding tube—another challenge in her long journey. Feedings were scheduled day and night, each one carefully measured. Every drop of nourishment was a step forward, a quiet promise of growth.
After nearly five months in the NICU, the unimaginable happened. Naomi was strong enough to go home.
The day her family left the hospital with her felt unreal. Home brought relief—but also responsibility. Naomi required medications, feedings, and oxygen support around the clock. Her parents were exhausted, terrified, and deeply grateful all at once.
Naomi’s father described it as being handed a baton they were still learning how to hold. Some days felt overwhelming. But slowly, confidence grew. A routine formed. Love found its rhythm.
Life at home became a new kind of normal—one shaped by vigilance, patience, and fierce devotion. What once felt intimidating became an expression of commitment and hope.
Naomi’s vision continues to be monitored closely. Encouragingly, it has shown steady improvement. Every appointment brings cautious optimism, each update another thread of hope woven into her future.
Once just thirteen ounces, Naomi now weighs over six pounds. Her growth is visible proof of her strength—a living testament to determination against impossible odds. Every pound gained feels like a victory hard-won.
Her big brother, unable to visit her in the hospital, finally met her at home. His laughter filled the house, wrapping Naomi in joy and warmth. For the first time, their family felt whole.
Naomi Joy’s story is still being written. Her journey is far from over, but her life already carries extraordinary meaning. She turned fear into faith, doubt into hope, and impossibility into truth.
Her story reminds us that miracles do not always arrive loudly.
Sometimes, they grow quietly—
one breath,
one heartbeat,
one ounce at a time.
Sasha’s Journey: Choosing Hope When Giving Up Was an Option
With heavy hearts, we share a new chapter in our daughter Sasha’s battle with cancer—a chapter no family wants to write again. The insidious disease has returned, this time spreading to her skull and pressing on her brain. In an instant, all the emotions we thought we had left behind—fear, helplessness, disorientation—flooded back, more powerful and cruel than ever. Yet, amidst that darkness, Sasha stands strong. Her courage shines through in a way that fills us with both heartbreak and admiration.
Once again, we prepare to leave our familiar home, to leave behind the little normalcy we have, to seek hope at the Cleveland Clinic. Ahead of Sasha is brain surgery, followed by additional radiation and chemotherapy. Each procedure, each infusion of medication, was a step into unknown territory—a place where nothing was guaranteed, where the line between hope and fear was heartbreakingly thin. This was a battle against a disease that had tested Sasha’s body and spirit far beyond what a child should endure.
Throughout this journey, we received countless questions from friends, family, and even strangers: “What can we do to help?” Therefore, we established a support fund to alleviate the enormous financial burden of the treatment. For those who wish to bring Sasha joy, contributions can be marked as “gifts,” allowing her to choose a present—a small but meaningful gesture, reminding her that many people believe in her and are with her on this path.
Amidst all the loss and anxiety, we also witnessed miracles unfold in unexpected ways. Sasha recently began an experimental immunotherapy treatment—a method never before used in the United States for Ewing’s sarcoma. Previously, this therapy had only been tested on a tiny group of three children in Europe, all of whom achieved a complete response and are now cancer-free. If this therapy proves effective for Sasha, her hospital will partner with the drug manufacturer to open a clinical trial in the U.S.—which could offer a glimmer of hope to many other children battling the disease.
But this hope doesn’t come easily.
This therapy is one of the most grueling challenges a child can face. The receptors the drug targets are not only found on cancer cells, but are also present throughout the body’s nervous system. For five consecutive days, ten hours each day of drug infusion, every nerve in the body can experience intense pain. One child who had undergone this therapy described the feeling as if “all the teeth in my mouth were exploding at once.”
Knowing this, we sat down with Sasha and gave her a choice—a choice no child should have to face. She could refuse further treatment, choose comfort and peace. After more than three years of relentless struggle, we knew she had suffered too much. But Sasha’s answer brought tears to our eyes. She said, softly but firmly:
“I don’t care about the pain. If this can help me, please let me try.”
The first day of the infusion was a nightmare. Sasha cried in pain, whispering, “I’ve never been in this pain, Mom.” Then she told the doctor, “I can’t believe humans have to suffer like this just to live.” Those words will forever be etched in our hearts—both painful and a testament to the extraordinary awareness and courage of a child.
But on the second day, a small miracle occurred. Sasha slept more peacefully. No more pain from the infusions. No more pain from the tumor. Just a brief, precious lull in the storm. To increase the chances of success, two chemotherapy regimens tailored to the tumor’s sensitive profile were added to the treatment plan. With this combination, we continued moving forward—clinging to faith, hope, and love.
We are incredibly grateful to the doctors, nurses, and researchers at MD Anderson Cancer Center. They not only treat the disease, but also care for people. They seek hope when there seems to be no other option, and ensure that children like Sasha are not left behind. Their dedication is a miracle in its own right.
Sasha’s journey is a testament to the power of the human spirit. You are walking a harsh and exhausting path, but each day you face it with a courage that commands our utmost respect. Each infusion, each surgery, each treatment is another step toward life—fueled by the unwavering love of your family and community.
Come on, my dear.
Another day.
Another battle.
Another chance to live.
Your courage inspires us, moves us deeply. To me, and to remind everyone that even in the darkest moments, hope can still shine. Miracles—small or extraordinary—can still happen.
We ask everyone to continue standing by Sasha, sending love, prayers, and faith. Every act of support, every kind gesture means so much.
Sasha, our brave little girl—we are here.
Always.
Help Us Save Oliś: A Little Boy’s Fight Against Neuroblastoma
We have received confirmation that shattered our world—and at the same time brought a painful kind of clarity: Oliś has neuroblastoma. The word itself feels unbearably heavy, frightening, almost impossible to say out loud. We are devastated and terrified of what lies ahead, yet strangely relieved that the uncertainty is over. Now we finally know what we are fighting. And now, more than ever, we need support to save our little son.
Oliver has been diagnosed with a malignant tumor. Even writing those words feels unreal. No parent is ever prepared for a moment like this. Just when we thought things could not possibly get worse, doctors raised suspicions of metastases—to his bones, bone marrow, and even his left lung. Each new possibility felt like another blow, another reminder of how cruel and relentless this disease can be.
It all began so quietly that we never imagined where it would lead. Oliver complained of a stomach ache. He had always been a healthy child—rarely sick, full of energy and laughter. We thought it was something minor, perhaps food poisoning, something that would pass in a day or two. But routine blood tests alarmed the doctors, and we were sent for further examinations. The ultrasound changed everything. What appeared on the screen left no room for doubt: a tumor on his adrenal gland. In that moment, fear overwhelmed us. We rushed to the hospital, praying for answers, hoping for a mistake. Instead, this was where the first serious suspicions of cancer arose, and our lives took a turn we never could have imagined.
Chemotherapy began immediately. There was no time to process what was happening, no space to breathe. One moment we were parents worried about a stomach ache; the next, we were watching our child connected to machines, fighting for his life. The treatment plan ahead of us is long and overwhelming: aggressive chemotherapy, surgical removal of the tumor, a bone marrow transplant, and finally a vaccine intended to prevent the cancer from returning.
But there is a cruel reality hidden in that final step. The vaccine that could protect our son from relapse is not reimbursed. Knowing that such a vital part of his treatment depends on money is something we struggle to accept and understand.
Seeing your own child hooked up to chemotherapy is an image that never leaves you. Oliver is in terrible pain. He is frightened by this new reality—by needles, hospital rooms, unfamiliar faces, and constant discomfort. Each short trip home feels like a small victory. Yet those moments are often painfully brief, interrupted when his results worsen and we must rush back to the ward for blood transfusions.
With every passing week, we feel that Oliś understands more than any child his age ever should. He knows the hospital has become our temporary home. He recognizes the routines, the nurses, the endless procedures. And yet, he misses his normal life deeply. He talks about his friends, about playing, about simple joys that now feel impossibly far away. He keeps asking when he can go back to them. Each time, my heart breaks because I don’t know what to say anymore.
I hear my son cry every day. The sound of his fear follows me everywhere. Every night before bed, he looks at me with eyes full of hope and uncertainty and asks the same question:
“Mommy, will everything be okay?”
And every night, I gather all the strength I have and tell him that together we will defeat this monster. I have to believe it—because he believes me.
With all my heart, I wish this nightmare would end soon. I want hospital corridors replaced by playgrounds, IV poles replaced by toys, and fear replaced by laughter. But the truth is painful: we still have a long and difficult road ahead of us.
That is why we are asking for help.
From the depths of our hearts, we ask you to stand with us. Every gesture of support brings us closer to giving Oliś the future he deserves. Our little son is fighting with all his strength. With your help, we can fight alongside him—and give him a real chance to win this battle.
Please help us save our child.
