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.