I never imagined that one day I would be writing words like these.
I never imagined that my life would be reduced to hospital corridors, waiting rooms, and the constant sound of machines keeping my baby alive. Yet here I am, pouring my heart out, hoping that somewhere, someone will hear our story and help us keep our little Ryan safe.
On the morning of January 31st, my world changed forever.
I was only in my 25th week of pregnancy when, without warning, my water broke. There was no pain at first—just a sudden, terrifying realization that something was very wrong. Panic rushed through me as my husband grabbed the car keys and drove us as fast as he could to KK Hospital in Singapore.
I remember the fear clearly. This was far too early. My baby was not ready. I was not ready.
Doctors admitted me immediately for emergency care. From that moment on, life became a series of anxious hours and fragile hopes. Every movement was monitored. Every heartbeat was watched. The doctors did everything in their power to keep my baby inside me for as long as possible.
Each hour felt like a victory.
Each day that passed was a blessing.
I stayed in the hospital, lying still, barely daring to move, praying my body would hold on just a little longer. I talked to my baby constantly, begging him to stay strong, to wait just a bit more before coming into a world he was not yet prepared to face.
For one week, we held on.
But my body could not fight any longer.
I developed a severe infection, and suddenly everything changed. The doctors came in with grave expressions. They told me there was no other option left. If they waited any longer, both my life and my baby’s life would be in danger.
An emergency C-section was necessary.
I was terrified. I had dreamed of holding my baby, hearing his cry, bringing him home. Instead, I was being rushed into surgery, knowing my son would be born far too soon, into a fight for survival.
On February 7th, at exactly 2:37 PM, my precious Baby Ryan entered this world.
He weighed only 740 grams.
He was impossibly small—so tiny that my heart shattered at the sight of him. His fragile body struggled to breathe. His skin was delicate, almost translucent. There was no moment of joy, no immediate embrace. Instead, doctors rushed him straight into the NICU, where machines took over the work my body could no longer do.
That was the moment I learned what it truly means to feel helpless as a mother.
Ryan remains in the NICU, under constant medical care. Machines help him breathe. Machines keep him warm. Machines monitor every heartbeat, every breath, every tiny sign of life.
As a mother, the pain of not being able to hold my baby is indescribable.
I cannot cradle him in my arms. I cannot kiss his forehead or feel his tiny fingers curl around mine. Instead, I sit by the NICU window every single day, watching him fight for his life through layers of plastic, wires, and tubes.
Every beep of the machines sends a shiver through my body.
Every alarm makes my heart stop.
I find myself holding my breath until the sound settles again.
I whisper prayers over and over, my voice trembling, asking God to keep my son alive. I tell him how much he is loved. I promise him that we are here, that we will not give up, that he must keep fighting.
Our family of four came to Singapore from India with dreams of building a better future.
My husband worked tirelessly as the sole breadwinner, holding an Employment Pass, while I stayed home to care for our eight-year-old daughter. We lived simply, carefully, believing we were doing everything right for our family.
We never imagined that our lives would be turned upside down like this.
As foreigners in Singapore, the reality we now face is overwhelming. The cost of my hospital stay, the emergency C-section, and Baby Ryan’s ongoing NICU care is far beyond what we ever expected—or could afford.
The hospital informed us that the estimated cost could exceed $500,000.
When we heard that number, it felt unreal. Our savings are not even one-tenth of that amount. We have no income now. Bills continue to mount. Every day, we live with the fear of not only losing our baby—but also not being able to give him the care he desperately needs to survive.
The team at Give.Asia advised us to begin fundraising in stages, starting with $89,000, and to progress in tiers toward the final goal. Even writing that feels heavy, because I never imagined I would have to ask strangers for help to save my child.
But motherhood changes everything.
I never thought I would be here, sharing my most vulnerable moments with the world. Yet as a mother, pride no longer matters. Fear no longer matters. All that matters is my son.
Baby Ryan deserves a chance.
A chance to grow.
A chance to breathe without machines.
A chance to laugh, to play, to live the life he was almost never given.
If you are reading this, please know that any contribution—no matter how small—can make a difference. Your kindness can help keep my baby alive. Your support can give him the fighting chance he needs.
And if you cannot help financially, please help by sharing Ryan’s story. Let his tiny voice reach someone who can help.
From the depths of my heart, thank you for listening.
Thank you for caring.
And thank you for standing with us in our darkest hour.