On 28th January 2022, our world shifted in ways we couldn’t have anticipated when our son, Tobias, was born three weeks early by planned C-section due to being a footling breech. He appeared perfect, weighing 7lbs 13oz, but within hours, it became clear that something was terribly wrong. He was unusually sleepy and struggled to feed, and soon, a heart murmur and dangerously low oxygen levels led the medical team to spring into action. It wasn’t long before Tobias was rushed to intensive care, where his heart failure was diagnosed, and the nightmare we were dreading became a harsh reality.
Tobias was diagnosed with hypoplastic left heart syndrome (HLHS), a rare and critical congenital heart condition in which the left ventricle of the heart does not develop properly. If left untreated, it’s a condition that could be fatal. Our little boy was fighting for his life, and we were now faced with making difficult decisions about his treatment. We consented to a surgery to install a stent to open a valve in his heart, the first of many surgeries Tobias would undergo on his journey to recovery.
The moment we were introduced to Ronald McDonald House Alder Hey, everything changed. At first, we had no idea how we were going to manage everything—caring for Tobias, looking after our four-year-old daughter, Eli-Vieve, and still trying to keep some semblance of normality in our lives. Staying at a hotel was financially impossible, and the thought of driving back and forth every day was overwhelming. But then we were offered a room at Ronald McDonald House, and for the first time since Tobias’ diagnosis, I felt a sense of relief.
The House was our lifeline, a place where we could stay close to Tobias, yet also have a space to breathe. The staff were warm, welcoming, and so understanding of the stress we were under. Having a place where Eli-Vieve could play, do her homework, and have some time away from the hospital was so important. We could all come together as a family, and it gave us a semblance of routine in the midst of the chaos. We even had the opportunity to celebrate small milestones, like putting up a Christmas tree in our room, and participating in the festive activities the House organized. Those moments of normalcy meant everything to us.
What amazed us was how the House didn’t just offer a roof over our heads—it provided an emotional safety net. We were so close to Tobias, never more than a short walk away from his side, and this proximity allowed us to fully be there for him during his critical surgeries and treatments. When Tobias became seriously ill in the months that followed, and we feared we might lose him after a routine childhood illness in Christmas 2022, the support of the House staff was invaluable. Their kindness, empathy, and unwavering care helped us navigate one of the most challenging periods of our lives.
Our journey with Tobias is far from over. He has undergone multiple surgeries and treatments, and we are preparing for more in the future. Yet, with each milestone, Tobias continues to prove just how strong he is, and we are so grateful for the lifeline that Ronald McDonald House has been for us. Knowing that the House will always be there gives us peace of mind, even as Tobias grows and faces new challenges.
While the building itself is in need of some updates, what stands out most to me is the loving, supportive environment the staff have created. The warmth we felt during our stays has been immeasurable. Every time we returned to the House, we were reminded that no matter how uncertain our journey was, we were not alone.
Looking back at everything we’ve been through, we realize that the support of Ronald McDonald House Charities UK has been a beacon of hope in our darkest times. We’ve stayed there five times now, and each visit has left us feeling stronger and more hopeful for the future. I can’t imagine how we would have coped without their generosity and care. It’s more than just a place to stay—it’s a place that has allowed us to hold on to the things that matter most: our family, our love, and our hope.
If you’re able to, I encourage you to support the MacHouse Appeal. The charity helps families like ours when we need it most, and your donations can make a real difference in the lives of families facing the most difficult challenges. No one knows when they might need the support of Ronald McDonald House, but knowing it’s there when you do need it is a comfort beyond words.
A Fight for Lucjan’s Life: A Mother’s Plea.3097
Perhaps this journey began like any other, with ordinary hopes, routine checkups, and quiet joy—but nothing could have prepared us for what came next. On April 13, 2021, our long-awaited little ray of sunshine, Lucjan, came into the world. After previous pregnancy losses, his arrival was nothing short of a miracle. Every tiny detail, every cry and smile, felt like a triumph. We celebrated with all our hearts, holding him close, marveling at the perfect little life entrusted to us. Doctors, therapists, and specialists monitored him constantly—neurologists, speech therapists, physiotherapists, pediatricians—we wanted to make sure everything was perfect. And for a time, it seemed perfect indeed.
Lucjan was a cheerful, joyful boy who seemed to radiate happiness. He laughed often, smiled constantly, and begged everyone to pick him up and hold him. Even strangers could not resist his charm. My mother always joked that he was a gypsy child, so magnetic that someone might just carry him away. There were no warning signs, no hint of illness. He was vibrant, healthy, and full of life.
From two months old, Lucjan attended regular rehabilitation for weak abdominal muscles. At the time, his belly was larger than other children, but follow-up ultrasounds showed normal results. We began to relax, thinking the worst was behind us. After a year of rehabilitation, however, his physiotherapist noticed that his belly had not decreased despite intensive exercises and suggested repeating the ultrasound.
May 2, 2022—a day that will haunt me forever. Our appointment was set for 8:00 PM during the May bank holiday. From the moment we arrived, I sensed something was wrong. The doctor’s silence, the sadness in her eyes—it all screamed alarm. Twenty minutes later, she stood and said words that would shatter our lives:
“You need to go to the hospital immediately… I suspect liver cancer.”
My legs gave out. I kept repeating, “But this can’t be… Lucjan is healthy. He shows no signs of illness!”
Nothing could prepare us for the rapid descent into fear and uncertainty. Within hours, we were admitted to Przylądek Nadziei in Wrocław. Ultrasounds, MRIs, X-rays, punctures, and countless tests followed. The doctors gently reassured us,
“Don’t cry… it might be nothing serious.” But I already knew. The nightmare had begun.
A few days later, we were called to a medical room. I could feel the weight in the air—the dread. And then it was said aloud:
Stage IV neuroblastoma, with metastases to the liver, pancreas, bones, and blood. The pain was unimaginable. I couldn’t speak. My mind screamed that there had been a mistake—that they had mixed up the names, that this wasn’t my Lucjan. But it was true. The doctors admitted it openly:
“We don’t know if your son will survive—it’s a very severe disease.”
I would not wish that moment on anyone. The helplessness, the shock, the disbelief—it was overwhelming. Days blurred together as we tried to process the unthinkable. Then, amidst the fear, we realized we had to act. We began researching clinics across Europe, seeking doctors who specialized in this disease and could give our tiny boy a chance at life.
Lucjan is only one year old. He has his entire life ahead of him—he hasn’t learned to feed himself, hasn’t ridden a bike, hasn’t played hide-and-seek. How could he face the end of his first year without the chance to experience a single joyful milestone? I refuse to accept that this could be his reality.
We reached out to Professor Moro at a specialized clinic in Barcelona, one of the world’s leading neuroblastoma specialists. He saw hope, but with hope came a staggering cost: an initial estimate of €300,000 for treatment. A sum far beyond our means, yet it represents a chance for our son to live, to grow, to experience the childhood he deserves.
So today, we are asking for help. Every donation, every act of kindness, every prayer brings Lucjan closer to the care he desperately needs. We are asking you to join us in giving him a chance—not just to survive, but to thrive. To teach him to eat on his own, to ride a bike, to laugh and play with his family and friends. To give him the simple joys of childhood that every child deserves.
Please, help us save Lucjan. Without your support, even my tears, my hugs, and all my love cannot buy the medicine, the treatment, or the chance at life he so urgently needs. Every contribution matters. Every moment counts.
Lucjan is our miracle, our hope, our reason for fighting. With your help, we can turn this nightmare into a story of survival, courage, and the power of compassion.
