Logo Entertainment Game Technology Temur – A Lively Boy Thrown Into the Fight of His Life. Hyn
At the end of March this year, our world collapsed in a way no parent ever expects. Our son Temur, a boy known for his boundless energy, bright smile, and infectious laughter, was diagnosed with a childhood cancer called neuroblastoma. Until then, cancer was a word we associated with other people’s stories—never with our own child.
It started quietly, almost innocently. On the last weekend of March, Temur began complaining of abdominal pain. At first, we assumed it was something ordinary—a stomach bug, maybe something he ate. But the pain did not pass. Soon, vomiting followed. Fear crept in. On Sunday evening, we took him to the hospital, hoping for reassurance and a simple explanation.
After examining Temur’s abdomen, the doctor suspected appendicitis and immediately referred us to the emergency department. There, an ultrasound was performed. The radiologist grew serious and said words we will never forget:
“We’re not letting you go home. We don’t like lesions like this in children.” That sentence changed everything.
Temur was admitted to the pediatric ward, and a CT scan was ordered. The results were devastating. What initially appeared to be a small lesion measuring 2.7 x 3 cm was, in fact, a massive tumor—11 x 8 x 11.5 cm—stretching from the middle of his abdomen up to the epigastrium. From that moment on, life moved at terrifying speed. Conversations blurred into fragments:
“We’re arranging transport to the oncology clinic,” “The lesion is cancerous,” “A malignant tumor is suspected.” It felt unreal, like watching a nightmare unfold from outside our own bodies.
The first week was relentless. CT scans, MRIs, ultrasounds—each test bringing more anxiety, each result holding our breath hostage. By some miracle, there were no metastases detected elsewhere in his body. That small piece of good news became something we clung to desperately.
A week later, Temur had a subcutaneous port implanted, followed by a biopsy of the tumor. The results initially gave us cautious hope: there was no N-MYC amplification, qualifying him for an intermediate-risk treatment protocol. Chemotherapy began, followed by plans for surgery and radiotherapy. We believed—needed to believe—that this path would lead us out of the darkness.
But cancer does not follow hope. Despite chemotherapy, the tumor barely shrank. It remained enormous, still measuring over 9 cm in several dimensions. Surgery became unavoidable and incredibly dangerous. Surgeons managed to remove about 90 percent of the tumor. The remaining portion was tightly wrapped around the celiac artery, making complete removal nearly impossible without risking Temur’s life.
During the operation, the abdominal aorta was damaged. Surgeons had to sew a patch over the defect to save him. We waited in agonizing silence, counting minutes that felt like hours, wondering if our son would survive the operating room.
We hoped radiotherapy would be the final step. Then came another crushing blow. The histopathology results from the removed tumor showed positive N-MYC amplification—an indicator of treatment resistance and aggressive disease. Everything changed again. Temur’s treatment protocol was escalated to high-risk.
Three cycles of intensive 24-hour chemotherapy followed. Then came a stem cell transplant. Radiotherapy. Immunotherapy. Each phase more punishing than the last. Each one demanding strength from a child who should have been running, playing, and laughing—not fighting for his life.
If Temur responds well to this treatment, doctors have recommended the next critical step: traveling abroad for complex vascular surgery to reconstruct the aorta and remove the remaining tumor mass from the celiac artery. This specialized procedure can be performed in clinics in
Tübingen or Barcelona—far from home, far beyond what we could ever afford on our own.
This journey has taken everything from us—emotionally, physically, and financially. But we refuse to give up. Temur continues to fight with a courage that humbles everyone around him. Even in pain, even exhausted, he finds moments to smile. That smile is what keeps us standing.
We are asking for help because time matters. Every step forward depends on access to treatment, expertise, and resources we simply do not have. With support, we can give Temur the chance not just to survive, but to live—free from fear, free from cancer.
Temur did not choose this battle. But with compassion, solidarity, and hope, we can help him win it.
Temur’s parents
Ivy’s Heart: A Journey of Courage, Hope, and Miracles.1447
At our 20-week scan, my husband Mark and I expected nothing more than a routine check and another reassuring glimpse of our first baby. We had spent countless hours imagining our daughter — her tiny hands, first smiles, and the life we would share as a family. But that day, what should have been ordinary turned into a moment that would forever change our lives.
The sonographer struggled to view a section of Ivy’s heart, and uncertainty filled the room. After three separate opinions, we were referred to a cardiac specialist and handed a diagnosis that left us reeling: transposition of the great arteries (TGA), a serious congenital heart defect where the two main arteries leaving the heart are reversed. In that instant, our dreams mingled with fear. How would our tiny daughter survive? What would the future hold for her?
The initial devastation was overwhelming. Yet, as the shock settled, gratitude began to take its place. Detecting Ivy’s condition before birth gave us precious time to prepare, learn, and plan. We educated ourselves about TGA, connected with specialists, and focused our energy on supporting our baby even before she arrived. In fact, during my pregnancy, Mark and I managed to raise over £5,000 for heart charities, channeling our worry into hope and action. We were determined to make a difference, not just for Ivy, but for other families facing similar challenges.
Ivy was born in August 2017. From the very first moment, her tiny life demanded courage. She was immediately admitted to the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) and, within hours, underwent a balloon septostomy — a procedure that helped stabilize her heart until corrective surgery could be performed. The following three days were agonizing. Mark and I had to wait, longing to hold her while she fought for every breath, every heartbeat. Finally, on the third day, we held our little warrior for the first time.
At just nine days old, Ivy underwent open-heart surgery. The risks were high, but the expertise and dedication of her surgical and medical team offered her a chance at life. Eight hours in the operating theater felt like an eternity, each tick of the clock carrying the weight of hope and fear. When the surgeons emerged with news that the procedure had been successful, relief and gratitude overwhelmed us. Her tiny body had endured what most adults could not, and she had emerged stronger on the other side.
Recovery was challenging, but day by day, Ivy began to thrive. She grew stronger, learned to feed, and responded with the same determination and spirit that had carried her through every obstacle. A week later, we brought her home, a milestone we had longed for through countless hours of worry and anticipation. Her journey was far from easy, but every small victory reinforced her incredible resilience.
Now, six years later, Ivy is vibrant, energetic, and full of life. She attends annual check-ups to monitor a leaky valve and slight arterial narrowing, but she takes no medication and lives without limitation. She embraces gymnastics, swimming, cycling, and yoga with the same determination that defined her earliest days. Her surgical scar is not a mark of limitation but a symbol of courage, strength, and the journey she has already conquered.
Ivy’s story is also a testament to the power of early detection and community support. Sonographers, doctors, nurses, and charities like Tiny Tickers played pivotal roles in ensuring she received the care she needed from the very beginning. Their expertise and dedication saved her life and gave our family the opportunity to witness every milestone, every laugh, every triumph.
Her journey inspired profound change beyond our family. It led me to leave my career in financial services and join the NHS, where I now support other families navigating similar paths. Ivy is more than a survivor; she embodies courage, resilience, and the transformative power of love and early intervention. Her tiny heart has proven that even the most frightening diagnoses can become stories of hope, possibility, and joy.
Every smile, every giggle, and every small achievement reminds us of what is possible when determination, expert care, and unwavering love intersect. Ivy’s life is a testament to miracles — a living proof that hope, guidance, and compassion can turn fear into triumph, and uncertainty into celebration. 💖
