Olaf is only two years old. At this age, he should be learning to say “mama” and “dada,” running through the house with laughter filling every corner. These are the moments every parent dreams of — the sound of little footsteps on the floor, the innocent giggles, the endless curiosity of a toddler discovering the world.
But instead of carefree childhood days, our son is facing something unimaginably cruel. Olaf has been diagnosed with a deadly enemy — glioma, a malignant brain tumor. We are fighting for his life, and every single day has become a battle.
Not so long ago, we were a happy family, cherishing Olaf’s first words, his smile, his tiny achievements. We were in love with the ordinary miracles of parenthood — the warmth of his hugs, the sparkle in his eyes when he discovered something new. And then, in a single moment, that life was torn apart by a diagnosis we could never have imagined.
It all began in September. Olaf started showing strange symptoms. He had trouble keeping his balance, he vomited often, and he felt dizzy. At first, the doctors thought it was just an infection. He was prescribed antibiotics, and for a short while, it seemed like things were improving. But our relief didn’t last long. By November, the symptoms had returned — stronger, more alarming, and impossible to ignore.
When Olaf began vomiting again, we begged our pediatrician for a referral to the hospital. We thought surely, once he was admitted, the doctors would find the cause and help him. But never in our worst nightmares could we have imagined what lay ahead.
At the hospital, when doctors heard that Olaf couldn’t walk or even stand on his little legs, they immediately referred us to oncology. A life-or-death emergency MRI was ordered. And from that MRI room, our son never came back to us. His condition was so severe that he was rushed straight into surgery.
The results shattered us: in Olaf’s tiny head was a tumor measuring 4 centimeters. The tumor had already caused hydrocephalus — fluid had built up in his brain, raising the pressure inside his skull to a dangerous level. Olaf was on the verge of severe neurological damage. The doctors admitted openly: he had come to the hospital just in time. One more day, maybe even just hours later, and it could have been too late.
First, they inserted a shunt to relieve the pressure in his brain. Just a few days later, Olaf underwent a second, much more complex surgery — the removal of the brain tumor. That was when we first heard the devastating word that changed our lives: glioma. A malignant brain tumor.
Our world stopped. Everything we had known, everything we had planned, everything we had dreamed for our son, disappeared. Instead of walks in the park, there were endless hospital corridors. Instead of bedtime stories, there were IV drips, medications, and tests. Instead of a carefree childhood, there was a fight for survival.
Olaf is only two years old, yet he has already endured five major surgeries. In April, just when we dared to hope, the worst news came: the tumor had returned. The disease was back.
The fight became even harder, even more desperate. Each day brings fear — fear of test results, fear of metastasis, fear of losing him. And alongside the cancer itself, there are the cruel consequences of the treatments.
Olaf can no longer walk. He has developed strabismus. His immune system is weak, and his emotions are fragile. The trauma of hospitals, surgeries, and endless medical procedures has left deep scars in his little soul. He has suffered so much — far more than any child should ever endure.
As if this storm were not enough, life brought us another challenge. Recently, Olaf became a big brother. His little sister, Lilianka, was born — a tiny, fragile baby just starting her journey in life. Our home is now filled with love, but also with fear and overwhelming stress.
We are exhausted — physically, emotionally, and financially. Daily hospital trips, caring for a newborn, the unbearable costs of treatments, and the constant shadow of uncertainty have pushed us to the very edge of our strength. No family, especially not one so young, should have to go through this.
And yet, here we are — trying with all that we have to save our son.
That is why we are reaching out for help. We are asking for support that could save Olaf’s life. Every contribution, no matter how small, makes a difference. Every donation helps us pay for hospital transportation, treatments, medical supplies, medications, and most importantly, rehabilitation that Olaf desperately needs in order to recover.
Even sharing his story is an act of kindness — the more hearts that hear about Olaf, the greater his chances of survival.
Olaf is just two years old. He has a little sister to whom he still hasn’t shown all his toys. He has parents who would give everything — their strength, their lives — to save him. But we cannot do this alone. We need you.
From the bottom of our hearts, we thank you — for reading, for caring, for any form of support. Thank you for giving us hope in this fight.
With gratitude and love,
