Iga’s Battle Against Glioblastoma: A Little Warrior’s Fight for Life.1932

Iga’s Story – Our Brave Little Warrior

Today was supposed to be the day radiotherapy began. We had prepared ourselves, gathered every ounce of strength, and most importantly, our daughter, Iga, was ready.

At 3:00 in the afternoon, she received her very first dose of chemotherapy, taken orally. She did it with a courage that needed no words, with the silent determination of a child who has already faced too much.

And then there was the green mask. When she put it on, she looked like Gamora from Guardians of the Galaxy — fast, agile, fearless, with a heart larger than the universe itself. That mask is not just a medical tool; it is her armor. It is pressed against her face, her neck, and her chest, built with precision so that the radiation beams can strike exactly where they need to — down to the millimeter. Starting on August 4th, radiotherapy will begin, and every session will be a fight.

But if the mask is her armor, then we, her family, must be her shield — stronger even than Captain America’s. And here is the truth: every donation is a weapon in her fight. Every share of her story is another warrior by her side. Every word of support is a force of strength. Because armor only works when it is backed by an army of hearts.

The Day Everything Changed

May 27th, 2025, is a date etched into our lives forever. That was the day our world was divided into “before” and “after.”

It was an ordinary day. Iga, our six-year-old daughter, was visiting her cousins, laughing and playing as children do. Then suddenly, she collapsed. One moment, she was full of life, and the next, she was unconscious. Panic set in as we rushed to her side, calling her name, shaking her tiny hands, begging her to wake up.

The ambulance came quickly, sirens blaring, and carried her to the hospital in Międzyrzecz. From there, she was transferred to Nowa Sól. We clung to each other, terrified, praying for good news. But the following morning, May 28th, we heard words no parent should ever have to hear:

“brain tumor.”

The Surgery

Iga was immediately transferred to Zdroje Hospital in Szczecin. The days that followed were a blur of tests, scans, and consultations. Neurosurgeons examined her case and, after careful consideration, decided that surgery was the only option.

On June 13th, the operation took place. We spent endless hours outside the operating room, pacing the hallway, our hearts breaking with every passing minute. Time seemed to stop. Then finally, the surgeon emerged. His words gave us a fragile ray of hope: “The tumor has been removed in its entirety.”

Tears flowed down our faces as relief washed over us. For the first time since that horrible day in May, we allowed ourselves to breathe. Slowly, Iga began her recovery. She started rehabilitation, working hard to regain her strength. Each smile, each small movement, each step forward was a gift. We dared to hope that perhaps the worst was behind us.

The Cruel Truth

But on June 26th, everything crumbled once again.

The histopathology results came back. The diagnosis was merciless: glioblastoma multiforme — one of the most aggressive and deadly forms of brain cancer.

The ground beneath us collapsed. How could this be? How could our bright, beautiful, six-year-old daughter be facing something so devastating? We could barely breathe under the weight of it.

And yet, in that moment of despair, we also felt a spark of defiance. Because when the battle is for your child’s life, you do not give up. You fight. You fight with everything you have.

The Fight Ahead

Iga’s journey is far from over. The surgery was only the first step. Now, chemotherapy and radiotherapy await. Her tumor sample is being sent to Germany for further analysis, as we search desperately for the best possible treatment options, both in Poland and abroad. We are consulting specialists, looking into clinical trials, and considering therapies unavailable here at home.

The costs are staggering. Every consultation, every potential treatment abroad, every round of therapy comes with a price far beyond what any ordinary family can bear. But time is not on our side. Glioblastoma is relentless, and every day matters.

Who Iga Is

Iga is only six years old. She is still so little — tender, playful, sensitive, and full of life. She dreams of becoming a teacher someday. She talks about wanting a dog, about traveling to see the world. She has a heart so big that it seems impossible it could fit into her tiny body.

She should be running through playgrounds, drawing with crayons, and playing pretend with her friends. Instead, she is lying in hospital beds, wearing masks and receiving treatments most adults would struggle to endure.

And yet, she faces it all with incredible bravery. She smiles, she laughs, she fights. She is our little superhero, stronger than anyone we have ever known.

Our Plea

As her parents, we are doing everything we can. But we cannot do this alone. We need help.

Every euro, every zloty, every donation goes directly to her fight — to treatments, to rehabilitation, to giving her the chance at a future. Every share of her story helps us reach another heart that might join our army. Every prayer, every kind word, gives us the strength to keep going.

This is not just about money. It is about hope. About standing with a little girl who deserves the chance to grow up, to chase her dreams, to live.

Iga is more than her diagnosis. She is our daughter, our miracle, our whole world. And right now, her life depends on the kindness and support of others.

From the depths of our hearts, we thank you — for reading her story, for caring, for every gesture of support. With your help, we can give Iga a chance at life, a chance at tomorrow, a chance to be a child again.

Forever a Fighter: Bryson’s Journey to Freedom.1941

Bryson’s Journey: 1,027 Days of Courage and Love

Last night, at exactly 5 p.m., the world stood still for a fleeting moment, or perhaps it was just our hearts that did. Bryson, our brave little warrior, won his battle. June 18, 2020 — September 26, 2025 🪿🪽.

For 1,027 days, he faced challenges no child should ever face. And now, he is free. Free from cancer. Free from pain. Free from fear. Yet even in his passing, his story continues to teach, inspire, and remind us of the power of resilience and love.

It all began in 2020, on a day like any other. Bryson was diagnosed at an age when he should have been learning to crawl, to speak, to explore the world with curiosity and laughter.

Instead, our world shifted in an instant. We were handed a diagnosis that changed everything: cancer. The word itself is heavy, crushing, and impossible to reconcile with the innocence of a child.

From that moment, life became a blur of hospitals, medications, and constant vigilance.

Chemotherapy sessions were scheduled with clinical precision, each one leaving our little boy weak, nauseated, and weary. But Bryson endured them all, often smiling through the pain, showing a courage that astonished even the most seasoned doctors.

Early on, we learned that courage is not the absence of fear. It is standing tall in the face of it. And Bryson embodied this truth.

Even when his tiny body was wracked with pain, when his little hands trembled, and when sleep eluded him for nights on end, he held on.

Every flutter of his eyelids, every quiet breath, every tiny squeeze of our hands was a testament to his unyielding spirit.

There were days when the treatments seemed endless. The chemo left him exhausted, the injections hurt, and the side effects made him cry out in ways that tore at our hearts.

Yet even in those moments, there was a spark — a glimmer of the boy we knew before cancer, a reminder that inside this tiny body was a soul determined to fight.

We celebrated every milestone differently. Sitting up for the first time after a long illness felt like winning a championship. Taking a few steps with assistance became an act of triumph.

Laughing during playtime in the hospital room was more precious than any ordinary childhood memory. And with each milestone, we realized that life is measured not in years, but in moments — moments of joy, courage, and connection.

Through the 1,027 days, there were setbacks. Relapses that brought crushing fear, days when his body didn’t respond, nights when the machines beeped in endless rhythm, reminding us of the fragility of life.

The fear was constant — fear of what might come next, fear of the unknown, fear of losing him. And yet, Bryson continued to fight, often surprising us, often defying expectations. Doctors would shake their heads in disbelief, marveling at how a child so small could endure so much.

Alongside the medical battles, there were emotional battles. Fear, grief, and exhaustion weighed heavily on all of us. Every day, we grappled with the reality that our child’s life depended on our vigilance, on the expertise of doctors, and on the fragility of circumstance.

Yet through it all, there was love — an unbreakable, relentless force that carried us forward. We held him through every procedure, whispered stories and songs into his ears, and reminded him, over and over, that he was never alone.

There were mornings when the sun seemed to shine a little brighter simply because Bryson smiled. There were nights when we clung to hope as tightly as he clung to our hands.

Each new day brought uncertainty, but also the possibility of a miracle. And Bryson, with every fiber of his being, taught us that miracles come in the quietest, smallest moments: a calm breath, a flicker of an eyelid, the gentle grasp of a tiny hand.

Bryson’s courage was not just in his survival. It was in the way he faced every challenge with dignity and strength.

Even when he was scared, he tried to be brave. Even when he was in pain, he tried to comfort us. His presence was a constant lesson in resilience.

Throughout the journey, we were supported by a community of angels. Friends, family, strangers — their prayers, messages, and acts of kindness became threads woven into the fabric of Bryson’s fight.

Each word of encouragement, each prayer, each gesture of support reminded us that courage is not fought alone. It is shared, multiplied, and nurtured by love.

The milestones of his journey were etched in our hearts. The first time he held a toy after a long bout of treatment.

The first laugh that broke through a day of silence. The first night he slept through without pain. Each of these was a victory, each of these a triumph of spirit over circumstance.

Even in the darkest moments, there was light. The hospice nurses, doctors, and caregivers were not just medical professionals — they were companions on a journey that tested the limits of human strength.

They witnessed Bryson’s defiance of expectations, his quiet victories, his moments of joy amidst unimaginable suffering. And we learned that courage is contagious, that hope can flourish even in the harshest of places.

And then, the final chapter arrived. September 26, 2025. The days leading up to it were filled with the same love, the same vigilance, the same determination to make every second meaningful. And at 5 p.m., Bryson’s journey ended — not in fear, not in pain, but in freedom. Cancer free. Pain free. Fear free.

Even in our grief, there is gratitude. Gratitude for every moment we shared. Gratitude for every lesson Bryson taught us. Gratitude for the love he inspired, the courage he embodied, and the hope he instilled. Bryson’s fight was not just his own. It lives in us, in everyone who knew him, and in every memory he created.

Bryson will forever remain our little warrior. His legacy is one of resilience, love, and unyielding courage. He showed us what it means to fight with heart, to love without reservation, and to live fully even when life is hardest.

And though our arms feel empty now, our hearts are full. Full of memories, full of love, full of gratitude for the extraordinary life of our extraordinary boy.

I will forever fight for him — in memory, in spirit, in every story I tell, in every act of love I extend to others in his honor.

Bryson’s journey may have ended, but his story will never fade. It will inspire, remind, and teach. Every breath we take, every heartbeat, every moment is now a tribute to him. And we will carry his courage, his love, and his spirit forward, forever.

Bryson, thank you. Thank you for showing us the true meaning of strength. Thank you for teaching us what it means to fight. Thank you for reminding us that life, even when fragile, is worth every second. You are free now, and yet, you will live in our hearts, eternally.

Cancer free. Pain free. Fear free. And forever loved.