“Oliwier’s Fight Isn’t Over – Between Fear and Hope”.2184 (1nm)
The last round of chemotherapy is finally behind us. Those words should have sounded like relief, like freedom. But for us, they carry a heavy silence. The treatment protocol for our little boy,
The most recent MRI brought a mixture of hope and fear. The doctors told us that there is
They have decided to wait.
And we… we can only pray. We pray that this strange shadow is harmless, that it doesn’t mark the beginning of another nightmare. Because our boy has already endured more pain than any child should ever know.
The last cycle of chemotherapy was devastating. It hit Oliwier’s tiny body like a hammer. His veins have become fragile from months of infusions, his skin pale and translucent from endless needle pricks. For three weeks, he’s been trapped in a hospital room, connected to machines that beep through the night. His immune system is gone—his white blood cells dropped to zero again, leaving him defenseless against the world.
He has already received seven blood transfusions. Each bag of blood feels like a small miracle, a temporary lifeline keeping him here with us. But it’s also a reminder of how fragile he is, how dependent his life has become on medicine, machines, and the kindness of strangers.
As if that weren’t enough, Oliwier caught a drug-resistant bacterial infection while in the hospital. Just as we started to regain a bit of stability, he tested positive for COVID-19
He spends his days mostly in bed now, his once bright eyes dulled by exhaustion. Sometimes, when he’s awake, he still manages to smile. That smile is the only thing that keeps us from breaking completely.
Rehabilitation is now our greatest hope. Each small movement, each attempt to stand, feels like a victory. The therapists encourage him gently, teaching his muscles to remember what it means to move, to balance, to live. There are days when progress feels invisible—but we cling to the belief that, little by little, Oliwier will regain his strength.
But the road ahead is still long. The end of chemotherapy doesn’t mean the end of treatment. It means a new phase—maintenance therapy, regular check-ups, and a long list of specialists who will monitor every part of his recovering body. After chemo, the next steps include appointments with an
Every specialist visit feels like another test of courage—for him and for us. We live in a constant state of waiting, balancing between hope and fear. One phone call can change everything. One result can either let us breathe again or pull us back into darkness.
Still, through all of this, Oliwier keeps teaching us what strength really means. He has faced countless needles, transfusions, and hospital nights with a resilience that humbles us. His little hands have held onto ours through every storm, reminding us that even in the darkest moments, love can keep you standing.
Sometimes I think back to the first day of his diagnosis—the fear, the disbelief, the desperate search for answers. We didn’t know then how much our lives were about to change. The hospital became our second home, and medical words we once didn’t understand became part of our daily vocabulary: hemoglobin, neutropenia, platelets, remission.
We have lost count of the number of times we’ve cried in sterile hospital corridors. But we’ve also lost count of the times Oliwier made us laugh despite everything—like when he proudly showed the nurse his “battle scars,” or when he whispered that he wanted to be a superhero “because superheroes never give up.”
And that’s what he is—our superhero.
We owe everything to the people who have stood by us. Every message, every donation, every shared word of encouragement has given us strength when we thought we had none left. It’s because of you that we can keep going, that Oliwier can continue his rehabilitation and receive the care he needs.
But we’re not done yet. The fight isn’t over. We still face countless medical appointments, unexpected expenses, and uncertain days. We still wake up every morning wondering what the next test will show.
All we can do now is wait, hope, and love our son with everything we have.
Because when medicine ends, when words fail, and when fear threatens to take over—love is what remains.
Please, stay with us. Pray with us. Believe with us that this strange shadow in his scan will disappear, that his body will heal, and that his laughter will fill our home again.
Oliwier Wyszyński – our little warrior, our miracle, our heart.
His battle is not over, but neither is our hope. ❤️
Austin’s 83rd Infusion: A Journey of Faith, Music, and Unstoppable Hope.1392
Austin’s Courageous Journey: Infusion #83 and the Power of Prayer
Please hold this great kid, Austin, close in your heart and pray for him daily. His journey is one of courage, faith, and resilience—a story that reminds us how love and kindness can shine through even in the darkest battles.
Another Infusion, Another Step Forward
Infusion #83. That’s where Austin and his family found themselves again—a hospital room, a familiar chair, and another long morning of treatments.
For many families, the hospital is a place of occasional visits, but for Austin, it has become almost like a second home. Each infusion is a reminder of the tumor that continues to dictate so much of his young life.
This time, the visit also included an EKG. Austin’s doctors had decided to try a new medicine, Vyvanse, as part of his ongoing fight and also for weight management.
His mom explained it the way only a mother could: cautiously hopeful, yet heavy-hearted.
“All went smooth with his access,” she said, grateful for the small mercies of a successful procedure. Then came a bright spot—Nacho, Austin’s beloved therapy companion, arrived.
Emily, the child life specialist who has walked alongside Austin for months, brought hair products so Austin could finally style Nacho’s hair. For a few joyful moments, hospital walls faded, and laughter filled the room.
The Weight of Uncertainty
Yet even in these lighter moments, the shadow of the tumor loomed large.
“It just feels different coming here now,” Austin’s mom admitted. “We’re fighting harder than before. Something is happening, and now we just wait until October 14th to see if the growth continues.”
That wait—those days filled with stomach pains, racing thoughts, and endless “what ifs”—was a burden that no child, no family, should ever have to carry.
“How can something have so much control over our lives?” she wondered aloud. “Over Austin’s life?”
It’s a question that has no easy answer.
A Surprise Visit from Heroes
But amid the hard realities, light still finds its way in. Earlier this week, Austin’s family received a phone call that would forever become part of his journey.
The call came from Rob Roozeboom and Piet—names that might not mean much to strangers, but to Austin and his family, they now mean the world. Rob, the founder of RiseFest, had already been an inspiration to them, living with Muscular Dystrophy yet radiating faith and positivity.
A family friend, Shannon, had nominated Austin months before to be a Rise Hero, and that honor had opened doors to unforgettable experiences.
Austin had been invited to RiseFest, where he met Rob, Piet, and even Christian music artist Matthew West. Matthew had welcomed Austin on stage, making him feel seen, special, and strong.
This week, Rob and Piet drove all the way from Sheldon, Iowa, just to bring Austin a gift.
Standing in his front yard, they presented him with a guitar signed by Matthew West himself, along with a photo of Austin on stage, also signed. Rob prayed with the family right there under the open sky.
“A gracious gift,” Austin’s mom said through tears, “to remind us of that night at RiseFest, when Matthew made him feel so seen. So special.”
And the kindness didn’t stop there—Matthew West even mentioned Austin in his podcast with Rob, immortalizing his courage in words that would echo far beyond their small town.
Music, Prayer, and Positivity
Songs like Don’t Stop Praying, Never Ever Give Up, and Unashamed have become the soundtrack of Austin’s fight. In the family car, they play on repeat, a chorus of hope that drowns out fear.
“What a cool moment,” his mom reflected. “What a gracious gift. People are SO GOOD.”
This wasn’t just about a guitar or a podcast. It was about something bigger—community, love, faith, and the way strangers could become family simply by choosing to care.
Small Encounters, Big Joys
Life has a way of sprinkling little surprises, even in hard seasons. Just this week, Austin also met Phil Parker, the defensive coordinator for Iowa. The simple gesture of a fist bump left Austin beaming.
“You never know who you’ll meet in Iowa City,” his mom laughed.
And for a boy who spends so much of his life in hospitals and waiting rooms, these moments of recognition, of joy, are worth their weight in gold.
The Quiet Struggles
But not every part of Austin’s journey is visible from the outside. His older sister, Ava, has her own silent battles.
“People just think I’m invisible,” she once told her mom. While everyone rushes to greet Austin, to make him feel like a superstar, Ava sometimes feels unseen. And though her mom reassures her, the truth is, balancing love between children in such a hard situation is its own uphill climb.
“As moms, our hearts are always pulled in so many directions,” she shared. “Trying to heal hearts, to make them all feel special and important.”
It’s a reminder that cancer doesn’t just touch the patient—it ripples through an entire family, changing dynamics, stretching hearts, and demanding resilience from everyone.
Looking Ahead
For now, Austin finishes infusion #83, ready to leave the hospital behind for a while. Ahead lies a fun weekend in Okoboji, a chance to laugh, play, and just be a kid.
Beyond that, the calendar circles one date in red: October 14th. The day of his next scan. The day that will bring answers—whether comforting or difficult, no one knows.
Until then, there are prayers to be whispered, songs to be sung, and memories to be made.
Austin is gearing up for third grade, a milestone that reminds his family of just how much he has already endured and how much he continues to fight for.
A Call for Prayers
Austin’s Army—that’s what his supporters call themselves. A legion of family, friends, neighbors, and strangers who believe in the power of prayer.
So here is the plea: Keep Austin close in your heart. Pray for stable scans, for strength, for moments of joy amid the hardship. Pray for his mom, who carries the invisible weight of worry. Pray for his sister, Ava, who longs to feel just as seen.
Pray for Austin—the boy who has faced 83 infusions and still smiles, who lights up at a fist bump, who finds courage in songs, and who carries a guitar signed by one of his heroes as a reminder that he is never alone.
Because Austin is more than a patient. He is a fighter. He is a son, a brother, a student, a music lover, and most of all—he is a child who deserves a future filled with life, laughter, and love.
