When you cradle your newborn for the first time, you envision lullabies, joy, and the serene moments of sleepless nights filled with affection. You never foresee hospital hallways, chemotherapy infusions, or the term cancer.
For Czarek’s parents, that term arrived far too early.
It all began before he even took his first breath. During a routine ultrasound at 32 weeks of pregnancy, doctors noticed something unusual — a visible cyst on the baby’s adrenal gland. They reassured his mother, suggesting it might be benign, something that would resolve on its own. She held onto that hope tightly.
However, after Czarek was born, the reality shattered that delicate calm. The “cyst” was not harmless at all — it was a tumor, and the diagnosis that followed struck like a bolt from the blue: neuroblastoma, a rare and aggressive cancer that targets the nervous system. Even more alarming, it had already spread to his liver and skin.
“He was so tiny,” his mother whispers. “He hadn’t even seen the world yet, and already he was fighting for his life.”
A Baby’s War
In those initial days, while most infants are discovering the warmth of home, Czarek was instead introduced to the cold sterility of a hospital ward. Tubes and monitors replaced soft blankets. The sound of nurses’ footsteps became the backdrop to his nights.
Doctors initiated chemotherapy immediately, aiming to reduce the tumor and halt its spread. It was a cruel irony — life-saving medication coursing through veins so small it seemed unimaginable. With each dose came pain, nausea, and fatigue that no child, especially a newborn, should have to endure.
“The vomiting started quickly,” his mother recalls. “His blood results were terrible. But we had no choice. It was the only way to save him.”
Throughout it all, Czarek’s mother remained by his side — day and night, 24 hours a day. She seldom left the hospital room, breastfeeding him, comforting him, and singing softly while machines beeped in rhythm beside them. “I want him to know I’m always here,” she says. “Even when everything else hurts.”
Czarek’s father visits every day after work. He brings food, clean clothes, and hope. But with two other daughters at home — ages 12 and 18 — and bills that keep piling up, he bears a burden that feels overwhelming.
“We live between two worlds,” he says quietly. “One at the hospital, one at home. Every day I leave my wife and son behind, and I pray they’ll both still be smiling when I return.”
Their older daughters strive to remain strong too, but they miss their mother and baby brother. “They understand more than I wish they did,” their father admits. “They ask if Czaruś will be okay. I tell them yes — because I have to believe it.”
Between Fear and Faith
The family’s days are a cycle of fear and fragile hope. Some mornings bring good news — stable blood results, a smile from Czarek, a few hours of calm. Other days are more challenging: infections, transfusions, increased pain.
Still, his parents refuse to give up. “He’s so small,” his mother says, “but he’s a warrior.”
Their faith sustains them, even when fatigue and uncertainty threaten to overwhelm. Grandparents assist with the girls, providing food and love, holding the family together one day at a time.
“Every moment we spend with Czaruś is precious,” his father says. “Every smile, every sigh — it reminds us that miracles can still happen.”
The Cost of Hope
However, hope, as always, comes at a price — one far beyond what this family can manage alone.
The treatment is lengthy and costly, and hospital life means lost income, travel expenses, and medical bills that keep escalating. Each day brings another cost, another hurdle. Yet, no parent can assign a value to a child’s life.
That’s why they’ve sought help — from anyone willing to listen, to care, to contribute. “Even the smallest amount matters,” says Czarek’s mother. “It’s not just money. It’s a message that we’re not alone.”
They dream of the day they can finally bring their baby home — to show him sunlight, to let him sleep without machines buzzing around him. To live, simply and peacefully, as every family deserves.
But until that day arrives, they will continue to fight.
A Mother’s Promise
When asked how she perseveres, Czarek’s mother pauses for a long moment. Then she smiles through her tears.
“Because he does,” she says. “He keeps fighting, so how could I not?”
She believes her son will win this battle — not just because of medicine, but because of love. Because of the compassion of those who choose to care.
Czarek has never known a world beyond hospital walls, but with support, that can change. He can grow up, run, laugh, and finally see the world he’s been striving so hard to remain in.
“Please,” his mother says softly, “help us give our son a chance to live.”
Each donation, each prayer, each share of Czarek’s story brings him closer to that chance — closer to a future where his parents can whisper goodnight not under fluorescent lights, but under the gentle glow of home.
Because no baby should spend their first months learning how to fight for life.
And no parent should have to face that battle alone.
