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We never imagined asking the world for help — but there’s nothing we wouldn’t do for our child. Thank you for being here.
We always pictured our baby running through the park, his laughter echoing as he asked a thousand questions.
We dreamed of a simple, joyful family life — the kind so many take for granted.
We are your average working family. We’ve worked since school, saved what we could, and hoped that one day we might have a place to call our own.
Then life hit us. Hard.
Our baby is now 14 months old. At around 7 months, he suffered a rare and serious form of epilepsy that led to a long hospital stay.
That was our first Christmas — in a hospital room, holding our baby through seizures, harsh medications, and endless tests.
Eventually, we were told he had a brain injury — one that unfolded before we even knew him.
Since then, our days have been filled with fear, therapies, grief, and fierce love.
We were meant to be discovering the world together. Instead, we’re fighting it.
Some professionals said things that haunt us, every moment.
But we see him: his bright eyes, his spark, his smile. He is clever. He tries. He shines.
And we see how hard he works for things that should come effortlessly — his struggles with motor skills break our hearts.
Deep down, we hope this painful chapter will lead to freedom — freedom to explore the world with the lightness every child deserves.
But sometimes, we’re afraid it won’t pass. That this may be his whole life. And the fear can swallow the hope.
We wonder: Will he run and jump freely? Speak? Write? Feel proud, joyful, and free from daily struggles?
These questions keep us awake at night. They are endless. They are painful. And they are scary.
Grief can be brutal — a mourning for the future we dreamed of. It sneaks in after a smile, in the stillness of night. Even when hope lifts us, grief returns. Just as sharp.
It’s heavy and unfair. It feels like our plans and dreams — as a family and as individuals — are slipping away.
But when we look at him, we remember exactly why we keep going.
Our baby can — and will — flourish.
To give him that chance, we’re doing everything in our power. Right now, we spend nearly £1,450 a month on physiotherapy alone — going three times a week, every week. But that’s just one piece of his care.
We’re now adding speech therapy, occupational therapy, and PBM (photobiomodulation) — a non-invasive, evidence-informed therapy we’ve researched carefully. When you add that to basic living costs, our monthly expenses rise to around £5,550.
These funds go entirely toward therapies and support described in this story — to give him the best possible chance at development.
We’ve already cut back wherever we can — even cancelling a £9 subscription — to stretch every penny. There’s no room left. Not even for a dentist appointment, let alone a real shot at stability or a place to call our own.
Even two full-time incomes wouldn’t be enough — and in these critical years, one of us has chosen to stay by his side.
We’re also trying to plan for crucial interventions:
– Intensive rehabilitation blocks, £7,000 per 3-week cycle — which we hope to begin soon, both in the UK and abroad (from internationally recognised centres)
– We’re also researching stem cell therapy in the U.S. — a longer-term, exploratory option that’s shown early promise in some cases (each round can cost up to $50,000, of course from renowned sites)
Everything we’re planning is grounded in evidence-based therapies — part of a structured plan we’ll outline just below. Some approaches are widely used across Europe and internationally; others are more specialist or emerging, backed by early research and medical studies.
We’re grateful to the NHS, but the limited sessions available aren’t enough to match the intensity required during this critical window — when neuroplasticity, the brain’s ability to rewire, is at its peak. Every day counts. To make the most of this stage, we’re adding therapies tailored to our baby’s needs — all of which come with significant, ongoing costs.
With your help, we’re ready to begin immediately — and continue step by step. Some therapies — like physiotherapy, occupational therapy, and speech and language — are intended to become part of our weekly routine. Others, like 3-week intensive rehabilitation blocks or PBM, happen in cycles. Some, like specialist trips abroad, are planned as resources allow. Everything listed on this page is part of a real care plan we’ve researched carefully — not a wishlist, but a structured path to support his development at this crucial time.
This is our one fundraiser. We’re putting everything into it. We’re not asking for extras — "just" the therapy and support to help him thrive.
We want to give him the freedom to live with confidence.
To carry his backpack to school with pride.
To laugh, to dance, to explore the world.
To chase every dream his heart holds.
And we believe — that one day, he will give this love back to the world in his own unique way.
Please, if you can, share our story with family, friends, and colleagues — they may not know us, but they know you.
Whether you share, donate, or send good thoughts, we are truly thankful.
Photos & medical/additional info
We have chosen not to show our baby’s face publicly. Medical records won’t be published, as you may appreciate it wouldn’t be appropriate. However, anyone who has a genuine interest can reach out to know more about our situation — we’re happy to share evidence and research studies for each therapy we’ve listed above, and clarify the plan we intend to pursue.
With all our hearts,
Thank you.
In the video below we are sharing a precious moment of our baby's laughter.
Organizer
Mum and Dad With Love
Organizer
England