Hi, I’m Justin. I’m Amy’s husband and together we’re raising our three children.

We’re a blended family. The kids came from previous relationships, but since bringing our families together we’ve never really seen it as mine and hers. They’re our kids and we’re a family of five.

I never thought I’d be setting up a GoFundMe. Asking people for money isn’t something either of us feels comfortable doing and I’ve put off making this page for that reason.

But since February 2026, our lives have completely changed and we’ve reached the point where we need some help.

Amy is only 32 years old.

At the beginning of this year we were just getting on with normal life. Working, raising the kids, paying bills and doing all the usual family stuff.

Then Amy became seriously ill.

Amy has now been diagnosed with systemic sclerosis (scleroderma), myositis, pseudoxanthoma elasticum (PXE), arthritis and Raynaud’s.

All of these affect her in different ways. Her muscles, joints, mobility, skin, circulation, eyes and lungs have all been affected.

The Raynaud’s causes problems with the circulation to her hands and fingers and she has also been developing painful digital ulcers.

The arthritis and myositis cause pain, weakness and mobility problems on top of everything else she’s dealing with.

But one of the biggest problems we’re facing at the moment is the rapid calcinosis.

This started in February this year.

Calcium deposits started forming underneath Amy’s skin. They become incredibly hard and painful and some eventually break through the skin, leaving open wounds.

And when I say it’s happening quickly, I really mean it.

We’ve watched new areas develop and spread across her body in a matter of months.

Some days pieces of calcium physically come out through the wounds.

We’re constantly dealing with dressings, open sores and pain, while more hard areas continue to appear underneath her skin.

It’s horrible for Amy and it’s horrible watching someone you love having to live with it every single day.

What scares us even more is that we still don’t know exactly what’s happening underneath the surface.

We’re currently waiting to find out how deep and extensive these calcium deposits actually are and whether deeper tissues are involved.

Amy has also developed scarring on her lungs, so this isn’t something that’s only affecting what you can see on the outside.

Probably one of the hardest things for us to deal with is that Amy doesn’t currently have a prognosis.

Her combination of conditions and the way they’re presenting together is so unusual that we’ve been told her doctors haven’t been able to find a comparable documented case that gives them a clear idea of what happens next.

There isn’t really a roadmap for us.

When we ask what Amy might be like next year, in five years or further down the line, nobody can give us an answer.

When your wife is 32 and you’re raising three children together, that’s a pretty scary thing to hear.

Amy’s mobility has also deteriorated massively.

She’s unstable on her feet and has already fallen down our stairs multiple times.

Her PXE makes those falls even more worrying because Amy also has angioid streaks affecting her eyes.

Because of this, a significant knock to her head or eyes could potentially cause serious bleeding or damage to her sight.

So every time she falls down the stairs we’re not just worrying about a broken bone or a few bruises. We’re terrified of what could happen if she hits her head badly.

And yet those stairs are still something she has to deal with in our current home.

We’ve had an occupational therapist come out and assess the house and we’ve been told that it isn’t suitable for Amy’s needs.

A stairlift won’t fit.

The shower isn’t suitable for the equipment she needs and we’ve been told the walls aren’t suitable for fitting the type of shower chair that would help her.

We’ve been given a commode, a perching stool and other equipment to try to make things a bit easier, but none of that fixes the actual problem.

The house just isn’t suitable for someone in Amy’s situation.

We’ve had to turn our living room into Amy’s downstairs bedroom because it’s the safest way we can manage things at the moment.

There are five of us here, so our main family room has basically disappeared.

We’re not looking for some massive dream house.

We just want somewhere suitable.

Somewhere Amy can move around without us constantly worrying about her falling.

Somewhere she can wash and use the toilet safely and have a bit of her independence and dignity back.

And somewhere our three children can have a normal family home again.

Because of how much Amy’s health has deteriorated, I’ve also had to stop working and become her full-time carer.

There wasn’t really another option.

She needs help throughout the day and I couldn’t keep going to work knowing she could fall or struggle with something while I wasn’t there.

I’d make the same decision again tomorrow because she’s my wife and she needs me.

But obviously losing an income while trying to support a family of five has had a massive financial impact.

We get the financial help we’re entitled to and we’re grateful for it, but the reality is that when one person has stopped working and the costs associated with serious illness suddenly start piling up, that money only goes so far.

Hospital travel has become another big part of our lives.

Because Amy’s conditions are so complicated, a lot of her care is specialist care and some of the hospitals we need to travel to are 2–3 hours away from home.

There are appointments, treatments, hospital admissions and follow-ups.

Every trip means fuel, parking, food while we’re away and sometimes several hours travelling each way.

It all adds up.

Our current car is also becoming increasingly difficult for Amy to use.

It’s too low for her and getting herself down into it and then back out again is becoming harder as her mobility gets worse.

We’d like to get a higher, more accessible car that she can get in and out of safely and that we can rely on for all of these hospital journeys.

We’re not after anything fancy.

We just need something that works for Amy.

There’s another reason we’ve decided to make this page.

We want to know that we’ve tried everything we possibly can.

We’re looking into specialist options outside of the UK, including possibilities in Turkey relating to the genetic and rare-disease side of Amy’s conditions.

I want to be completely clear about this because I don’t want anyone donating thinking we’ve found some miracle cure.

We haven’t.

We don’t know whether anything available abroad will be suitable for Amy and we’re not going to pretend that we do.

We simply want the opportunity to investigate it properly, speak to legitimate specialists and find out whether there’s anything out there that could potentially help her.

If we investigate it and there’s nothing suitable, then at least we know.

But with Amy’s situation being so unusual and there being no clear prognosis, I don’t want to look back one day wondering whether there was something else we could have explored.

I especially don’t want the reason we didn’t explore something to simply be because we couldn’t afford to.

It’s difficult looking back at photographs from before February 2026.

In such a short amount of time we’ve gone from normal family life to hospital stays, open wounds, calcium coming through Amy’s skin, mobility problems, falls, medical equipment around the house and not knowing what the future holds.

Our kids have had to adjust to all of this as well.

We’re a blended family, but there’s never been a distinction between mine and Amy’s when it comes to the children.

They’re our three kids and Amy is their mum.

They’re watching someone they love become seriously unwell while we’re doing everything we can to keep their lives as normal as possible.

That’s another reason getting into a suitable home means so much to us.

I don’t want this page to just be about wounds, illnesses and hospitals though.

Because that’s not Amy.

Amy is Amy.

She’s my wife.

She’s a mum to our three kids.

She’s the person they want when they’re upset. She’s the person I chose to spend my life with. She’s part of a family that absolutely loves her.

And she’s only 32.

That’s why I’m asking for help.

Anything raised will go towards getting our family into a safe and suitable home, getting Amy a higher and more accessible car, the cost of travelling backwards and forwards for specialist hospital treatment, supporting our family after I had to stop working to care for her, things Amy needs because of her disability and exploring genuine specialist treatment options.

I don’t expect strangers on the internet to fix everything for us.

We’re still going to do everything we possibly can ourselves.

We could just really use a bit of help.

If you can’t afford to donate, please don’t feel bad about it.

Even just sharing Amy’s page would mean a lot to us.

The more people who see her story, the better chance we have of getting our family into a safer situation. And because Amy’s medical situation is so unusual, there’s always the hope that sharing her story might reach somebody somewhere who has knowledge or experience that could help.

We also want to be clear about the amount we’re trying to raise. There isn’t really a magic number. We don’t know what the next few months are going to bring, how quickly Amy’s needs might change, what moving is going to cost us, what sort of vehicle we’re going to need or what treatment options might become available. With there being no clear prognosis at the moment, it’s impossible for us to sit here and say, “This is exactly how much we need.” There isn’t a minimum we’re trying to reach and there isn’t a maximum we’re expecting. We’ve had to put a target on the page because that’s how fundraising works, but it’s not a figure we’ve looked at and thought will magically solve everything. Anything raised will help. Whether that’s £5 towards fuel for another hospital journey, money towards getting Amy into a safer car, helping with the costs of moving our family into a suitable home, or eventually allowing us to explore another specialist treatment option — it all makes a difference. If the page raises a little, we’ll be incredibly grateful for it. If it raises more than we ever expected, it gives us more security to deal with whatever comes next for Amy. We simply don’t know what we’re going to need yet. We just know we’re going to need help. And that’s really the reason we’ve finally made this page.

At the end of the day, I just want to be able to look at Amy and our kids and know that I did everything I possibly could.

Thank you for taking the time to read our story.

And thank you to anyone who donates, shares the page, sends us a message or supports us in any way.

It genuinely means a lot to all five of us.

Justin, Amy & our three kids ❤️