Hello, my name is Carlo. I'm writing this because my father — a man who spent his entire life quietly serving others — is now fighting for his own life, and we need help.

Before I explain his medical condition, there is something you need to understand about my father, and about something as ordinary as my school grade card.

ONCE UPON A TIME, THERE WAS A GRADE CARD

There are four of us. I am the second.

My older brother. Me. Two younger sisters. Four children raised in Manila by two people whose entire parenting strategy can be summarised as: love them, endure everything, and never, under any circumstances, give up on them. Which sounds straightforward. Until you meet the four children. I will not speak for my siblings, except to say that we were, collectively, a full-time project. The kind of project that requires a project manager, a risk assessment, and possibly a stress counsellor on retainer. My parents had none of these things. They had each other, their faith, and a truly extraordinary capacity for patience that I now recognize, as a father myself, as one of the most superhuman qualities a person can possess.

My contribution to the project was the grade card.

Every end of school year in the Philippines, teachers send home your grades written on a card, which your parents must sign and return. It is a simple administrative process. For most families it is mildly stressful. For my father, it was an annual cardiac event.

The passing mark was 75%.

Four grading periods in the year.

Whatever you scored in the fourth grading was your final grade. Simple enough.

Here is how the grading season went in our household:

1st Grading: 72% → my Dad: calm but watchful. More study time suggested. Gently.

2nd Grading: 73% → my Dad: visibly concerned. Homework compliance requested. Firmly.

3rd Grading: 74% → my Dad: studying my face for signs I understand the mathematics of this situation.

4th Grading: ... → my Dad: upstairs. In the room. With my Mom. Praying the Rosary.

Not metaphorically praying the Rosary. Actually praying the Holy Rosary. On his knees. For a miracle. The miracle being that his second child, who had spent the entire academic year at seventy-two, seventy-three, seventy-four percent, would somehow locate an additional percentage point in the fourth grading and cross the finish line.

The miracle arrived.

Every time.

Final grade: 75%.

Outstanding.

My father did not have a heart attack. This was, in our house, considered a successful school year!

We did this for multiple years running. If you ever want evidence of the power of prayer, I am, technically, exhibit A.

It became a running family joke later on.

My father did not have a "heart attack" ... It was, in our house, considered a successful school year.”

That line used to make people laugh. It still does. But it lands differently now.

Because the man who used to pray for a passing grade is now facing a real cardiac crisis, and this time the outcome is not something you can bargain with at the end of a school term and faith alone isn't enough.

My father, Santiago “Sonny” Domingo Soliven, is 73 years old.

He built a career in public service as a Provincial Accountant in Nueva Vizcaya, and became known for something rare—quiet integrity. Everyone trusted him deeply, high ranking political officials and members of the clergy alike, not because he was loud, but because he was consistent and honest.

At home, he was the same man—disciplined, deeply faithful, and unexpectedly or unbearably funny. He had a joke ready for every situation, delivered with full confidence, whether it landed or not. That was part of who he was. He will defend his claim of pioneering 'dad jokes'.

My mother, equally steadfast in her faith, helped build a Catholic charismatic community in our hometown, St. Dominic Catholic Charismatic Community—something that shaped not just our family, but many others around us.

We are four siblings, now spread across the world, each of us professionals in our own fields, built on the same foundation our parents gave us: discipline, faith, and showing up when it matters .

And at the centre of all of that is my father.

Recently, he was admitted to hospital with acute heart failure. What we hoped was a contained episode turned into something much more serious.

Further tests revealed severe multi-valvular heart disease and significant coronary artery disease. His cardiology team has advised urgent intervention—either coronary artery bypass surgery (CABG) or angioplasty with stenting.

Without it, the risk is immediate and unpredictable.

The cost of treatment is approximately ₱1,300,000 (~£16,000).

After his ICU admission and ongoing care, this is beyond what our family can realistically raise in the time we have—even with all of us contributing.

My father never gave up on me. Not when I struggled. Not when I failed. Not when life was uncertain.

He showed up—every single time.

Now it’s our turn to show up for him.

If you’re able to help, in any way, we would be deeply grateful. And if not, simply sharing this would mean more than you know.

Thank you for taking the time to read our story.

Please know that all donations received through this appeal will be used exclusively to fund my father’s urgent medical treatment—specifically his upcoming cardiac intervention (CABG or angioplasty) in the Philippines. Funds are being managed directly by our family to cover these specific healthcare costs.

I am sharing this in a strictly personal capacity as a son. This fundraiser is not related to my professional work or employer.