Hi, I’m Mike, and I’m raising funds for sight-saving surgery that will allow me to keep working in a job I love and continue giving my disabled son the best life possible.

For over 15 years, I’ve lived with severe keratoconus, a condition that causes the cornea to become misshapen and severely distorts vision. Glasses don’t work for me. Instead, I rely on rigid contact lenses that essentially “reshape” my eyes. Without them, I would be registered as blind.

But now, things are getting worse. The hospital is struggling to produce lenses that fit properly, and the ones I do have are becoming increasingly painful to wear. My entire life depends on these lenses—if I can’t wear them, everything stops.

After seeing multiple specialists, I’ve been told there is only one option left: corneal graft surgery in both eyes. This is not a decision I take lightly. It’s major surgery, with real risks and a long, difficult recovery. But without it, it’s only a matter of time before I lose the ability to see well enough to function.

This isn’t just about me—it’s about my family.

My wife and I have a young son who has already faced more challenges than most. He has undergone major surgery, having his skull rebuilt. He’s had casts on his legs as well as splints & braces to help issues with development & hyper mobility. If that isn’t enough for a 6 year old to have dealt with, he is currently fed through an NG tube. All of these have caused significant trauma and upset for him. Supporting him is a full-time responsibility, and my ability to see and function is crucial to being the father he needs.

This surgery would give me the chance to continue caring for him properly, without the constant fear that my vision could fail at any moment.

It also means everything for my work. I’m a support mentor in a therapeutic school, and I genuinely love what I do. Helping vulnerable children is more than a job to me—it’s a purpose. Losing my sight would mean losing that.

And then there are the everyday things—the “small” struggles that build up over 15 years. The constant discomfort, the interruptions to daily life, the uncertainty. They may sound minor, but over time they take a real toll.

This surgery represents hope. The chance to regain stability, independence, and the ability to keep showing up—for my son, my family, and the children I support every day.

Any support, no matter how small, would mean the world to us. Thank you for taking the time to read my story.