The Seventh Case in the World: Baby Cezary’s Fight for Life
It began like any other story — with hope, love, and the quiet joy of expecting a child. When we learned we were pregnant, we imagined all the ordinary moments — first steps, first words, laughter filling our home. But life had a different plan.
On November 15, 2023, our long-awaited son, Cezary, was born. He was perfect — small, peaceful, our little miracle. The first weeks were blissful. There were no signs of what was to come, no hint of the battles that would soon define his life.
The First Signs
Everything changed when Cezary turned three months old. After his next vaccination, we began noticing strange symptoms. His eyes moved uncontrollably. He couldn’t focus on faces or toys. He didn’t smile. He was limp and tearful, unable to hold his head up.
We knew something was wrong. Instinct took over. We stopped vaccinations and began searching for answers. In March 2024, new symptoms appeared — sudden, involuntary movements, heightened reflexes, constant crying. One night, terrified, we rushed him to the emergency room.
After hours of tests, doctors told us to report to the neurology department immediately. That’s when our nightmare truly began.
Endless Tests — and No Answers
In the hospital, our tiny baby underwent an
We went home full of uncertainty — but then, miraculously, we saw progress. Cezary began responding to us. He smiled. He made eye contact. We started private physiotherapy, and for a brief moment, hope returned.
The Diagnosis
In August 2024, the genetic test results arrived — and shattered our fragile peace.
Cezary was diagnosed with an extremely rare genetic disorder — so rare, in fact, that
We adjusted. We learned. We celebrated every little milestone — every smile, every movement — as if it were a miracle.
The Crisis
Then, in January 2025, everything fell apart again.
Cezary suddenly stopped breathing properly. He was rushed by ambulance to the hospital, where doctors diagnosed asymptomatic bilateral pneumonia. Within 24 hours, his condition worsened — he was moved to the
For five days, our son lay in a coma.
Five days of silence, machines, and prayers whispered through tears.
And then, somehow, he woke up.
Weak, trembling, but alive.
After a month, he came home — fragile, dependent on tube feeding, but breathing on his own. We thought the worst was over.
Another Blow
Then came another collapse. During a routine check-up, doctors noticed worrying signs. Within days, Cezary was back in intensive care — not because of infection, but because his body simply began shutting down.
For a week, he could only breathe with the help of machines. The anesthesiologist looked at us with kind but devastating honesty. “You must prepare,” he said.
But how can any parent prepare to lose a child?
We prayed. We begged. And once again — a miracle happened.
Cezary began breathing on his own. Slowly, steadily, his tiny chest rose and fell without support. After three weeks in the ICU, he was moved to the neurology ward, where doctors continued their search for answers.
A Life Without Certainty — But Not Without Hope
Today, Cezary’s future remains uncertain. His MRI shows changes, his progress is slow, and his body is fragile. He must avoid infections, stress, and overexertion. Each new day feels like a test — of faith, endurance, and love.
We are now raising funds for specialized rehabilitation equipment, continued testing, and therapy that can help him regain strength and improve his quality of life. Every piece of equipment — from mobility aids to therapy tools — gives him a chance to keep fighting.
Because fight he does — every single day.
The Heart of a Warrior
Our little boy has endured more in his short life than most adults ever will. And yet, when he looks at us with those bright, determined eyes, we know he hasn’t given up.
He’s a fighter.
A survivor.
A miracle in motion.
We don’t know what the future holds. But we know this — we will never stop fighting for him.
💙 Please, help us give our son a chance. Help us keep believing that miracles still happen — because we’ve already seen one, and his name is Cezary.
The Silent Guardians: A Love Beyond Words
There are moments in life that words cannot fully capture, especially when it comes to the bond between animals and humans. In the quiet spaces of these connections, we find a love that transcends understanding, a love that needs no explanations or diagnoses.
She didn’t understand the diagnosis, and she didn’t need to. Animals have an innate ability to feel the currents of life and death in ways that we, as humans, often overlook. They sense the shifts that go unnoticed by our busy minds. In the case of her human, she noticed the changes long before anyone else did. She saw the subtle weakening—the voice growing softer, the footsteps becoming slower, the light in his eyes dimming. And without hesitation, something deep within her told her to stay close.
So, she did. Quiet. Watchful. Waiting. There was no need for words. She simply understood that her presence, her companionship, was what he needed the most. It wasn’t the usual playful energy that defined their relationship. It was a quiet devotion, a silent understanding that transcended all the spoken words they had ever shared.
When he was taken to the hospital, her loyalty didn’t falter. She waited, as she always had, for the moment when she could be with him again. Days passed, and the world continued to move around her, but she remained still—waiting for the right moment. Then, one day, the doors opened, and they let her in.
There were no frantic movements, no desperate cries. She climbed onto the bed gently, as if she knew the weight of the moment. She pressed her body against his chest and simply stayed there. No words were needed. She didn’t have to speak, because her presence alone spoke volumes. The doctors watched in silence as the steady rhythm of his heartbeat returned, his breathing slowed, and the restless energy that had gripped him began to ease. They were witnesses to what she already understood: she wasn’t merely offering comfort. She was standing guard at the threshold between life and death.
Science can measure heart rates, map brain waves, and track the chemistry of stress and calm. But science cannot explain how an animal, in all her silent grace, knows when we are slipping, or why her presence alone can tether us to peace in our most fragile hours. There is a wisdom in animals that we often overlook, a wisdom that perhaps we have forgotten in the noise and rush of our modern lives.
Perhaps, in their quiet, constant watch, they carry a truth we have long since ignored—that life and death are not opposites, but companions. In the ebb and flow of existence, they know that the most powerful act of love isn’t to fight or flee but to stay. To be present. To not look away when the current pulls us toward the unknown. They love us all the way to the edge—and sometimes, beyond.
In that hospital room, as the gentle weight of her body pressed against his, it wasn’t just comfort she was offering. It was a profound act of love, a love that understood the deep currents of life and death that we can’t always see. She stood with him in those final moments, not to fix or to heal, but simply to love—to stay. And that love, though silent, was more powerful than any words could ever be.
In the end, it was her unwavering presence that made all the difference. A love that didn’t ask for anything in return. A love that didn’t need to understand, just to be. It was a love that bridged the gap between life and death and showed us all the power of staying.
