A Life Measured in Minutes: The Story of Little Tymek

“If the birth had happened ten minutes later, our son wouldn’t be here.” Those words still echo through the hearts of Tymek’s parents — a truth as terrifying as it is miraculous.

Everything had seemed normal. The pregnancy was calm, the checkups reassuring. There was no sign of what was coming — no warning of the storm that would rewrite their lives. Then, at just 34 weeks, everything changed.

Tymek was born in silence. No cry. No breath. His tiny body, still and blue, was rushed away from his mother’s arms. He had suffered severe asphyxia — oxygen deprivation so critical that his Apgar score was just 1. Doctors fought for him with everything they had, performing emergency resuscitation, their voices firm but urgent. Minutes felt like hours. And then, at last, a weak sound — a fragile, precious heartbeat of life.

Those first moments defined everything that followed.

Tymek’s body was exhausted, his systems failing one by one. He battled hypoglycemia and thrombocytopenia, enduring multiple blood transfusions to keep his fragile body alive. Then came the most devastating blow: a

massive brain hemorrhage that caused irreversible damage to the white matter of his brain — the very center of communication and movement.

Doctors warned the family that even if he survived, the road ahead would be long and hard. But they refused to let fear be the final word. “We fought for his life,” his parents say. “Now we fight for his future.”

For nearly two months, Tymek remained in the neonatal intensive care unit, surrounded by machines that breathed for him, monitored him, and kept him tethered to hope. Each day brought new fears — infection, bleeding, another setback — but also small miracles: a stronger heartbeat, a flicker of response, a hand that began to curl around his mother’s finger.

When he finally came home, it wasn’t the end of the battle — it was the beginning of another one.

Tymek was diagnosed with spastic quadriplegic cerebral palsy — a condition that affects all four limbs and requires lifelong rehabilitation. He also faces

global developmental delays, strabismus, hyperopia, and astigmatism. Every part of his young life depends on constant therapy: physiotherapy to strengthen his muscles, speech therapy to help him form words, and specialized care to give him even the smallest chance at independence.

None of this is easy. The emotional weight is immense. The financial burden, even heavier.

“We weren’t prepared for this,” his parents admit quietly. “No one ever is. You dream of first words and first steps — not of hospital corridors, machines, and endless therapy sessions. But we can’t give up. Tymek deserves every chance.”

And he fights — every single day. His determination humbles everyone who meets him. Despite pain and frustration, his eyes shine with curiosity and courage. When his therapists cheer him on, he smiles. When his mother holds him, he relaxes — as if he knows that love, more than medicine, is keeping him going.

But love alone isn’t enough. Tymek’s ongoing treatment demands specialized equipment, medications, and intensive rehabilitation that the family can no longer afford on their own. Every session, every medical supply, every trip to therapy adds up — and yet every one of those moments matters.

Because every small improvement — every controlled movement, every attempt to lift his head or reach for a toy — is a victory.

The family’s message to the world is simple and full of hope:

“We’ve already won one battle — for his life. Now we’re fighting for his health, his future, his smile. Please, stand with us. Every donation, every word of encouragement, every prayer helps him move one step closer to freedom.”

Tymek’s story is not just one of suffering — it’s one of survival. A story of a child who entered the world with silence but continues to fill it with strength. A story of parents who learned that love is strongest when tested by fear.

He may have been born ten minutes away from tragedy, but every day since then has been a victory — measured not in milestones, but in moments. Moments of laughter. Moments of light. Moments of life that almost never was.

Because sometimes, the smallest hearts fight the hardest battles — and remind us all how precious every breath truly is.

Walking Without Pain: Krystian’s Lifelong Battle Against an Invisible Enemy

For most of us, pain is a signal—a warning that something is wrong. But for Krystian Dąbrowski, born on March 22, 2008, pain does not exist. From the moment he entered the world, his life was marked not only by difficult beginnings but by a diagnosis so rare and dangerous that it turned childhood into a daily struggle for survival:

CIPA – congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis.

It sounds deceptively harmless. No pain, no suffering. But in reality, it is a silent executioner. Without pain to warn him, Krystian has endured fractures, burns, and injuries that went unnoticed until it was nearly too late. His body cannot cry out in alarm—so the damage accumulates in silence.

A Childhood of Surgeries and Setbacks

Krystian’s earliest years were filled with hospital corridors, IV drips, and anxious vigils. He was born after a complicated delivery, with a cleft palate and pneumonia. Doctors soon noticed something unusual: he did not react to pain like other children. Tests eventually confirmed the unthinkable—he would never feel pain, and that absence would define his life.

Over the years, his body bore the consequences. His knees and spine deteriorated without warning. He lost fragments of his fingers. His legs broke more than once. Each injury carried him closer to immobility.

Countless surgeries followed—some in Poland, others in the United States. His mother recalls moments of despair and courage: “When his condition worsened, I flew with him to a specialized clinic in the U.S. I was completely alone, far from family, exhausted, but I knew I had to fight for him.”

Her vigilance saved his life. After a series of leg surgeries, she noticed his posture was unnatural. Doctors discovered multiple spinal fractures. They explained that had they boarded a plane home, the change in cabin pressure could have crushed his spinal cord and left him permanently paralyzed.

A Miracle After the Wheelchair

Years in a wheelchair seemed to define Krystian’s fate. But then came a moment his family calls miraculous. Thanks to spine stabilization surgery and the implantation of a resection knee joint endoprosthesis, Krystian took his first independent steps in years.

For other children, walking a few meters is ordinary. For Krystian, every step was a victory over the odds, proof that resilience could carry him where medicine struggled to keep up.

Today, he can walk several meters on his own. With another surgery and the replacement of his prosthesis, his parents believe he can go even further. Each step is not just progress—it is hope embodied.

A Race Against Time

That hope is now under threat. Krystian’s prosthesis has come loose, posing a grave danger. Without urgent replacement surgery in the U.S., his leg could suffer irreversible damage, robbing him of the mobility he and his family have fought to achieve for 17 long years.

The costs are staggering. Surgery abroad, specialized rehabilitation, equipment, and daily travel for therapy—often over 100 kilometers each way—add up to amounts no family can face alone. His mother admits, “I have done everything in my power for him, but today I know I cannot do it alone anymore.”

Courage That Inspires

Despite everything, Krystian has never surrendered. He trains daily, pushes himself, and greets each challenge with determination. His mother draws strength from his resilience: “He never gave up. I will never give up either. But we need help.”

For the Dąbrowski family, this plea is not just about money—it is about preserving the possibility of a future. A future where Krystian can walk further, live more freely, and continue to defy the disease that has shaped his life since birth.

The Call for Compassion

Krystian’s story is more than a medical case. It is a story of survival, sacrifice, and unshakable love. His condition strips him of pain, but not of humanity, not of dreams. His parents dream of watching him live without constant danger, of giving him the tools to stand tall, of seeing him grow into adulthood with dignity.

They know they cannot do it alone. That is why they reach out—for donations, for prayers, for words of encouragement. Every contribution is not just financial help; it is solidarity, a reminder that no family should have to fight a battle like this in isolation.

“Every share, every zloty, every kind word means the world to us,” his mother says. “Please help my son continue his fight, so he can take more steps, live without fear, and keep proving that nothing—not even an enemy as cruel as CIPA—can take away his will to live.”

Krystian’s life has been a journey through countless hospital wards and surgeries, but also through resilience, hope, and moments of triumph. His future now hangs in the balance. With the right support, his next steps are still possible.

Because Krystian may not feel pain—but he feels everything else. He feels love. He feels hope. And above all, he feels the determination to keep walking forward.