When Nataniel was born, his parents imagined the same future every family dreams of — first words, first steps, first days at school. They never imagined that their child’s life would revolve around hospital visits, tubes, and daily battles just to breathe.

At two months old, their world changed forever. What was supposed to be a joyful beginning turned into a fight for survival. Through newborn screening, doctors discovered that Nataniel had

cystic fibrosis — a rare, incurable genetic disease that attacks the lungs and digestive system. “We didn’t even know what it was,” his mother recalls. “The doctor told us it’s something he’ll have to live with for the rest of his life. My heart broke that day.”

Cystic fibrosis makes the body produce thick, sticky mucus that clogs the airways, traps bacteria, and causes constant infections. For a tiny baby like Nataniel, every breath is a challenge. Every cold can turn into pneumonia. Every infection can be life-threatening. “We had to learn everything,” says his father. “How to do drainage, how to clear his lungs, how to help him breathe. There is no room for mistakes.”

Their days became a strict routine of medical care. Morning starts with inhalation treatments — machines buzzing in the background as Nataniel sits in his mother’s arms, breathing in medicine that helps loosen the mucus in his lungs. Then comes

chest physiotherapy — rhythmic tapping on his tiny chest and back to help him cough up the secretions that could suffocate him. “It looks simple,” his mother says softly, “but it’s exhausting — for him and for us.”

Every meal must be accompanied by digestive enzymes, since cystic fibrosis also destroys the pancreas, preventing proper digestion of food. “We measure everything — how much he eats, how he reacts,” his father explains. “It’s like running a medical center at home.”

And then there are the medications — dozens of them. Antibiotics, vitamins, probiotics, pancreatic enzymes, inhalers. Some of them are not covered by insurance. “We’re spending thousands every month,” his mother says. “We don’t think about vacations or new clothes — only about keeping him alive.”

As months turned into years, the disease tightened its grip. Now, at just two and a half years old, Nataniel’s condition has worsened. His parents recently received the news they had dreaded: his

left lung has partially collapsed — a complication called atelectasis, meaning part of the lung can no longer function properly. The ultrasound showed dark, airless spaces where oxygen should flow freely.

“When the doctor said the word ‘collapse,’ I felt like the ground disappeared,” his mother recalls. “We’ve done everything we could, and still the disease keeps fighting back.”

Since December 2024, Nataniel has also been diagnosed with

immune deficiency, leaving him even more vulnerable to infections. He now needs additional inhalation medications and hours of daily respiratory therapy and drainage to keep his lungs clear. “Our lives revolve around treatment schedules,” his father says. “There’s no time for anything else.”

Despite their endless efforts, they live with constant fear. Every fever, every cough sends a chill through the house. They know too well how fast cystic fibrosis can turn deadly. “He can’t afford even a common cold,” his mother says. “For other kids, it’s a week of rest. For us, it could mean the hospital — or worse.”

The costs of care are staggering. The family travels nearly 200 kilometers to see Nataniel’s specialist every month. Fuel, medication, equipment — everything adds up. “We’re grateful beyond words for the help we’ve already received,” they say. “Thanks to the donations, we can focus on his treatment instead of worrying about how to pay for it. But the truth is — it’s never enough. The disease doesn’t stop, and neither can we.”

Cystic fibrosis is relentless. It gets worse with age. As Nataniel grows, his lungs will demand stronger medication, more therapies, and likely hospital stays. “We’re already seeing the changes,” his mother admits. “He gets tired faster. He breathes harder. Sometimes he looks at me, struggling to take a breath, and I just hold him, wishing I could take it all away.”

But even in the darkest moments, they refuse to give up hope. “He’s a fighter,” his father says proudly. “When he laughs, it’s like the whole house comes alive again.”

Their small apartment has become a battlefield against an invisible enemy — filled with inhalers, sterile equipment, and the soft hum of oxygen concentrators. On the fridge, there’s a list of medications and a photo of Nataniel smiling, his cheeks flushed with life. “That picture reminds us why we keep going,” his mother says. “Because behind all the fear, there’s still love. There’s still our little boy.”

Every night, after the last treatment of the day, they sit by his bed and watch him sleep — his tiny chest rising and falling with effort. “That sound,” she whispers, “the sound of his breathing — it’s the most beautiful sound in the world.”

But the fear never leaves. “We know the medications will only get more expensive,” his father says. “We know one day we might not be able to afford them. That’s what keeps us awake at night.”

They try to stay strong, but exhaustion weighs heavily. “Sometimes I feel like I’m running out of strength,” his mother confesses. “But then he looks at me and smiles, and I remember — he needs me to be strong.”

The family’s greatest wish is simple: to give Nataniel a chance at a future. “We know there’s no cure,” they say. “But we can slow it down. We can give him time — time to grow, to laugh, to live.”

They are asking for help once more — not out of choice, but necessity. “We never thought we’d be in this position,” his mother says. “But life doesn’t ask for permission. When your child’s life is on the line, you do whatever it takes.”

Every donation, every gesture, every kind word helps them take one more step forward. It means one more day of treatment, one more breath, one more night without fear.

Because for Nataniel, every breath truly matters. And for his parents, every breath he takes is a miracle they’ll never stop fighting for.

“Please,” his mother pleads, “don’t let this be where our fight ends. Help us keep our little boy breathing. Help us keep hope alive.”