No Obstruction, No Answers — Only Prayer.5791
Sorry for taking so long to share this update, because when life begins moving this fast and this heavy, time no longer behaves the way it used to.
So much has been happening at once, and every moment has carried its own weight, its own fear, and its own quiet prayer whispered in the dark.
Last night, surgery finally took place, and when the surgeon came out, we held our breath in a way that felt almost unbearable.
Praise be to God, he did not find any obstruction.
There was no blockage.
There were no twists.
Those words alone felt like oxygen after hours of suffocating worry, like light breaking through a space that had been completely dark.
But the relief was not complete.
The surgeon did find bloody fluid inside her abdomen, and that discovery opened the door to a new wave of uncertainty that we were not prepared for.
That fluid was sent off immediately for cultures, because blood where it does not belong always raises questions no one wants to ask out loud.
Because of the risk of infection, the medical team did not hesitate.
They proactively started antibiotics, acting quickly in the hope of staying ahead of something that could become much worse if allowed to grow silently.
The surgeon explained that the problems with her belly are likely being caused by an ileus, an infection, or possibly both working together in a way that makes it harder for her body to recover.
Each possibility carries its own concerns.
Each one comes with its own list of what-ifs.
And each one threatens to change the course of what comes next.
One of the hardest things we are facing right now is the possibility that if an infection is confirmed, her PD catheter may need to be removed.
That single sentence feels heavier than it should.
Because that catheter represents more than medical equipment.
It represents home.
It represents routine.
It represents a sense of normalcy that we have fought so hard to hold onto.
If it has to be removed, it would mean switching from home dialysis to traditional dialysis.
And traditional dialysis would change everything.
It would mean three trips a week to the hospital.
Or it would mean staying for an extended period of time at the Ronald McDonald House just to remain close enough for treatment.
Neither option is ideal.
Both options come with emotional, physical, and logistical challenges that feel overwhelming when stacked on top of everything else already happening.
Right now, she is in the ICU.
Not because she is unstable, but because the team needs to watch her closely, minute by minute, number by number.
They are carefully monitoring her heart rate.
They are watching her blood pressure.
They are constantly adjusting and balancing her fluid levels.
They are managing her pain in a way that keeps her comfortable without creating new problems.
The ICU is loud and bright and never truly quiet, and yet it is where she needs to be for now.
She is also on strict NPO.
That means nothing by mouth.
No food.
No drinks.
No comfort sips.
No tiny relief from dryness or thirst.
And this restriction has created an entirely new challenge.
So many of her medications are taken orally.
Some of them are not optional.
Some of them are absolutely necessary.
Trying to replace, delay, or reroute those medications while keeping her safe has required constant coordination between her care team and the pharmacy.
Everyone is working together, moving as fast as possible, because time matters in ways that are impossible to explain unless you are living inside these moments.
At this point, we do not know how long she will remain in the ICU.
We are hoping she can be moved back to her regular floor later today or possibly tomorrow.
Hope is doing a lot of heavy lifting right now.
She needs so much prayer.
Not just a little.
Not just passing thoughts.
She needs deep, constant prayer, because there are so many moving parts involved in her care that it feels impossible to explain them all without missing something important.
There are tubes.
There are medications.
There are numbers on screens that rise and fall with frightening speed.
There are decisions being made behind the scenes that could shape her future in ways we cannot yet see.
For now, she is stable.
That word, stable, has become something we cling to.
It does not mean healed.
It does not mean out of danger.
It simply means that in this moment, her body is holding on.
We are trusting God with everything else.
And that trust does not come easily.
Trusting God when the path ahead is unclear takes more strength than anyone ever talks about.
It requires surrender when every instinct tells you to fight for control.
I am running on very little sleep.
Just a few broken hours here and there, never enough to truly rest.
My body feels exhausted in a way that goes deeper than tired muscles.
I have barely eaten.
Yesterday, I managed one small meal during the drive here, and I could not even finish it.
Hunger fades when fear takes over.
At this moment, I am being fueled by something far greater than food.
I am being carried by the Holy Spirit.
I do not know what the future holds.
Only God knows that.
What I do know is that it looks like we will be here, at the hospital, for at least a few more days.
Possibly longer.
This place has become our temporary world, filled with waiting rooms, quiet hallways, and whispered prayers spoken into the early hours of the morning.
I will do my best to continue updating as the day goes on.
As answers come in.
As test results return.
As the picture becomes either clearer or more complicated.
For now, we wait.
We pray.
And we hold onto hope, even when it feels fragile.
Because sometimes hope is the only thing left standing.
“Remembering Kuba: A Soul Beyond His Years”.3793
There are no words that could ever capture the emptiness and heart-wrenching grief we feel today. Our hearts broke into two this morning… Kuba is gone.
Kuba was wise beyond his years, possessing a depth of maturity that seemed almost impossible for someone so young. He was noble, kind, and had a heart that radiated warmth and compassion. He carried within him a rare empathy that touched everyone who knew him. Kuba always thought of others first, before thinking of himself. That selflessness, that rare combination of maturity and generosity, is how we will remember him forever.
Those of us who were closest to him, particularly the Warsaw team who spent the most time with him, remember vividly the love he had for his family. He adored his parents, his love evident in the smallest of gestures. He often thought of his younger sister first; whenever he received gifts, he would immediately look for something he could share with her. That simple act reflects the essence of who Kuba was: thoughtful, caring, and always putting others before himself.
Kuba’s kindness extended beyond his family. Even in moments of discomfort, pain, or fear, he was attentive to the feelings of those around him. A smile for a friend, a reassuring word to a stranger, a gentle gesture of support—these were second nature to him. He had an understanding of life and people that many adults spend decades trying to learn. He could sense when someone needed comfort or encouragement and instinctively offered it without hesitation.
His courage was equally remarkable. Fighting a battle that no child should ever have to face, he confronted every obstacle with bravery and grace. There were days when the treatment, the procedures, and the exhaustion must have felt overwhelming, yet Kuba faced them with quiet dignity. He did not complain. Instead, he found ways to make the environment around him brighter—through jokes, stories, laughter, and his unique perspective on life.
One of the most striking things about Kuba was the way he saw the world. He did not measure himself by what he lacked, by the illness that challenged him daily, or by the unfair circumstances of his life. Instead, he focused on the beauty in the world, the love of his family, the friendships he cherished, and the small moments that brought joy. He had a curiosity about life that inspired those around him, encouraging us to slow down, notice the little things, and treasure them.
Kuba also had a remarkable capacity for connection. Friends, family, and caregivers alike felt his presence as a source of calm and reassurance. Even in times of pain, he had the ability to make others feel safe, valued, and seen. His energy was never selfish; it always lifted others. The Warsaw team often recalled moments when Kuba’s laughter would fill a room, dissolving tension, bringing smiles to faces that had long been shadowed by worry and fatigue.
He understood love deeply—not just in the abstract, but in action. Whether it was helping his younger sister, showing appreciation to his parents, or expressing gratitude to his friends, Kuba lived with a generosity of spirit that was profound. He embodied the idea that love is not only a feeling but a practice, a choice we make every day in how we treat others.
Kuba’s journey was a testament to resilience. To endure what he endured required a strength that many adults could not summon. He faced challenges that would shake even the strongest among us, yet he persisted. Each day, he taught those around him that courage does not always roar; sometimes it is the quiet, persistent choice to continue despite adversity, to remain hopeful, and to continue loving even in pain.
Today, we join in sorrow and mourning with his family and loved ones. We extend our most sincere and heartfelt condolences. We share in your grief and stand by you in these most difficult moments. Our hearts ache with yours, yet we also feel immense gratitude for having known Kuba, for having witnessed his spirit, his wisdom, and his boundless kindness.
Kuba’s life reminds us that true greatness is not measured by accolades or achievements but by the love, empathy, and courage we share with others. He exemplified how one person, no matter their age, can make a profound impact on the world simply by being generous, kind, and true to themselves.
Even in his absence, Kuba’s legacy continues. The stories of his life—the laughter, the love, the small but significant gestures—remain with us, inspiring us to live more thoughtfully, to care more deeply, and to act with the same selflessness that he embodied. He has left a mark on the hearts of all who knew him, a light that will continue to guide us.
The Warsaw team, those who spent the most time by his side, recall countless moments that reveal the depth of his character. They remember how he would insist on sharing what little he had, how he would offer comfort to someone struggling, how he celebrated the joys of others even when he faced his own pain. These memories are treasures that will never fade, reminders of a life lived fully, even if far too short.
Kuba’s presence also brought a sense of perspective to everyone around him. He reminded us that life is fragile and precious, that love and compassion are what truly matter, and that even in the darkest moments, light can be found. He taught us that courage is not the absence of fear, but the decision to move forward in spite of it.
Though we grieve, we also honor him by remembering the way he lived. His life, though brief, was full of meaning, impact, and love. We hold onto these memories, sharing them with others, and carrying forward the spirit of generosity, empathy, and resilience that defined him.
Kuba has left this world, but the memory of him will endure forever ?. His spirit, his kindness, and his courage remain with all of us who had the privilege of knowing him. In every act of compassion we perform, in every smile we share, and in every moment we choose to live fully, we honor him.
To his family, friends, and all who loved him, we stand with you. Your sorrow is shared, your grief acknowledged, and your love celebrated. Kuba’s life may have been brief, but it was extraordinary—a life that taught us all how to love more, care more, and live with more courage than we ever thought possible.
Kuba’s story will remain a guiding light. Even though his physical presence is gone, the lessons he imparted, the love he shared, and the example he set will continue to inspire generations. His life, though far too short, was a testament to the beauty of empathy, the power of love, and the strength of the human spirit.
May the memory of Kuba remain eternal, and may we all carry a piece of his extraordinary heart within us. In every kind gesture, every courageous act, every moment of love, we remember him. And though our hearts ache today, we are forever grateful to have known a soul as pure, brave, and extraordinary as Kuba.