💗 Olivia’s Fight — Choosing Hope, One More Time 💗

There are some updates that are harder to write than others.
Not because the words won’t come — but because they carry the weight of everything you’ve tried to hold together.

That’s how it feels for Olivia’s family right now.

They’ve spent years living in the rhythm of hospitals and hope, learning to measure time not by seasons or school terms, but by scans, results, and the quiet in-between.
And now, once again, they find themselves facing choices no parent should ever have to make.

💔 When the Tumours Returned

It began quietly, as it always does.
A routine scan.
A doctor’s voice that softens too much.
The long exhale before bad news.

Since July, Olivia’s head tumour has doubled in size.
Her spinal tumour is more active, though it hasn’t grown much.
And now, there’s a new tumour in her femur — another invader in a body already too familiar with pain.

Her family is still waiting for bone marrow results.
But deep down, they already know the truth: the cancer has found new ways to grow.

For those who’ve followed her story, Olivia is not just another child in treatment — she’s a light, a fighter, a force of joy in the face of relentless hardship.
Her laughter has echoed through hospital corridors, her smile has softened the hardest days.
And yet, behind that brave little grin, her body continues its quiet, exhausting war.

🌿 Two Impossible Choices

This week, the family sat in another meeting room — one they know all too well.
Same walls, same chairs, same knot in the stomach.
Two new options.

Option 1:

Radiate the tumours and continue with palliative chemotherapy.
Option 2: Begin a new clinical trial — one testing the safety and effectiveness of a drug across six types of childhood cancers.

Neither option comes with guarantees.
Neither one promises more time.

But for a family that has already learned to live with uncertainty, trying something new feels like the only way forward.

Olivia has been on the waiting list for this trial since April.
Months of paperwork, waiting, praying, hoping that somehow, this door might open.
And now, it finally has.

“It feels right to at least try,” her mom said.
“This could be a waste of six weeks — or it could be the best few months of her life.”

💛 The Trial

The treatment Olivia is starting uses something called antibody-drug conjugates (ADCs) — a form of targeted immunotherapy that delivers the cancer-fighting drug directly to the proteins on tumour cells.
The goal is simple but profound: destroy cancer cells while sparing healthy ones.

It’s a delicate balance.
A gamble with time.
A whisper of hope wrapped in science.

Olivia is theninth child in the world to receive this drug.
Just nine — across all continents, all the hospitals, all the stories like hers.

The dosage is low, experimental.
At best, it couldslow down the growth of her tumours.
At worst, it might do nothing.

Her parents know it’s not a cure.
They know there will be side effects, hospital trips, long nights, moments of fear.

But they also know that choosing to fight — even when you know you can’t win — is an act of love.

🌈 Chasing Joy

“Right now, we’re hoping for good quality of life,” her mom said softly.
“Less time in hospital, more time outside. More laughter. More joy.”

Because that’s the heart of it — not the drugs or data or clinical terms, but the quiet wish for normal days.
Days where Olivia can play.
Where she can dance in the garden.
Where her parents can watch her be a child, not a patient.

The family has learned to celebrate small victories:
A meal eaten without nausea.
A morning without pain.
A laugh that sounds like sunshine after weeks of worry.

These are the moments that matter now.
The things worth fighting for.

💔 The Weight of Hope

When you live with childhood cancer long enough, hope becomes both a lifeline and a burden.
It gives you strength, but it also hurts to hold.
It’s the thing that keeps you standing when the ground shifts again and again beneath your feet.

Olivia’s parents know this.
They’ve watched their daughter endure more in her young life than most adults ever will.
They’ve stood at her bedside through sleepless nights, counting breaths, whispering prayers into the dark.
And they keep choosing hope — even when it breaks them open.

They call this next phase a risky gamble.
But really, it’s not about risk.
It’s about love.
About trying everything humanly possible because you can’t bear not to.

💗 Six Weeks from Now

In six weeks, Olivia will have another scan.
Six weeks to see whether this drug — this fragile strand of science and faith — is doing anything at all.

Six weeks of waiting, watching, praying.
Six weeks of holding on to the positives, even when the negatives press in.

Her family isn’t naïve.
They know what the statistics say.
They know this treatment isn’t a cure.

But they also know Olivia.
They know her strength, her stubbornness, her light.
And they know that miracles — the real kind — often come quietly, disguised as one more good day.

🌸 Holding On

For now, that’s what they’re doing — holding on.
Holding on to moments of laughter.
Holding on to the way Olivia’s eyes still sparkle when she smiles.
Holding on to every single heartbeat, every breath, every chance to say, “We’re still here.”

They’ve stopped asking for guarantees.
They’re just asking for time — time to love her, to hold her, to fill her world with everything bright and beautiful.

And as they wait for that six-week scan, they’re asking one more thing:
That you hold them in your prayers.

Because sometimes the bravest thing a parent can do isn’t to fight for a cure — it’s to keep chasing joy in the face of the unknown.

💛 Olivia may not be winning the battle in numbers or scans, but in love, laughter, and the fierce grace of her spirit — she’s already victorious.

💫 And as her family faces another uncertain tomorrow, they do it the only way they know how:
With faith.
With courage.
With love that refuses to let go.