"I Ran To The Hospital, With My Son Bleeding In My Arms..."

I had just returned from work when I heard a scream. A loud thud followed. I ran outside, and there he was. My baby. My 7-month-old son. Bleeding. Motionless. I picked him up with trembling hands. His tiny body soaked my shirt in blood. I ran barefoot, crying, begging to get to the hospital.  I just kept saying, “Please, save my child.”

Doctors admitted him immediately. After six days, they said he was stable. We thought the worst was over. We were wrong. After we brought him home, his condition began to worsen. Every time he cried, it felt like something inside me was tearing apart. We took him to another hospital, where they did more scans. That’s when we found out the real damage; the skull had fractured badly. Blood was pooling inside, pressing against his brain. The doctor says surgery is the only way. And it has to happen within the next 10 days. There’s no time left.

I sell snacks on the street. We’ve already sold my wife’s wedding jewellery and our only piece of land.
I’ve stopped working — my days now go in hospital queues and desperate attempts to raise funds.
But the surgery costs more than we could ever afford. 

My other two children barely speak. My eldest has gone silent. My daughter keeps asking, “When will he play with me again?” We don’t know how to answer. My wife cries quietly at night. Everything feels heavy. Still. Waiting. 

This surgery can save our baby. But we can’t afford it alone. Please, donate whatever you can. Every rupee counts. I’ve done all I can as a father. Now, I’m placing my last hope in your hands.