29/01/2026
29 January - 30 January
This time last year, we went to the eye specialist thinking Amelia’s headaches might mean she just needed a new prescription for her glasses.
Instead, within minutes, everything shifted.
They found optic nerve swelling and asked us to hold tight while they rang specialists in New Plymouth. Our afternoon plans were cancelled immediately and we were sent straight there.
We spent hours doing test after test. Late in the day, they finally said it wasn’t an eye issue, it was a brain issue. We were sent to ED and an MRI was booked for the following morning.
I remember ringing my sister in an absolute state. Dropping the other kids off. Walking into hospital with Amelia while trying to stay upright. We were sent home that night, but neither Mac nor I slept.
We both knew.
We felt it in our bodies.
It felt exactly the same as with Bodhi, that heavy, sinking knowing.
30 January.
Amelia was an absolute blood champion, IVs, needles, scans, talking through everything like the brave little soul she is. We went up early for her MRI. The waiting felt endless.
Mac and I barely spoke. Just looks. We already knew the news wouldn’t be good.
When Bodhi’s head doctor came in and asked if we could step into a private room, I took a huge breath and said, “Are we really doing this again?”
I didn’t want to go.
Mac stood up, grabbed me, and said, “Come on.”
By the time that door closed, I think our souls had already left. They showed us the scans. The tumour. Where it was. They told us we’d need to go to Starship. We completely broke.
It was like living in full déjà vu, the anger, the disbelief, the why the f**k is this happening again? How do you even begin to tell your child something like this?
When we walked back out, familiar Bodhi nurses and faces looked at us, and they knew. That look alone undid me.
We went outside to call family. I rang my sister and couldn’t get words out, I just howled in the carpark. She knew immediately and said, “I’m coming.”
The rest is a blur. A quiet transfer to an ambulance. A Life Flight to Auckland. Arriving at Starship and being triaged in the same room we had been in with Bodhi.
That was too much. I was not okay.
The air crew were incredible, calm, kind, steady when I wasn't.
And then began another chapter we never asked for.
This past year hasn’t followed a clear path.
Amelia’s journey has been very different from Bodhi’s. There hasn’t been a straightforward plan, and that uncertainty has been one of the hardest things to live with.
Her tumour has grown.
And so has she.
She has faced all of this with a bravery that still amazes us, showing up, pushing through, and somehow still being her. Fun, adventurous, curious, and full of life.
We are so incredibly proud of the young lady she is. Every single day.
This time last year changed us.
These days still live in our bodies.
And writing this still hurts, because it mattered, and it still does.