Passive Bike Pedals: The Distance We Travel Without Leaving the Ward

Monday 15th December 2025 began with a different kind of movement. Maya this time has been introduced to the bike by her physiotherapist, cycling from her hospital bed. It was all PASSIVE, as she still doesn’t have any active movement in her legs—but it was movement all the same. Maya managed around 0.7km. It might not sound like much, but here it really is. Every turn of the pedals matters. Every little effort counts. I could see Maya’s muscles were burning from the exercise but it was good!

Later, Grandad Mike, Nanny Dora and our lovely friend Pat came to see Maya. Having them there filled the room with warmth and familiarity, and it gave me a small chance to step away from the ward. I went for a quick swim and picked up a few essentials—toiletries and water bottles. Simple, everyday things that somehow feel like a TREAT (!) when hospital life becomes your normal.

The OT team then helped hoist Maya into the tilted chair. She managed just over an hour, which felt like a real achievement. These moments take a lot out of her, and every extra minute upright feels hard won.

I treated myself to a boba tea (taro milk tea with boba pearls), Maya’s favourite! Maya watched with interest, as she always does. We carefully tried a tiny drop of taro boba milk tea, and she swallowed it. Every single drop. No coughing. No distress. Such a small moment, but one that stayed with me long after.

I also spoke with another dad on the ward—one of those conversations you don’t forget. His 12-year-old son, a talented footballer who had never been unwell, came home one day with a headache. Then came vomiting and dizziness. Twice they were told it was viral. On the third visit, the father pushed for a CT scan as mother insisted her gut feeling says it isn’t just a “viral infection” that’s doing the rounds this winter. They found a grape-sized mass.

By the time his son was properly referred and seen—12 days later—the tumour had grown to the size of an egg.

Stories like this really make you stop and think.

They remind you how important it is to be present. To be grateful. To never take an ordinary day for granted.

“Be in the moment, always. Life can change in an instant, and none of us know what tomorrow will bring.”

As always, I’m grateful—truly grateful—for every breath, every small step forward, and every act of kindness shown to us.

This Christmas, please consider sharing Maya’s story, and the stories of all the children fighting childhood cancer.

If you’ve never had to hear the word neuroblastoma, please know how lucky you are.

And if you’re able, every penny donated helps ease the heavy financial burden families like ours carry alongside the emotional one.

Thank you for walking this journey with us 🤍