By the time I don my shoes for this race, our son B will have just turned four.

On the first day of his life, he was displaying some weird behaviour. He would contort and cry with an ear-piercing scream. He was our first, so everything was new. Mothers' intuition kicked in, and Jess, his mum, just instinctively knew something was wrong. We had multiple paediatricians visit. Grateful for the dedication of one nurse who backed Jess's intuition and advocated for B, calling in the team, and at that exact moment, he stopped breathing. The team were fast. They took B from our arms and put him straight into a ventilator. Then we watched as he was wheeled from the room and put into an induced coma. To limit the damage. Many, many tests, scans, preventative medication, all the antibiotics and a wild couple of days, the conclusion was B had a stroke.

B's MRI was intense; a quarter of his brain had shut down. The team shared the news honestly and kindly. The chances of a normal life were slim.

A great team helped us give B the best chance. The first year was remarkable. The medical teams were proactive and thorough. Early intervention, therapy, and monitoring came before any crisis. It worked. Now, B is four, energetic, and loves to run. To most, you wouldn't know anything had happened.

That outcome is not luck. It’s the result of people who showed up early and showed up properly.

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Since his first year, we’ve moved countries three times. Each move has meant starting over, new doctors, new referrals, new battles to prove what happened and why it still matters.

Back in the UK, the most common response we hear is: “Did he actually have a stroke?” Because he’s not presenting badly enough. Because he doesn’t fit the threshold. Because an overstretched system can only respond to a crisis, not to prevention.

The irony is that the reason he’s doing so well is precisely because of that early support. The better the intervention, the harder it becomes to justify continued care. It’s a system that punishes its own successes.

Support networks like the Stroke Foundation have been lifelines. They put us in contact with places like White Lodge, where he has received significant physical therapy.

White Lodge recently lost its funding to the private sector, another example of what happens when underfunded systems can no longer hold the line.

These charities exist to fill the gaps left by overstretched healthcare systems. For stroke survivors of all ages, their carers, their families - the Stroke Foundation provides the support, awareness, and connection which the system alone cannot.

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This August, I’m running an ultramarathon.

I've done long-distance before, like the London Marathon, and never wanted to repeat it. But now it's a chance to give back to a team that has always given their time, expertise, and care.

B loves to run. It feels like the right way to do this.

Every pound raised goes to the Stroke Foundation to keep support and awareness growing and to help families who are where we were four years ago avoid facing it alone.

If you’ve read this far, thank you. If you’d like to support families like ours, please donate to the Stroke Foundation. Your contribution will make a real difference to families facing this journey.

* the Bond’s

ps, if you're going through this or something similar, I'm always happy to chat.