Chase
My son. And why I'm doing this.
Kim noticed something wrong with Chase's left eye. He was 2. A cloudiness. We thought maybe from a fall at childcare.
One week: partial retina detachment.
Two weeks: Victorian Eye and Ear. Best ophthalmologists in Australia.
Three weeks: Royal Children's Hospital. Retina detached too long. Can't save it. Remove his eye.
I begged them not to. That's the eye he looks up at me with. I couldn't protect it.
One week to say goodbye to his eye. We took him everywhere. Gave him everything. Held him close.
When they removed it, I felt like I failed him.
After the surgery, I thought that was the worst. We'd hit bottom. We could start healing.
Kim took Chase to his first follow-up alone. I had an exam to study for.
She was alone when they told her Chase had cancer.
I should have been there. I wasn't.
The cancer peeled off his retina. Even with his eye gone, cancer cells were already in his optic nerves. Heading to his brain.
My 2-year-old son. Cancer. Brain.
Everything collapsed. I didn't know how to be a dad anymore. Or a husband. Or a person.
Kim and Chase basically lived at the hospital. I ran between there, home, and my parents' place. Nothing felt real.
I lost myself completely. No positivity left. No spark. Just going through motions. Cold to everyone.
I drank more than I should have. To forget. To numb. To make the thoughts stop.
We flew to America. Proton radiation—not available here. Theoretically safer for his developing brain.
Nothing's perfect. Proton has risks too. We just picked the least terrible option we had.
December 2023: Treatment finished.
When the appointments finally slowed down, I crashed. Completely.
My mental health was gone. I spent months in a dark place I couldn't climb out of.
What kept me from giving up: the people who helped us. Friends who showed up. Family who stayed. Complete strangers who donated, sent messages, just... cared.
I didn't know how to help other families going through this. But I knew I had to try.
Chase is cancer-free.
Kira—his baby sister—was born April 2, 2025.
He's missing an eye. He's braver than I'll ever be.
He sleeps in the room next to mine. When I'm up late working on reports, I think about him. Every analysis I write. Every subscription that goes to help another family. It's all because of him.
I worked as an equity analyst for 7 years. Master of Applied Finance. RG146 compliant. It's the only thing I'm actually qualified to do.
So I'm using that. Writing research. Trying to make it good enough that people will pay for it. Using those subscriptions to help families dealing with childhood cancer.
I don't know if I'm doing it right. I don't know if it's making a difference yet. But I'm trying.
This isn't a success story. Chase is alive and that's what matters. Everything else is just... trying to do something good with the worst thing that ever happened to us.
I'm not a guru. I'm not an entrepreneur.
I'm a dad who failed to save his son's eye.
Who wasn't there when his wife got the worst news.
Who fell apart and is still putting himself back together.
I'm just trying to turn the worst year into something that helps other families survive theirs.
If you subscribe, part of it helps families facing childhood cancer
That's the only thing that makes any of this worthwhile