Jaundice to organ damage – my baby’s health is worsening. Save him!

His cradle is still empty. His clothes are untouched. But the hospital bills keep growing. Now, the doctors say he needs at least 25 more days in the NICU, and the treatment will cost INR 8,00,000.00. 

My baby, Naitik, is just 20 days old—he hasn’t even opened his eyes to the world properly, and yet he’s already fighting for his life. I carried him for nine months, dreaming of lullabies, bedtime stories, and tiny footsteps filling our home with laughter. But instead of bringing him home to our family, I’m sitting outside the NICU, praying for his next breath.

He was born on May 6th, 2025, and everything seemed fine at first. But within days, his skin turned yellow. We rushed him to the hospital. They said it was jaundice. But things got worse—much worse. His tiny body began shutting down. He was diagnosed with severe metabolic acidosis and hyperglycemia. The doctors told us his condition was critical, and they admitted him immediately to the NICU at Neonest Hospital, Delhi.

Since then, I’ve barely seen him. He’s connected to wires and tubes, machines doing the job his little organs cannot. I haven’t held him in days. I can’t feed him, soothe him, or even wipe his tears—because he is too fragile to be touched.

We’ve already spent ₹1.5 lakhs by borrowing at high interest. But now, we have nothing left to give—except this plea.

My husband, Bablu, is a simple halwai. He works long hours, earns between ₹10,000–15,000 a month, and supports not just me and our two sons, but also his younger brother and his mother in the village.

We live in Delhi, in a small rented space. Until a few weeks ago, we were just like any other family—our older son Kartik, just four years old, had started school, and we were overjoyed to welcome our second child. Life was simple, but full of hope.

Now, we are drowning—in fear, in debt, and in helplessness.

I sit on hospital floors, holding back tears as bills are handed to us. Relatives have turned away. There’s no gold left to sell, no land to mortgage, and no income that can support the storm we’re caught in. I cry silently next to other mothers in the waiting room, but inside, I’m screaming.

Please, I’m begging you—don’t let my baby slip away from me. He hasn’t even felt sunlight on his skin, hasn’t smiled at his brother, and hasn't known what it means to be home.

He has his whole life ahead of him. We dream of seeing him grow up strong, wearing a police uniform—his father’s proudest dream. But that future depends on your kindness now.

Please help us. Please help Naitik live. Your support can give our baby boy the chance to survive—and the chance to come home. From the depths of a mother’s breaking heart, I beg you—save my child.