Mayko’s Story: A Mother Who Held on to Life

Dear readers, today I want to share with you a true life story. The heroine of this story is "Mayko"… my husband’s mother. All our friends call her "Mayko."

When she came to live with us last year, she had already been diagnosed with cirrhosis in Belgium. She was very ill. In fact, her coming was not a choice but rather a necessity, because she was showing no signs of recovery.

At the airport, my husband welcomed her. She could not walk; she had to use a wheelchair. Because of her liver disease, she had completely lost her appetite—she could not eat. Her stomach and feet were swollen with edema. My husband wasted no time in starting her treatment process. She had to remain in the hospital for two long and difficult months. Her blood values were very low, and the doctors said she needed a liver transplant. Mayko had officially become one of the thousands waiting on the transplant list.

In those days, life had stopped for us. Days and weeks revolved only around her. We no longer had our own lives; there was only one purpose: for Mayko to get better.

And then, a miracle happened… Slowly, step by step, she began to recover. As those who know cirrhosis are aware, there is no definitive cure. Every year, thousands lose their lives to liver failure or wait endlessly for transplants. But for Mayko, a change of environment, a transformation in lifestyle, our care, and most importantly, the love of her grandchildren… all came together and brought her back to life. First, her appetite returned. She began to eat healthily. Yes, the edema continued, and at times she needed paracentesis, but she was no longer so close to death.

She also began drinking artichoke juice every morning. It became a little ritual. Perhaps its scientific validity is debatable, but for Mayko it definitely worked. Every morning, she would add a small amount of artichoke juice to a glass of water and drink it. Step by step, her body began to heal.

By the fifth month, the edema was under control. Her liver had slowly begun to regenerate. Albumin production was still weak, but medications kept it balanced. Her body weight, which had fallen to 48–49 kilos, began to rise again. She started taking short walks and spending time by the seaside. Most importantly, she now believed she could recover. She believed wholeheartedly that she would witness her grandchildren growing up, that she would spend time with them. And at that stage of life, isn’t the love of grandchildren the strongest tie to hold on to?

By the seventh month, everything was much clearer. She felt good. Better than she had in a very long time. She had reached 54–55 kilos, and the swelling had completely disappeared. Her checkups were no longer frequent; they were scheduled once every three months. For seven months, we had been by her side every single moment. But now it was time for her to live in her own home again. She needed her own space, her own home.

My dear husband, as always, acted quickly. A house was rented nearby, and the necessary furniture was provided. We have a little secret: in our home, money is never discussed. Whatever we have is spent only on needs. Sometimes I see my husband quiet, lost in thought. I know how much he struggles inside, but he never shows it. And all I need to do is make him feel that I am by his side—with a hug, a kiss.

Today, Mayko lives in her own home, caring for dozens of flowers on her terrace. Her grandchildren visit almost every day. They drink plenty of lemonade and fresh fruit juice together. Sometimes they even spend the night with her. Two little boys, aged nine and three, and their grandmother Mayko… And we, now, are simply the guests in this story, sipping coffee.

And behind all of this, quietly supporting every step of Mayko’s recovery, was the true, hidden hero: my husband. From the moment she arrived, he devoted himself entirely to her care, often putting aside his own needs, his own rest, and his own comfort. He would wake before dawn to prepare her meals, make sure she had her medicine on time, and quietly monitor her vitals without making her feel like a patient. Each night, he would sit beside her bed, holding her hand, whispering words of encouragement, reminding her that she was not alone in this fight.

He never sought recognition, never complained, yet his presence was the steady foundation upon which Mayko’s fragile hope was rebuilt. His patience was unyielding, his love unwavering, and his devotion went far beyond what anyone could expect. There were nights when exhaustion weighed heavily on him, but he never let it show. He understood, perhaps more than anyone else, that hope is contagious, and his calm, steady spirit infused Mayko with the courage to believe in recovery.

Watching him, I realized that heroism is not always loud or celebrated. Sometimes, it is found in quiet acts of compassion, in consistent care, in showing up every day without fail. It was in his gentle encouragement, his tireless efforts, and his steadfast commitment that Mayko found the strength to cling to life. I am endlessly grateful for him, not only as the love of my life but as the guardian angel who quietly turned despair into hope.

People are always searching for happiness, often thinking it lies in grand achievements, material possessions, or distant dreams. Yet the shortest, most genuine path to happiness is simpler and closer than most realize: it is in making someone else happy. Small acts of kindness, thoughtful gestures, and sincere attention to the well-being of those we love carry immense power. When we selflessly give our time, our care, and our love, we create ripples that return to us in unexpected ways, filling our own hearts with warmth and contentment.

Being selfless does not mean neglecting oneself, but rather understanding that joy multiplies when shared. By supporting others, comforting them in their struggles, celebrating their successes, and simply being present, we discover a deep and lasting satisfaction that no possession can provide. Making an effort for your loved ones, listening to them, and nurturing their happiness is not only a gift to them but a profound way to nurture your own spirit. In these moments, happiness is not a distant goal—it is a living, breathing experience, built through care, compassion, and connection.

Our prayers were answered. Mayko held on to life. We were only the means. It simply wasn’t her time yet. May God grant a second chance to everyone who longs for one. Stay healthy, always.