The day everything changed: Maverick's story
You always hear people talk about the moment that changed their life forever and how they wish they’d been more prepared. But that’s the irony of it. You’re never prepared. I know I wasn’t in January 2023.
On that day, my daughter Dalia found my son Maverick crying in the snow on the playground. Something didn’t feel right, so she walked him to the school’s office and insisted they call me. I didn’t know it then, but her quick thinking saved his life.
When I arrived, Maverick was slumped on a bench, covered in vomit. His words were slow and tangled, and he couldn’t keep his balance. We rushed to the emergency room and were told to wait. Then he collapsed in the waiting room.
I remember yelling for help, the Code Pink being called, and holding my newborn, Salvador, while a team fought to keep my six-year-old alive.
We were transferred to SickKids, where we learned an Arteriovenous Malformation (AVM) had ruptured in Maverick’s brain, causing severe bleeding. He was rushed into surgery and had four brain operations in the weeks that followed. We were told his cerebellum was gone and that he might never open his eyes again. My husband I never left his side.
Learning how to have hope again
When we were told Maverick was ready to transfer as an inpatient to Holland Bloorview, I was terrified. But from the moment we arrived, something shifted. For the first time in months, I felt hope, like I could breathe. Maverick had a team who didn’t see him as a diagnosis, but as a child with possibility.
He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move independently, and needed a feeding tube to survive.
He always smiled. And that smile carried us through the hardest days.
When Maverick found his voice
One afternoon during music therapy, Maverick began to hum along with the song. It was the first voluntary sound he’d made since everything happened. We were joyfully stunned. Maverick beamed with pride.
Later that same day, with support from his speech therapy team, that hum turned into words. Maverick looked at me and said, “I love you, Mama.”
He kept repeating it proudly. My son found his voice again.
A new, joyful beginning
Progress didn’t arrive all at once, but it came steadily. Maverick learned how to stand upright in a stander, how to hold a marker again, and how to take steps with support.
Then, in August 2023, after more than four months, we were discharged. Soon after, Maverick said goodbye to his feeding tube. But even as an outpatient family, our anchor has remained Holland Bloorview.
Maverick still looks forward to his physiotherapy and occupational therapy sessions, and he’s joined programs like robotics, camp, and Heroes Circle. The care didn’t stop when we walked out the hospital doors. It grew with him.
Today, Maverick primarily uses a walker. He creates art every day, has made friends, and travels. These are beautiful milestones we once hoped would happen — and here we are, celebrating each one.
Holland Bloorview didn’t just help Maverick heal. They also gave us the tools, hope, and support to build a new life. They reminded us that recovery is ongoing, that healing is layered, and that joy is still possible. Each and every single day.
Words by Janna, Maverick’s mom
