Toddler’s eye ”melts away” after wrong person kissed him
Anyone who’s had children has likely seen them suffer from eye infections now and then.
But when Michelle Saaiman took a closer look at her son’s eye, she made a horrifying discovery.
Thought it was a April Fool’s joke
A heart-wrenching story has emerged about a little boy who’s facing the terrifying reality of losing his eye after contracting herpes in his cornea from a kiss.
It’s every parent’s worst nightmare — watching their child suffer from something they never expected.
Michelle Saaiman, from Namibia, noticed something unusual in her 16-month-old son, Juwan’s eye last August, initially thinking it was just an eye infection. But when antibiotic drops didn’t work and the infection worsened, a specialist confirmed the unimaginable: Juwan had contracted herpes simplex virus (HSV), likely from someone with an active cold sore kissing him around his eye.
Facebook / Michelle Saaiman
The diagnosis left Michelle and her husband in shock.
Michelle told Metro, “The doctor was telling me there’s a fever blister growing in my child’s cornea. I was literally looking at the doctor wondering whether it’s April 1, because I thought it was an April Fool’s joke.”
Why his eye ”melted away”
Sadly, the herpes caused so much damage to Juwan’s cornea that he became completely blind in that eye. Juwan’s eye began to “melt away” as the natural lubrication was lost, and a 4mm hole opened up. At one point, doctors feared he might lose his eye completely.
“By that time, the herpes just caused so much damage that he essentially lost all feeling in the eye, and he could not see anything,” Michelle shared. “It meant the brain did not recognize the eye anymore and stopped sending signals to the eye. The gel later protecting the eye evaporated, and the eye dried out.”
To give their son a fighting chance, Juwan’s parents flew him to Cape Town for specialized treatment.
The toddler underwent amnion graft surgery in hopes of saving his cornea. His eyelids were stitched together as a precaution, and the family is planning another major surgery in April to transfer nerves from his leg to his eye. If successful, this procedure will pave the way for a cornea transplant next year.
Despite all he’s been through, Michelle says Juwan has been incredibly brave. “Juwan is such a trooper, he’s really just always had a smile on his face. But he was in severe pain,” she said. “It is not fair for such a tiny human to go through all that.”
Uncertainty and challenges
At first, Michelle and her husband were understandably “really, really angry” at the person responsible for passing the herpes virus onto their son.
“Both my husband and myself, we were just angry with whoever was so selfish to kiss my child in his face with an active fever blister,” Michelle said. “Kisses come from a place of love. So whoever gave him this, I’m sure it wasn’t done intentionally or with any idea to do him harm.”
Facebook / Michelle Saaiman
The family’s journey has been filled with uncertainty and challenges. Juwan’s parents had to navigate weeks of medical procedures, including contacting experts in New York for the right medication. They lived in constant fear that the herpes could spread to his brain or his other eye.
Although the virus has been somewhat contained, the damage to Juwan’s eye is irreversible, and his parents are still fighting to save his vision.
Raising awareness
Michelle is raising awareness about the serious risks of spreading the herpes virus and how something as seemingly harmless as a kiss can cause irreversible harm.
”A fever blister is supposed to be on your lips or in your mouth,” she said. ”I’ve never in my life heard of a fever blister growing on someone’s cornea.”
She wrote a lengthy post on Facebook about the incident, which has since gone viral. A fundraiser has also been set up to help with the astronomical costs of Juwan’s treatment, which include flights to South Africa and expensive medication.
If you feel compelled to help, Michelle says every contribution makes a difference. ”It’s been a long, hard road, and we’re doing everything we can to save our son’s eye.”
Awareness post. I’ve been contemplating whether to share our devastating experience over the past 7 months. I usually…
Posted by Michelle Saaiman on Monday, February 17, 2025
Many are likely aware that you should keep your distance from young children when you’re sick, something that became even more evident during the pandemic years.
However, it’s easy to forget, and sometimes people just want to show love to little ones or give them a light kiss. But in this case, things went horribly wrong, and it’s important to remind others of the risks.
This story serves as a powerful reminder to always be cautious about spreading viruses, especially around vulnerable children. We’re keeping our fingers crossed for brave and wonderful Juwan — he and his family need all the strength we can send their way!
My BIL Borrowed Money from Us for 11 Years – When My Husband Asked for It Back, He Handed Us a Folder Marked ‘Paid in Full’
For eleven years, I believed my brother-in-law had lied every time he promised to repay us. Then one unexpected discovery inside his home destroyed everything I thought I knew and made me wonder whether we had judged him too quickly.
The last thing I expected to uncover in Pete’s house was proof that we had been wrong about him for more than a decade.
Sometimes his car needed urgent repairs.
Sometimes he had fallen behind on the mortgage.
Other times it was a medical expense, a plumbing disaster, or another emergency that somehow could not wait until his next paycheck.
Every request sounded desperate.
Every promise sounded genuine.
“I’ll pay you back as soon as I’m back on my feet.”
George always believed him.
My husband had a generous heart, especially where family was concerned.
At first, I agreed.
We had both been taught that family members helped one another.
But after several years, I stopped believing Pete’s problems were temporary.
Whenever George mentioned repayment, his brother produced another reason he could not manage it yet.
Weeks became months.
Months became years.
George kept a small notebook inside his bedside drawer.
He recorded every loan with the date and amount.
One evening, I found him turning through its pages.
“You still keep track?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Why? We both know we’re never seeing that money again.”
He sighed and closed the notebook.
“It isn’t really about the money anymore.”
“What is it about?”
“A promise.”
The answer hurt.
Pete had not only failed to repay a debt.
He had broken his brother’s trust.
Oddly, neither of us ever discussed the loans with Nancy, Pete’s wife.
She was among the kindest women I had ever met.
At family dinners, she always made certain everyone else had enough food before sitting down herself.
I often wondered whether she even knew how frequently her husband borrowed from us.
Whenever money came up, Pete quickly changed the subject if Nancy entered the room.
“You think she’s in the dark?” George asked me once.
“I honestly don’t know.”
Neither of us wanted finances to become the reason our families separated.
Eventually, we stopped asking.
We accepted that the money was gone.
Then one Friday evening, Pete called.
George answered while I folded laundry.
After only a few seconds, he looked toward me.
“It’s Pete.”
His brother rarely called unless another problem had appeared.
Before either of us could react, Pete added quietly, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to settle.”
My hands stopped over the towels.
George raised his eyebrows at me.
When the call ended, we remained silent for several moments.
Then George smiled for the first time in weeks.
“Maybe he’s finally ready.”
“For what?”
“To pay us back.”
For the first time in years, we genuinely believed our money might be returned.
The following evening, we drove to their home carrying a bottle of wine.
Nancy welcomed us with her usual warmth.
“I’m so glad you came.”
Her embrace lasted slightly longer than normal.
“You look tired,” I whispered.
“I haven’t been sleeping very well,” she admitted before forcing another smile.
Dinner felt strangely ordinary.
Roast chicken.
Mashed potatoes.
Fresh green beans.
Nancy had prepared everything herself.
Anyone watching would have assumed we were simply four relatives enjoying a pleasant meal.
But small details kept catching my attention.
Nancy seemed distracted.
Several times, I saw her studying Pete with an expression I could not identify.
Concern.
Sadness.
Perhaps guilt.
“I’ll make coffee,” she said softly before disappearing into the kitchen.
She returned and placed cups before us without saying much.
Dessert plates still remained on the table when George finally leaned forward.
“So…”
Pete looked up.
Pete slowly nodded. “There is.”
He folded his napkin carefully.
Then he met George’s eyes.
“George… I’ve paid my debt.”
George blinked.
Then he laughed.
“I said I’ve finally paid my debt.”
Pete inhaled slowly.
“Paid in full.”
Silence filled the dining room.
Eventually, George shook his head.
“You haven’t paid back a single cent.”
“Then explain it.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
George frowned.
Pete lowered his gaze.
“I can’t.”
George pushed his chair away from the table.
“You invite us over, tell me something that makes absolutely no sense, and then expect me to wait?”
“I know how it sounds.”
“It sounds like another excuse.”
Pete looked genuinely wounded.
George laughed bitterly.
“Trust is exactly what you’ve spent 11 years destroying.”
Nancy placed one hand gently on her husband’s shoulder.
Pete covered it with his own but remained silent.
Tears gathered in Nancy’s eyes.
She quickly turned away.
Neither brother spoke again before we left.
The drive home was painfully quiet.
Eventually, I asked, “What do you think he meant?”
George kept his eyes fixed on the road.
“I have no idea.”
“You don’t believe him.”
“No.”
His grip tightened around the steering wheel.
“If he had proof, he’d have shown it.”
I could not disagree.
For the following week, neither of us mentioned the dinner.
We barely spoke about Pete at all.
Then one evening, my phone rang.
His voice sounded entirely different.
Broken.
“Angie…”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
A long silence followed.
I could not speak.
Only a week earlier, Nancy had been serving us coffee.
Now she was gone.
The funeral was arranged quickly.
Everyone who had known Nancy came to say goodbye.
After the service, Pete asked George and me to remain for a few minutes.
Once the others had left, he looked completely exhausted.
“I hate asking this.”
George said nothing.
“I don’t have enough money to pay for the funeral.”
Neither of us responded.
Pete named the amount.
It was larger than any sum he had requested before.
My stomach sank.
Part of me wanted to refuse.
Another part could not imagine denying a man on the day he buried his wife.
George closed his eyes.
Then he asked quietly, “When do you need it?”
He looked toward me.
I gave the smallest nod.
Neither of us wanted to lend Pete another dollar.
But how could we refuse someone who had just lost the person he loved?
So we gave him the money.
A week after the funeral, Pete called again.
The following afternoon, we drove to his house.
He had not returned yet.
“I have to meet with the solicitor,” he explained over the phone.
“The key’s under the flowerpot.”
We let ourselves inside.
I began collecting a few keepsakes for George.
Then he suddenly stopped in the hallway.
“That’s strange,” he murmured.
“What is?”
“I’ve never seen that room open before.”
One door stood slightly ajar.
Beyond it was a home office.
Designer furniture.
Floor-to-ceiling walnut shelves.
A massive mahogany desk.
Original artwork covering the walls.
I stared in disbelief.
How could someone who claimed he could not repay a debt maintain a room like this?
George’s jaw tightened.
Without speaking, he walked inside.
Most drawers contained ordinary records.
Bills.
Insurance documents.
Bank statements.
Then we found a black binder.
Across its cover, written in marker, was one word.
George.
I looked at my husband.
“Should we?”
He did not answer.
He simply opened it.
“What?” I whispered.
George said nothing.
I moved beside him.
At the top of the first page was a date from eleven years earlier.
His face became completely pale.
Then he turned the page.
It was not a bank record or legal agreement.
It was a handwritten letter.
Across the top, in neat handwriting, were the words:
“For George. If you’re reading this, then it’s finally time for you to know the truth.”
I looked at him.
His hands began trembling as he continued.
“George, I know this binder will probably make you angry before it makes sense. I only ask that you read every page before you decide what to think of me.”
“Eleven years ago, when Nancy became ill, I borrowed money because I truly had no other choice. Every dollar you lent us helped pay for her treatment.”
“I promised I’d pay you back. I meant it every single time I said those words.”
Behind the letter sat a copy of the first check George had ever written to his brother.
The amount matched the opening entry in the notebook inside our bedroom drawer.
Next to it was another column marked Investment Fund Deposit.
The amount was far smaller.
Only seventy-five dollars.
Then fifty.
Then one hundred twenty.
I frowned.
“What is this?”
George continued turning pages.
Beneath each loan were dozens of smaller deposits.
Sometimes twenty dollars.
Sometimes three hundred.
Occasionally months passed without a contribution.
But the deposits always resumed.
Every payment had gone into the same long-term investment account.
Nancy had written comments throughout the margins.
“Sold my old jewellery today. Another $180 into the fund.”
“Skipped our anniversary trip. George comes first.”
“Tax refund arrived. Straight into the investment.”
“Finally had a better month. We can add a little extra.”
By the eighth year, the deposits were arriving almost every month.
Tears stung my eyes.
“They never stopped,” I whispered.
George shook his head.
“No.”
He kept reading.
The account had been established eleven years earlier.
Every contribution appeared there.
Every dividend.
Every year of growth.
Attached near the front was a recent valuation.
One sentence at the bottom had been highlighted in yellow.
George frowned.
“That’s…”
I glanced at the wall calendar.
“Today.”
Pete had included one final note.
“George, yesterday I checked the final valuation. The investment has matured. It is finally worth more than everything I ever borrowed from you, including the interest I calculated myself. That’s why I told you my debt had already been paid in full.”
“I wasn’t guessing. I already knew the money was there.”
For eleven years, we had believed Pete was making no effort.
The reality was almost impossible to absorb.
He had been trying every month.
The front door opened.
Pete entered carrying a small box.
When he saw us holding the binder, he stopped.
George stared at him.
“You were saving all this time?”
Pete nodded.
“I had to.”
“You could have told me.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
Pete looked toward the office window before replying.
“Because I was ashamed.”
He walked over and rested a hand against the chair Nancy had used.
“The first year I honestly believed I’d repay you in months.”
He smiled sadly.
“The treatments became more expensive.”
“We kept falling behind.”
His gaze dropped toward the binder.
“I realised I couldn’t keep making promises I wasn’t able to keep.”
“So I made a different promise.”
“The day I paid you back, I wanted it to be everything.”
“No more excuses.”
“No more partial payments.”
A weak smile appeared.
“Nancy wouldn’t let me miss a single deposit.”
“‘George will understand,’ I’d say.”
He wiped his eyes.
“She always answered the same way: ‘George trusted us.'”
“‘We’re going to honor that trust.'”
Pete opened the small box.
Several folders had been arranged neatly inside.
He removed one and handed it to George.
George opened it.
His eyes moved across the document.
I watched disbelief turn into shock.
At the bottom was the final account balance.
It exceeded the total George had recorded in his notebook.
“The investment performed better than anyone expected,” Pete explained.
“The adviser called me last week.”
“He said after taxes there would still be more than enough to repay every loan.”
He paused.
“And enough to repay the funeral money.”
His breath shook.
“But Nancy deserved the funeral she wanted.”
George slowly closed the folder.
For several moments, neither brother spoke.
“I never imagined Nancy would be gone before I got the chance to show you.”
Silence settled over the office.
George looked again at the binder.
Inside a transparent sleeve was a folded letter addressed to him.
Nancy’s handwriting was instantly recognizable.
George unfolded it carefully.
“Dear George, if you’ve reached this page, then our plan finally worked. You probably spent years believing we’d forgotten what we owed you. Please don’t be angry. Every deposit we made carried your name with it.”
“Whenever we wanted to spend money on ourselves, we asked one question. ‘Have we done right by George yet?’ We always chose the fund.”
“I know you think you only lent your brother money. What you really gave us was 11 more years together. Thank you. Love always, Nancy.”
By the time George finished, tears covered his face.
I had never seen my husband cry before.
He folded the letter quietly.
Then he reached inside his jacket and removed the notebook containing every loan.
Every promise.
Every disappointment.
He studied it for a long moment.
Then, without speaking, he tore out the pages.
One by one.
“I was wrong,” he said quietly.
Pete shook his head.
“You had every reason to think what you did.”
“No.”
George moved toward him.
Pete’s eyes filled with tears.
“I never stopped trying to deserve your trust.”
The brothers embraced.
Neither said another word.
They did not need to.
—
One month later, the funds cleared.
Pete transferred every dollar into our account.
George called him immediately.
“You sent too much.”
Pete laughed quietly.
“No. I sent just right.”
“I can’t take all of this,” George repeated.
“You can. Just take me out for dinner and we’ll call it even,” Pete joked.
George smiled.
“I’ll take you out to dinner as many times as you’d like.”
Some promises require years to fulfill.
And sometimes the greatest mistake is not lending someone money.
It is believing they forgot what they owed when they were quietly honoring the debt all along.
But the real question remains:
If someone damaged your trust for years, only for you to discover they had been working privately to keep their promise the entire time, could you forgive all those years of doubt?
Or would the pain run too deeply to release?
