The struggle of an 11-year-old boy in a country that ignores him

In a town of around three thousand residents in Laconia, 46-year-old Vasiliki Palli has been waging a quiet but exhausting battle for years for the survival and dignity of her now 11-year-old son — a child on the autism spectrum, with a severe form of autism and non-verbal. It is a struggle that, as she describes it, should not be fought alone, but with the steady and meaningful support of the state and social services. In practice, however, that support is absent, leaving families like hers to grapple daily with insecurity.

The family is single-parent. Vasiliki is raising the child on her own. She herself suffers from autoimmune diseases, is immunocompromised, and has been officially assessed with a 55% disability rate. At the same time, she also cares for her elderly mother, who faces health problems and requires constant support. Although Vasiliki studied nursing, she cannot work in the healthcare sector, as her serious health conditions prevent her from lifting heavy loads or coping with the physically demanding nature of the profession.

“I can’t work in healthcare, not because I don’t want to, but because my body and the circumstances don’t allow it,” she tells NEWS 24/7. “And yet, everything around you operates as if you’re invisible,” she adds. With these words, she describes a daily reality filled with obstacles, financial pressure, and constant mental exhaustion, as she tries to balance caring for her child, managing her own health issues, and facing uncertainty about the future — all without meaningful state support.

Her 11-year-old son attends a special education school and is transported by taxi, which is covered by the regional authorities. However, school attendance represents only a small part of his daily life. The child requires systematic therapies and regular follow-up by various medical specialties, including a child psychiatrist. Some therapies are covered by the national health insurance fund (EOPYY), but others are paid entirely by the mother, significantly increasing the financial burden.

In the area where they live, infrastructure for children with disabilities is virtually non-existent. There are no organized activities, no specialized special education teachers, and no facilities such as Centers for Creative Activities for People with Disabilities (KDAP AmeA). The result is the child’s social and educational exclusion. “My child is forced to spend the entire day at home,” she says. “Not because he doesn’t want to do things, but because there is nothing available in provincial areas. There are no facilities to keep him engaged, no special educators, no activities that provide stimulation. There are no people to support him,” she concludes, describing a reality of isolation.

The comparison with Athens is inevitable. There, as she explains, the child could participate in sports activities, creative programs, and organized therapies through specialized centers. He would have a daily life richer in stimuli, closer to what is considered a basic right for every child, regardless of disability. In the provinces, however, these opportunities simply do not exist.

The need for medical monitoring forces Vasiliki and her son to travel to Athens at least once a month. The costs of transportation, accommodation, and medical tests are overwhelming for the family’s finances. Assistance comes mainly from associations and ordinary citizens who offer financial support so that the necessary hospital visits can take place.

“If these people didn’t exist, I don’t know how I would manage,” she notes. “The state is completely absent, leaving families like mine to fight alone against daily difficulties and dead ends. I have asked for help and support countless times. I have called everywhere, but all the doors are closed. Anything that actually works and is done properly does not come from institutional bodies, but from society — from ordinary people who show solidarity and support when the state fails to do even the bare minimum.”

The situation becomes even more dramatic when she herself needs hospitalization in Athens. As she explains, there is no institutional framework or available facility in the area that could host or care for her child in case she is admitted to hospital for surgery, as has happened many times in the past.

“I worry every day,” she says. “What will happen if I need surgery again? Where will my child stay? And worst of all: what will become of him when I am no longer alive?”

At the special school her son attends, the situation is disheartening. According to the mother, 16 children are being supported solely through the superhuman efforts of the existing staff, without an occupational therapist and without a physical education teacher. These shortcomings are not isolated incidents, but systemic, reflecting the broader problems of the educational and social system.

“It’s not the workers’ fault,” Vasiliki stresses. “It’s the state’s fault for leaving them on their own.” Despite her repeated attempts to reach out to political figures to ask for help and support, as she says, no one truly listened. The responses she received were vague or delayed to the point of having no practical impact on her child’s daily life.

The sense of abandonment is intensified by the loneliness of life in the provinces, where families with children with disabilities often live on the margins, cut off from social activities and educational structures that could offer support and relief. Vasiliki describes her experience as an endless battle, where every small victory requires enormous effort, and where the solidarity of the local community often replaces the support that the state should provide.

“Every day you feel you have to invent solutions out of nothing,” she says, “and the exhaustion is not only physical, but also psychological.”

Her goal is clear: to move to Athens. Not by choice, but out of necessity. “I would like my child to grow up in the provinces,” she says. “But in this country, if a child has serious health problems, the provinces mean exclusion. There is no infrastructure, no state support. The state simply looks the other way, leaving families like mine to fight alone with a daily life full of obstacles and insecurity.”

The family’s details are available to NEWS 24/7, and Vasiliki Palli’s story is not an isolated case. It is yet another piece of evidence that, far from major urban centers, welfare provision and care for children with disabilities remain unmet needs.