TOKYO, Japan – One of the stories that have most affected us in the Tokyo bureau has been the trials of Japanese families trying to get life saving organ transplants for their children.

We have spoken to several such families, and profiled two of them. In both cases, the emotions involved are some of the most intense I have been through at this job.

These are parents fighting for, and sometimes losing, the lives of their children. But what is most striking is not the tragedy, it is the strength and determination of these families.

Just a few weeks ago, we had done a story about Japan’s organ transplant law and its effects on families whose children need a transplant to survive.

The law required donors to have provided written consent, and prohibited those younger than 15 years old from donating organs.

With next to no donors under 15, many Japanese families with children in need of transplants were forced to go abroad, in many cases in order to keep their children alive.

What’s more, the costs of doing so are exorbitant, at times between $1 million and $2 million dollars. Of course, very few families can afford to pay that much, so a system sprang up where those who had been through the process taught other families the best ways to raise donations.

They sought donations in the streets, in Japanese media, and on the Internet.

In our original report, we followed the family of 11-year-old Hiroki Ando, who suffered from cardiomyopathy. His doctors told him he needed a transplant in order to survive.

Hiroki’s parents had already lost one child who had the same condition, and they were determined to do everything they could to keep Hiroki alive. Read the story

This week, Japan’s parliament voted to change the organ transplant law.

The law is complex, and the central change is that now death for the purposes of organ donation would be brain death, not the stopping of the heart. Though it won’t take effect for a year, the new law will make it easier for children to receive donations at home in Japan.

We visited the Nakazawa family, who had campaigned to have the law changed. Their interest could hardly be more personal, as they had lost their 16-month old son Soutaro last December. He died in a hospital in California after they had managed to raise the 1.7 million dollars needed.

Doctors asked them why the Japanese children who came for transplants always arrived so late. Anyone who has lost a family member knows the depth of grief that can bring. In their case, it seemed unusually cruel, after they had gone to such lengths to raise the money and gone so far to save their son.

It would be natural, I think, for the Nakazawas to avoid reminders of Soutaro just to manage their grief. But when we walked into their apartment in Yokohama, it was like a shrine to their lost son.

His pictures filled three walls of the living room, along with his toys and other reminders.

Namie, Soutaro’s mother, said they couldn’t hide from their grief because they owed a debt to all those who had helped them raise the funds for his operation. With tears in her eyes she said she had thought the only way to repay them was to bring Soutaro home healthy but that was impossible.

So she and her husband, Keiichiro, devoted themselves to getting the transplant law changed. They were in parliament when the result was announced, and they both broke down.

Keiichiro told us Soutaro had shown them the path, and he was constantly with them.

As for Hiroki, he is in a hospital in New York, where he has had the transplant operation. Though the recovery is filled with risks, his parents say he is doing well.

For the past two years, I have been involved in CNN’s coverage of Autism Month.

My own 14-year-old adopted son appeared in last year’s coverage as he and I talked about his struggles with autism and the strain on our family and on his ability to get a good education.

This year, I stepped back a bit to watch the story of an extraordinary young man and his relationship with a ‘Befriender’ programme.

Eleven-year-old Joel D’Angelo has Asperger's Syndrome, which is a higher functioning part of Autistic Spectrum Disorder (ASD).

His buddy in this story is Swedish-born flight attendant Andre Hellstrom. Andre joined the National Autistic Society’s befriender program in order to better the life of a child in London, England, for a few hours every month.

The goal is little more than getting Joel out of the house and that seems to have worked out great since they both share a passion for roller blading, airplanes and going to the movies.

Andre has now vowed to be part of Joel’s life until he moves into his own flat. That is a long-term commitment indeed.

The woman who introduced Joel and Andre, Rosie John-Baptiste, told me: “Autism affects people in a way that reduces their capacity to make friends, to experience socialization in a way that many people who don't have autism take for granted."

Rosie also has an autistic child and I could not agree with her more.

It’s an extremely difficult time when an autistic child goes through adolescence. They have to cope with becoming a teenager who sees the world differently from their peers. Interaction with large groups can therefore be very difficult.

And frankly, for many autistic teenagers, it’s easier and less stressful to sit in front of the computer all day than to confront the world outside the front door.

But I can see from my son's experience that he really thrives when he has one-to-once contact with an adult.

Sadly, however, when we met Joel in March, there were 300 children on the NAS waiting list in London.

John-Baptiste said, “We don't actively advertise the service because we are beyond capacity at the moment.”

That means at least 300 children who won’t have an Andre calling them on the phone to arrange fun plans.

HONG KONG, China - The H1N1 virus hits home - figuratively.

With her preschool classes cancelled, Mandy Yuen's daughter enjoys a day at Disneyland.

This time in the form of an unexpected forced vacation for all kids in Hong Kong under the age of 12. The kids are ecstatic. The parents ... not so much. On Thursday parents were told all nursery, kindergarten and primary schools are closed for at least two weeks. The reason: 12 students at St. Paul Convent School in Causeway Bay district came down with confirmed cases of the H1N1 virus.

"Help!!!"

That was the collective cry from parents all over Hong Kong as more than 500,000 children found themselves with free time. The school year normally doesn't end until July, and suddenly here is a two-week hole to fill. On Monday I decided to hit the streets to find out how parents are getting along. My crew and I headed to the street markets in Quarry Bay at lunchtime. We found mothers towing their kids behind, as they shopped for fresh vegetables.

Ann Chan was wearing a face mask (very common in polluted Hong Kong) as she picked through a bin of yams. Her 6-year-old young daughter Nivia stood next to her in a pink dress and pigtails, also wearing a mask. When asked about the school closure, Amy Chan said, "Yes, it's inconvenient. I have to use all my time to take care of her and have her tag along whenever I go out."

Daughter Nivia said sweetly through her mask, " I feel really happy, I can stay home and play. I'm going to do some drawings." We talked to a few parents who said they had taken time off from work to take care of their kids.

Then we headed to Hong Kong Disneyland. In a brilliant PR but debatable public safety move, Disneyland jumped on the school closures as a business opportunity. Immediately after the closures were announced, Hong Kong Disneyland offered a promotion targeting the children of the affected schools. For 250 Hong Kong dollars ($32 US), kids can come to Disneyland as many times as they want for the month of June. The children need to show their school ID, proving they attend one of the closed schools, and parents pay the regular entrance fee. Disneyland was heavily criticized by the Hong Kong government which charged that the promotion defeats the purpose of the school closures. The whole point was to discourage big gatherings of children to prevent possible contamination.

Disneyland responded with this statement:

"Hong Kong Disneyland is a family destination and it is up to parents to decide the best time for their children to visit the Park. The safety and security of our Guests and Cast Members is our top priority and we will continue to uphold stringent hygiene levels throughout the Resort, including the addition of extra-thorough and frequent cleaning and the sterilization of our facilities."

On a Monday afternoon, we found a good amount of Hong Kong parents with their energetic kids. Most parents said they were not too worried about the crowds because Disneyland's layout has more open space than the city. One mom said, "I think Disneyland is quite a good place to go compared to just staying in the shopping malls where the air is always trapped inside. Here it's more open and spacious." Nonetheless, many parents made sure their little Mickey Mouse fans were wearing face masks even in the stifling humidity.

The kids are breezing through this two-week homework assignment.

Let's see what grade the parents get!

Watch my story of children tagging along with their parents due to the closure or schools.

HONG KONG, China - Most people would welcome an extended vacation. Sounds like a bonus, right? Not here at the Metropark Hotel in Hong Kong's Wanchai district. More than 300 guests and staff have been under forced quarantine since last Friday - a full 7 days.

A guest peers through a lobby window of the quarantined Metropark Hotel in Hong Kong on Wednesday.

This is because a Mexican tourist who was later found to have the contagious H1N1flu virus had checked into that hotel. Suddenly plans change. Flights need to be canceled. Shopping trips never happen. Business meetings get missed.

Sure, it's a nice 4-star hotel in the middle of bustling Hong Kong. But the tables are turned: These guests are on the inside longingly looking out.

Today, they finally made it to Day 7.

I am standing outside the hotel, taking in the scene from the sidewalk. On the fourth floor, a man and a woman hang a banner (I'm assuming a hotel bed sheet) that reads: "Greetings to Germany. Hours left: 8, 7, 6, 5 ..." The number 8 has been crossed off.

Less than 8 hours before they can walk out of this building and back to their regular lives.

It's interesting to hear about the different levels of tolerance, and I suppose the anecdotes say something about people's thresholds for sudden change.

This week I spoke with different quarantined guests via Skype. One British citizen complained of the sorry gifts his consulate sent him to pass the time (e.g. worn-out books and magazines from 2007). Meanwhile, a Frenchman who celebrated his 43rd birthday this week under quarantine received a nice bottle of champagne from the French consulate. He had a party on his floor.

A man from Singapore told me he was getting a lot of work done on his laptop and was using his time productively. He did point out that everyone was given a daily supply of Tamiflu, but no health officials checked to see if each guest actually took the Tamiflu.

I personally don't know what I would do if I were quarantined for 7 days. I would surely want my laptop, internet service and some sort of reading. As our producer, Tim Schwarz, says, "It would be a great opportunity to catch up on sleep." But that's coming from those of us on the outside looking in.

MEXICO CITY, Mexico – Sunday morning outside the Metropolitan Cathedral a sign reads "NO MISAS" - no mass.

The plaza outside the cathedral is virtually empty, the normal large Sunday crowd of tourists and worshippers seem to be following the advice of government officials, to avoid large crowds.

Police outside a Mexico City cathedral trying to keep worshippers away on Sunday.

We met Carla Casas, a woman who appeared to be in her mid-20s. Carla was scheduled to be confirmed at the 8am mass. She showed up wearing a mask and told us she's very afraid that she and her family could get sick.

"I heard that people are dying 48 hours after getting sick. I'm very concerned" she told us.

Carla also said she thought the "swine flu" originated from the United States. We've heard the same story from several other people who say they heard that from the Mexican media.

Not everyone we've talked to is scared of getting sick.

One young man, a university student, said he thinks the government is going too far by closing schools and other events.

Across the city, police and members of the Mexican army are handing out masks to people on the streets. There is a clear sense of tension here as people wait to see what happens.

SHIJIAZHUANG, China - The drive to Shijiazhuang from Beijing is long and gray. It is the city at the heart of China's tainted milk scandal, where Sanlu headquarters is based. Small dairy farms that once supplied milk to Sanlu, and thrived on its business, lie on the outskirts.

When we arrived at one farm, I saw the first signs of life, vibrant signs. Twenty or so cows bristled at our arrival. I didn't realize how curious, even social, cows can be. A few ran to the edge of the fence staring at us intently. Maybe they were just hungry. A 2-month-old calf tied to a post at the entrance quietly observed us.

The farmer, Feng Xianying, acknowledged us with a quiet handshake, then went on to mix up the day's lunch – basic feed with some extra nutrients from what I could tell – and serve it in twenty or so individual bins for the cows to munch. He was methodical, silent, but I would say, good-natured. There was a rhythm in his step. He did it all with care.

When he opened the pen, the cows filed out obediently, each taking its place to feed. Feng served a small portion to the calf. "He's too small to stay in the pen with others," he said.

There was a time when Feng Xianying thought he might have to kill his cows to survive.

News that Sanlu had been selling tainted milk had broken. Apparently, middlemen had bought milk from the farmers then mixed it with a toxic chemical called melamine to artificially boost protein levels.

Hundreds of thousands of children got sick and China's dairy industry was on the verge of collapse. Sanlu stopped operations, and stopped buying milk from Feng and other farmers.

Many farmers gave up, but Feng pushed through the roughest times, kept his business afloat and his cows alive.

He survived thanks in part to government support.

"The government provided loans to support the dairy industry, so I was able to buy some new cows," he told me. "In the past, the government was ignorant and competition between the dairies was fierce, so they didn't care about the quality of the milk."

He sells to another local company now, and company representatives routinely check his farm and his product.

As for the Sanlu executives now on trial, Feng says he resents them. He is angry at the middlemen who poisoned the milk of so many hard-working farmers. And, he is sorry for the children who fell ill.

"I feel very sorry, but I can't do anything. It's like a war no one can avoid."

MEXICO CITY, Mexico - Twenty-two thousand people from all over the world, gathered in one conference center for a week. All of them have different takes on the AIDS epidemic, and all of them are keen on making their points of view known.

It's like being a kid in a candy store for a journalist. All these people, all eager to talk to you, all vying for your attention as a representative of the global media.

But that's what makes covering an AIDS conference so difficult: How do you sort through all the information, all the public relations pitches, all of the staged events to get to the story?

In the space of three days, I've talked to prestigious scientists, sex workers from Thailand, proud parents of gay teenagers, hard-working community outreach workers from Bolivia, earnest activists from France, nervous press officials from the Mexican government, eager sales reps from the pharmaceutical companies. All have a story to tell, but I only have a few minutes a day to get all those stories out.

"It is a bit of a circus, isn't it?" asked the head of a major non-governmental organization as we prepared to do a live interview. I had to agree - but then proceeded to be amazed at how she shifted from that rather blasé remark into a perfectly executed 30-second quote about the essence of her organization's work in HIV prevention.

For me, the challenge was in attempting to do the same - distilling all the information available into perfectly executed and well-informed short reports on the essence of the gathering. After all, everything usually boils down to one essential message.

Gotta go. A group of drummers and dancers - AIDS activists from Pakistan - is threading its way toward me, and is headed straight for our camera.