I still don't understand how one minute can ruin an entire life... 😢💔
My daughter, Vika, is only 14 years old, and she finds herself on the edge between life and the silence from which no one returns.
April 9, 2024—a date I can't pronounce without shuddering.
She returned home from a walk like a normal child... smiling, lively, and light.
Twenty minutes later, she was no longer able to call out to us—only a panicked phone call:
"Dad... I have a sharp headache... I can't feel my arms... my legs... and I can't see well..." 😭💔
A few minutes later, we were running to the ambulance, and a few minutes later, our little girl lost consciousness and fell into a coma right there in the ambulance.
It was the end of our former world. 😢🕯️
In the intensive care unit, a CT scan revealed something terrifying:
an intracerebral hemorrhage in the cerebellum, blood escaping into the ventricles, a hematoma...
Her lung was damaged during resuscitation, causing a pneumothorax.
The doctors looked at us with downcast eyes and said only one thing:
"Our only hope is in God..." 😔💔
What followed were months of fighting for her life.
Vika lay unconscious, hooked up to machines.
Her heart worked only on adrenaline.
Her lungs breathed like a machine.
Her body was wasting away, unable to accept food.
The body of a little girl—exhausted, defenseless...
And we lived nearby, expecting every hour that her heart might stop. 😭🕯️💔
And only a miracle—only God knows what kind—allowed her to survive. A month later, her heart began to beat without support.
Then, for the first time, she was able to absorb water.
Then, 10 grams of feeding through a tube.
But instead of hope, we heard:
"She will never be able to breathe, move, or feed herself. Consciousness may never return."
These words burned us to the core. 😢💔
But we kept fighting.
We transferred her to another intensive care unit, then to Moscow, to the Roshal Research Institute.
There, for the first time in many months, they put her in a wheelchair and put her on a standing frame.
There, for the first time, they said what we were afraid to hear but so eagerly awaited:
"There's a chance. She can recover." 😭🙏
We completed "Three Sisters."
We completed "Medsi."
We completed "Yantar."
We paid every penny we could raise. And now—after more than a year of pain, intensive care, and daily struggle—
Vika recognizes us, hears, understands, she holds her head up, sits up,
her muscles are starting to come alive, her arms and legs are trying to obey her efforts.
She's coming back to us. Slowly. Painfully. But she's coming back. 😢❤️
And the worst thing is—if we stop now, this progress will disappear.
Her brain needs constant rehabilitation, otherwise everything will be in vain.
But we're completely exhausted...
We've run out of money.
Every penny raised by relatives, friends, and caring people has gone toward the previous stages.
We can no longer pay for the treatment ourselves. 😔💔
Now we absolutely must continue rehabilitation at the Yantar Clinic, where Vika has shown the best progress.
The cost of the next course is $8,350.
For us, this amount is an insurmountable barrier. But without her, we risk losing everything we've managed to rebuild over the past year and a half. 😭🙏
We implore everyone reading these lines:
help our little girl not return to the darkness.
Help her learn to move again, hold a spoon, say her first word…
Help her simply live. 😢🕯️
April 9th ​​destroyed our family…
But we believe that people can help us bring Vika back to life. 🙏💔

My pregnancy was going smoothly... I was sure nothing terrible could happen. But I was wrong—the worst was already ahead. 😢💔
When they told me at the second screening that the baby's head was slightly behind, I didn't pay it any mind. The doctors assured me everything was fine, that it was just a developmental issue. I believed them... I so wanted to believe them. 😔
Zakhar was born on his own, without complications. Small, fragile, but so long-awaited.
At the hospital discharge, they smiled at us and told us he was completely healthy. We lived happily—until exactly nine days after his birth.
That's when the phone rang that divided my life into "before" and "after." 😭
The neonatal screening was "questionable." We had another blood test.
A week of waiting... and then silence. I exhaled. But a week later, another call – now I need to donate blood, urgently, right now, a courier is already waiting to take it to Moscow.
I kept silent about everything. I was afraid to utter a word.
And I really hoped it was a mistake. That my child was just a child, not a patient. 😢
But at 26 days, Zakhar got sick for the first time. It seemed like a normal runny nose...
But for us, this was the beginning of a nightmare.
The pediatrician didn't even try to treat him at home – she immediately wrote a referral for hospitalization because they suspected primary immunodeficiency.
And then real hell began. 😭💔
They wouldn't let me into the hospital – "there are no beds."
They said: "If you don't give him up, he could die."
I handed over my tiny son to strangers and was left alone outside the hospital.
For five days, I lived in a car in the parking lot. For five days, I begged the doctors to let me in.
For five days, I listened to them explain to me that it was my "fault" that my child was sick. 😢
When they finally let me see him... I saw that Zakhar's skin was bloody from diaper rash, fungus was all over his body, and basic care was lacking.
A child with an immunodeficiency—and they were treating him like this! It wasn't just painful—it felt like the world was being destroyed before my eyes. 😭💔
The doctor looked at me coldly and said,
"Your child can't be helped. You have to accept it. He may not survive every illness."
Everything inside me screamed. I couldn't accept those words. I'm a mother. I won't bury hope as long as my son is alive.
And when I started researching for myself, I learned that children with PID need immunoglobulin replacement therapy. When I told the doctor this, she smirked in my face. But later, Moscow immunologists confirmed that immunoglobulin was urgently needed.
Thus began an endless journey:
Moscow—examinations, diagnoses, new pains, new discoveries.
And finally, the answer: Nijmegen syndrome.
A severe genetic disease that carries a monstrous risk of cancer and destroys the body from the inside. 😢
The only chance to save him was a bone marrow transplant.
I signed the paperwork immediately, despite being warned:
"He might not survive..."
But without a transplant, he definitely wouldn't survive.
And so began the wait for a donor... six months of waiting between life and death.
Six months, when I lived without breathing.
Six months, when my test results plummeted, and my hope along with them.
When I realized we simply couldn't wait any longer, I found a clinic willing to see us immediately. In Israel, they found a donor in two weeks—something they couldn't do in Russia for six months.
And in January 2025, we underwent the transplant.
It was the most difficult period in my son's life:
— vomiting for days,
— mucositis, bleeding mucous membranes,
— his body refusing to eat,
— pain that was relieved with morphine,
— endless tears. 😭💔
But Zakhar persevered.
The donor cells began to grow.
We dreamed of an end to the nightmare...
But now everything is crumbling again.
The chimerism test is dropping.
First by 6%. Then again. And again.
We tried everything—we stopped the medications, we transfused additional donor cells.
But nothing helps.
And if the decline doesn't stop... we face a second transplant.
And will his little body be able to handle it?.. I'm afraid to think about it. 😢
Right now, we can't leave the clinic—we need a chimerism test every week.
We're tied to the hospital as much as we are to breathing.
And the only thing that can give Zakhar a chance to continue fighting is treatment, support, and observation here in Israel.
The cost of the next stage of treatment is $13,200.
This amount is unaffordable for us.
But without it... I could lose my child. 😭💔
I beg you—help us.
Every day, every test, every percentage point—it's a fight for his life.
I so want to see him grow, laugh, and live without pain.
He's been through so much... He needs a chance. 😢🙏

WE'VE BEEN ASKING FOR THIS CHILD FOR 10 YEARS...
AND TODAY WE'RE AFRAID OF LOSSING HIM 😭💔
Misha came to us like a miracle. We waited for him for almost a decade... And when he was born, it seemed as if life itself had given us light, warmth, and meaning.
I remember holding him in my arms on that first day... how I was afraid to even blink, lest I lose a second next to him. He was the perfect baby. We were that happy family photo in which no one suspects trouble.
For two years, we lived an ordinary, quiet, kind life... until everything fell apart. 😢
First, minor illnesses after kindergarten. Then, a strange fever that lingered for months.
I went to doctors, asking them to look deeper, asking, "Why isn't it going down?"
But all I heard was, "It happens. Get your tests done again." He'll outgrow it...”
Until one day, my husband said:
— Go get an ultrasound. Everything.
And that day, the world shattered.
I remember the doctor's face, who didn't dare look me in the eye...
I remember his pause...
I remember the silence, after which everything was different.
There, on the screen, was the tumor.
I sat, holding Misha's hand, and felt everything we'd built crumble.
My husband was far away...
And I just wanted to go out into the field and scream so that the heavens could hear me.
But I sat quietly. I held my son. He was smiling. And I was dying inside. 😭💔
What followed were two years of hell.
Chemotherapy.
Radiation therapy.
Surgeries.
Dozens of anesthesia... then we stopped counting them.
A bone marrow transplant.
Nights when I caught his breath. Days when he couldn't even swallow water.
And he—a little child—comforted us, saying,
"Mom, everything will be okay..."
As if he was supposed to protect us, not us him. 😢
We've been through it all.
And when we were discharged, we breathed a sigh of relief for the first time in two years.
Misha was recovering, laughing, running, making plans to go to kindergarten.
He believed his life had returned.
And we believed too...
But in September, changes in his test results appeared again.
And already in November, the doctors told us something unbearable:
The tumor is growing again.
Quietly. Secretly.
Just like the first time. And now we look at Misha—at his laughter, at his lively eyes...
And we know that darkness lurks inside him again 😭💔
He plays, jumps, builds houses out of blocks...
And we stand next to him and learn to live with the fear that never leaves us for a minute.
We can't risk his life anymore.
We were treated twice in Russia... and both times the disease returned.
Now we need to go to Israel—to a place where they are ready to fight for our son.
📌 The amount to be paid is $17,450
This is an unaffordable amount for us.
We are an ordinary family... we can't afford the treatment, but we can't watch our child fade away.
🙏 We ask... we beg...
Help us save our Misha's life.
He waited so long to come into this world...
He so wants to live, to learn, to run, to grow.
Every response, every donation is a real step toward him staying with us.
Please... help save our son. 😭💔

I almost lost my son. And now he's on the brink again. 😔My boy is only 5 years old. When the doctors diagnosed him with brain cancer, I thought I would lose him right away. He was brave, he fought, but the disease won't let go. Six rounds of chemotherapy... We survived hell. But this is not the end. 😢Now his leg is shortened, and he can't even stand on it. I look at my son and understand that every day could be his last. His life is in the hands of doctors, and only an operation in Georgia can give him a chance at a normal future. 😞But this operation costs $12,342. We can't raise that amount. Every day without this operation is a step towards losing him forever. I can't watch him suffer. I can't hear his pain anymore. 💔He is too young to be condemned to torment and disability. He deserves to be a healthy, happy child. I beg you, don't let me lose him. Help me save my son, he won't survive without you. 🙏