“A Mother’s Search for Hope in the Face of Cancer”.2256

“Fighting for Zosia: A Mother’s Plea to Save Her Little Girl”

I still remember the moment the doctor wrote the name of the disease on a scrap of paper.
He looked me in the eyes and said, “Don’t type this into the internet. Every cancer is different.”

I wish I had listened.
But I didn’t.
I went home, opened Google, and typed the word.

Neuroblastoma.

A deadly, aggressive cancer in children.
In that instant, our lives split into two parts — before the diagnosis, and after.

The earth tilted under my feet.
I couldn’t breathe.
How do you go on living when someone tells you your child might not survive?
They told me to trust the oncologists.


I did.
But the pain didn’t stop.

For a moment, I believed that love alone might be useless in the face of such tragedy.
But now, after 108 days in the oncology ward

, two surgeries, and five rounds of chemotherapy, I know this: unconditional love for your child is the strongest force on earth.
It is what keeps us standing when everything else collapses. 


It is what makes me keep writing, keep begging, keep fighting.

And right now, we are facing our greatest challenge yet — by the end of May, we must raise the funds to continue

Zosia’s treatment.

How It Began

It all started so quietly.
Zosia was almost four years old at the time — a bright, happy preschooler.
She loved drawing, playing outside, and running to meet me at the door.

Then one day, I noticed a small lump on her neck.
It didn’t hurt.
It didn’t seem dangerous.
But something about it made my stomach twist.

We did an ultrasound.


The results left us stunned.
The “small” lump was nearly six centimeters.
We were sent urgently to the hospital for more tests.

Blood work.
CT scans.
MRI.

At first, doctors suggested it might be a paraganglioma — a rare but benign tumor sometimes found in children.


We clung to that possibility like a life raft.

But the MRI told a different story.
There were two tumors on the right side of Zosia’s neck — one 6 x 4 cm

, the other 3 x 2 cm.
Egg-sized masses growing inside our daughter.
The larger tumor wrapped itself around her jugular veins, her carotid artery, and the nerves in her neck. 

The doctors were shocked that she could still swallow at all.
The tumors were pressing against her esophagus so tightly it was almost closed.

One after another, they shook their heads.


No one at our hospital was willing to attempt full removal.
Too risky, they said.

We were terrified.
The idea of this “thing” growing inside our child, spreading day by day, was unbearable.


We wanted it gone — immediately.

Finally, we found a surgeon willing to try.
By then, the tumor had grown to 10 centimeters.
It was spreading before the doctors’ eyes.


If no one had agreed to operate, Zosia might already be gone.

The First Surgery

The operation was grueling.
The ENT surgeon managed to remove about 70% of the tumor

, but it was too dangerous to take the rest.
Even so, we were grateful.
Our daughter had survived the surgery.
She was alive. 

But there were complications.
Zosia woke up with paralysis of her recurrent laryngeal nerve and Horner’s triad.


Her tongue curled to the right.
Her eyes protruded.
Her voice was slurred and hoarse.
She struggled to speak, to swallow.

None of that mattered.
She was alive.
We thought the worst was over.

Then came the histopathology results.

Neuroblastoma, differentiating type.
A malignant childhood cancer with one of the lowest survival rates.
Only half of children survive.

Our world collapsed again.

Life in the Oncology Ward

In the beginning, we hoped it would be simple — a surgery, a short treatment, some rehabilitation.
But neuroblastoma doesn’t work that way.

Zosia lost all her hair.
She cried when the nurses inserted needles into her tiny hands.
The chemotherapy burned the cancer, but also burned away her strength.

She developed trouble swallowing.
Her appetite disappeared.
Everything, she told me, “tasted like bananas.”
Because of the nerve damage in her throat, she could barely swallow.
We survived an eight-day period where she didn’t take a single bite of food.
We survived jaw pain so intense it made her scream after one of the chemo drugs.

We survived — because we had no choice.

But the tumor did not die completely.
We have already fallen out of the standard protocol.
There are still two centimeters of tumor left, stubborn and unresponsive to chemotherapy.
At any moment, it could begin to grow again.

The Next Step: Radiotherapy

Now the doctors have recommended radiotherapy, followed by six months of 13-cis-retinoic acid.
We never imagined we would face the decision to irradiate our child.
But we have no choice.

Zosia is only four.
She spent her last birthday, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve in the hospital.
She has already endured more than many adults ever will.
We are still dealing with complications from surgery and chemotherapy, and now we must prepare her for radiotherapy as well.

The type of treatment she needs is proton therapy — a highly targeted form of radiation that spares healthy tissue.
For Zosia, this is critical.
The tumors are in her head and neck, areas vital for growth and development.
Proton therapy can hit the cancer without destroying everything around it.

But it is not available where we live.
Zosia must travel to Germany for this treatment.

And the cost is overwhelming.

What We’re Facing

By the end of May, we must raise the full amount for Zosia’s treatment.
We have already spent everything we had.
We have no savings, no assets left to sell.
We are parents living in a nightmare, watching the clock run down on our child’s life.

We never thought we would be in this position — writing to strangers, begging for help.
But here we are.
Because if we don’t find the money, Zosia will not survive.

She is only four years old.
This is not the time for her story to end.

What You Can Do

We have seen how communities can move mountains.
We have seen children live because people cared.
We believe it can happen for Zosia too.

We are asking you — no, we are begging you — to help us save her.

Every donation brings us closer to the treatment she needs.
Every share of her story can reach someone else who might help.
Every prayer, every word of kindness gives us strength to keep going.

We are not asking for luxury.
We are asking for our daughter’s life.

Zosia deserves to grow up.
She deserves to run, to laugh, to taste watermelon on a summer day, to celebrate her next birthday at home instead of in a hospital bed.
She deserves a future.

Please, help us give it to her.

A Message from a Mother’s Heart

When I first typed that word — neuroblastoma — into Google, I thought my world had ended.
But what I have learned since is that love does not stop at fear.
Love keeps moving.
Love keeps fighting.
Love finds strangers and turns them into lifelines.

From the depths of my heart, thank you for reading our story.
Thank you for caring about a little girl you have never met.
Thank you for giving us hope when we had none.

Hold us in your thoughts.
Pray for Zosia.
And if you can, please donate.

Because with your help, Zosia’s story doesn’t have to end here.

With love and hope,
Zosia’s family

“When Success Meant Following His Heart”.213

This is my son. Valedictorian. Scholar-athlete. Musician. On paper, everything was perfect. Every box ticked: high grades, awards, scholarships, a disciplined life mapped out for success. A Bioengineering degree in hand, the world was supposed to be his.

But life rarely follows the neat lines of a résumé.

After graduation, he tried to push open doors that weren’t meant for him. Opportunities he had worked so hard to earn felt hollow. The degree that once promised stability, the accolades that once impressed everyone—none of it sparked joy in his heart. He felt lost in a world that had been waiting for him to succeed on its terms, not his own.

I told him it was okay. It was okay not to know. It was okay to step away from the script everyone expected him to follow. It was okay to pause, to breathe, to listen to the quiet pull of his own heart.

And he did.

Over the past year, he has traded labs and lecture halls for forests and trails. He’s been building paths through the wilderness, restoring habitats, and dedicating his time to causes that resonate with him. Dirt under his nails, sweat on his brow, he’s learning a different kind of discipline—one rooted in patience, purpose, and connection to the world around him.

Step by step, he’s finding a path we never imagined. It doesn’t appear on a transcript or a LinkedIn profile. It doesn’t come with a neat certificate. But it feels right. It feels alive.

Watching him now, I realize something I never fully understood before: success isn’t just about accolades or the life others plan for you. Success is about fulfillment, growth, and the courage to pursue what sets your soul on fire.

I always knew he would fly. I just didn’t know his wings would take him here. And as he continues on this journey, forging a life that matters to him, I feel a quiet pride that goes beyond words.

Where he goes next… that’s the story I can’t wait to witness unfold.