Fighting for Milenka: A Mother’s Plea to Save Her Daughter’s Life

October 12, 2023 — a date that is forever etched in my heart. I remember everything about that day: the sterile smell of the hospital, the heaviness in the doctor’s eyes, the deafening silence before the words that shattered our world —

“Your daughter is terminally ill. Ewing’s sarcoma — a malignant tumor.”

No parent is ever ready to hear those words. No heart can bear them.

But our story began long before that moment.

My daughter Milenka has always been a ray of sunshine — a cheerful, curious little girl who loves to explore the world around her. She runs, laughs, and fills every corner of our home with life. Like most children, she sometimes complained of being tired or having a sore leg after a long day of play. I thought nothing of it. She was growing fast, always on the move — what child doesn’t get tired?

But then the pain didn’t stop. It became daily.

We went to the doctor, who reassured us it was nothing serious — “Just tendinitis,” he said. We were told to use ointments and physical therapy, and we did everything we were told. But one day, a small bulge appeared on her leg. It seemed strange, but we wanted to believe the doctors. We wanted to believe everything was fine.

Now, I know that bulge was a malignant tumor — a ticking time bomb inside my daughter’s body. If only we had pushed for more tests back then, maybe… maybe things would have been different.

By the time the correct diagnosis came, it was already too late for early intervention. The tumor had grown to 10 centimeters, and Milenka could barely walk. The words

“Ewing’s sarcoma” changed everything.

What followed was a year of pain and fear — a battle for her life.
Fourteen cycles of chemotherapy.
A major surgery to remove part of her fibula and surrounding tissue.

Nine long months in the hospital, tethered to IV drips as her body struggled with leukopenia and endless fatigue.

But through it all, Milenka never gave up. She smiled even when her body trembled with pain. She played with her dolls from her hospital bed, whispered jokes to the nurses, and told me, “Mommy, when I get better, let’s go to the sea.”

And one day, we heard the words we had prayed for: remission.

We cried tears of relief, of gratitude, of pure joy. We thought the nightmare was finally over. We thought our little girl had won.

But fate can be cruel.

In 2025, just eight months later, the cancer returned — in the exact same place. I can still hear myself whispering, “No… no, not again.”

How could it come back so soon? How could she be forced to fight this monster again before her body even had time to heal from the last war?

We panicked at first. Then I started searching — calling doctors, hospitals, specialists around the world. I spent sleepless nights reading medical studies and survival rates, desperate to find one glimmer of hope.

And I found it — in Israel.

A clinic in Tel Aviv offered the best possible treatment for Milenka’s rare and aggressive cancer. We didn’t hesitate. We dropped everything, packed our bags, and flew across continents to give her a chance at life.

Now, we’re in the middle of her first chemotherapy cycle in Israel. Doctors are doing everything they can, but the situation is uncertain. There’s a possibility that they will have to

amputate her leg to save her life. They are trying desperately to avoid that outcome, but no one can promise us how this will end.

Ahead of us lie seven more chemotherapy cycles, surgery, and radiation therapy.

Each step is grueling. Each day brings new pain and new fear. But every morning, Milenka opens her eyes, smiles, and tells me, “I’m going to win, Mama.” 

And I believe her — because I have to.

But this fight comes at a price — a price no family should ever have to face. Treatment abroad costs more than we can imagine. The medical bills are overwhelming, and every day I wake up with the same fear: that money might decide my daughter’s fate.

That’s why I am here — a mother on her knees, asking for help.

Please, if you are reading this, know that your kindness can save a life. Every donation, every share, every prayer brings us closer to giving Milenka the future she deserves.

She’s only a child — a child who loves the ocean, who dreams of becoming a doctor, who just wants to live.

No parent should have to measure their child’s chances of survival in money. No mother should have to watch her daughter fade away because treatment is out of reach.

Please — help us fight for Milenka.
Help us keep her dream alive.

Every act of compassion matters. Every bit of hope counts.
💔 This is our plea — from a mother’s heart. Please help save my little girl’s life.

A Simple Act, A Lasting Memory: How a Girl’s Kindness Brought Father and Son to Tears

In a world that often feels fast-paced and disconnected, there are still moments that stop us in our tracks—moments that remind us of the power of kindness, of humanity, and of simply choosing to care. One of those moments happened recently at a shopping mall, where a young woman named Tinyia Frank turned an ordinary day into something unforgettable.

It all started at CHAMPS, a popular athletic store. Tinyia, just another shopper that afternoon, was browsing the shelves when a little boy walked in with his father. Excitement filled his voice as he asked about basketball shoes—his eyes scanning the wall of high-tops and bold colors. But then, came the question that made Tinyia’s ears perk up:

“Do you have any shoes under $75?”

The answer was simple, but devastating.

“No.”

And in that moment, Tinyia watched something shift in the boy’s face. The spark in his eyes dimmed. His shoulders slumped. The father gently put a hand on his son’s back and said with quiet honesty, “I just can’t afford it.”

Most people would’ve moved on. Maybe felt a twinge of sympathy. But Tinyia didn’t walk away—she stepped in.

She asked the boy his name. She asked what the shoes were for. And as he shyly explained that he was on a basketball team and hoping for a new pair to wear on the court, something in her heart said, Do something.

So she did.

With no fanfare, no hesitation, and no desire for attention, Tinyia looked at the boy and said, “If you send me a picture of you at your game, I’ll buy you whatever shoes you want.”

And just like that, a door opened. A quiet heartbreak was turned into joy.

The boy left that store with a brand-new pair of Nike LeBrons—shoes that athletes dream about, shoes he never thought he could have. His father stood beside him, stunned and speechless. Both were visibly emotional, eyes glassy with gratitude.

Because this wasn’t just about shoes.

It was about being seen. About someone noticing. Someone caring. Someone saying, “You matter.”

Tinyia didn’t just give that boy sneakers—she gave him confidence, encouragement, and a moment he’ll remember for the rest of his life. She showed him that there are people out there who believe in the dreams of strangers. That there is still goodness in the world, waiting quietly in the corners of everyday life.

And maybe most importantly, she showed his father—who had probably been carrying the heavy weight of financial pressure—that he wasn’t alone. That kindness doesn’t come with conditions, and help can come from unexpected places.

In a time when so much of the world feels divided, stories like this matter. They remind us that compassion doesn’t require wealth, fame, or status. It only requires heart. Attention. The willingness to act when you see someone hurting.

So thank you, Tinyia Frank. Thank you for listening with your heart. For showing up when no one asked you to. For proving that even a single act of kindness—one moment, one pair of shoes—can ripple outward and touch more lives than you’ll ever know.

Yes, there are still good people in the world.

And on that day, at that mall, you were one of them.