“Save Dmitriy: A Little Boy Running Out of Time”.2255

“Fighting for Dmitriy: A Little Boy’s Battle for Life”

We are the parents of a long-awaited, deeply loved little boy named Dmitriy Semkin.
We never imagined we would one day be writing these words — opening our hearts to strangers and begging for help to save our child’s life.


But here we are.
And without your help, we may soon have to say goodbye to our son.

This is not just a story about an illness.
It is a story about a boy who deserves to grow up, to laugh, to run, to live — and about two parents who will do absolutely anything to make sure he does.

When Life Turned Upside Down

Our nightmare began in April 2022, although at the time we didn’t realize how serious things were.
During a routine check-up, Dmitriy’s lymph nodes appeared enlarged.


He had been tired, sometimes pale, but nothing that screamed “danger” at first glance.
Still, something in our hearts told us not to ignore it.

A month later, in May 2022

, we paid for more advanced tests ourselves, desperate to get answers.
The results hit us like a thunderclap: our beautiful little boy — only four years old at the time — had 

neuroblastoma, one of the most aggressive childhood cancers known.

By the time the diagnosis came, the disease was already advanced.
We were told bluntly that treatment at home offered little chance of survival.


So we made the only choice we could: we sold everything we owned and took Dmitriy to Sheba Clinic in Israel, a place known for giving children like ours a fighting chance.

Selling Everything for a Chance at Life

On June 5, 2022, we arrived at Sheba with nothing but our savings, our hope, and our terrified hearts.
We left behind our jobs, our home, our security — everything — to save our child.


We managed, with our own hands and our own pockets, to pay for eight rounds of chemotherapy and five rounds of antibody treatment, totaling nearly $380,000 USD.

It was everything we had.


And for a while, it was working.
Dmitriy was responding.
We clung to every small improvement like a lifeline.

In September 2022, we signed a contract with an Israeli foundation that promised financial support.


But just before a new cycle of treatment, we received devastating news: the foundation had only raised $23,000 and could not give us any more funds or even a guarantee letter to continue.

It was like a death sentence delivered to our child.
Without treatment, neuroblastoma does not wait.
It takes children fast.

The Little Boy Who Keeps Fighting

Despite everything, Dmitriy has continued to fight with the courage of someone far beyond his years.


He is now five years old.
He has two little brothers — Sasha (3) and Misha (just 6 months old).
Our entire family is living in a small rented room on the grounds of Sheba Clinic.
We are far from home, far from our loved ones, surviving day to day in a foreign country while our oldest son fights for his life.

When you look at Dmitriy, you don’t just see a sick child.


You see a boy who still smiles through pain.
A boy who still reaches for his toy cars, still asks for stories at bedtime, still dreams of playing outside again.
He tells us about his plans for when he gets better: running with his brothers, building snowmen, tasting watermelon on a hot summer day.

His world has shrunk to simple, precious things — the kind of things most of us take for granted.

The Medical Battle Ahead

On December 1st, after another round of scans, we received a bittersweet update.
There was some positive movement: a slight regression of the tumor.
But it is still considered inoperable.

The doctors have recommended three more cycles of chemotherapy and immunotherapy, followed by new imaging and a decision about the next phase of treatment.

The cost for this next stage is staggering — more than 2 million Polish zloty (over $500,000 USD).
This is money we simply do not have.
We have sold everything.
We have borrowed everything we could.
We are left with nothing but our child and our hope.

And without treatment, Dmitriy will die.
It is that simple.

Living with Nothing but Hope

Every day here in Israel feels like walking a tightrope.
We are terrified of the bills, terrified of the next test results, terrified of what will happen if we can’t pay in time.
We hold our son’s hand and tell him everything will be okay, even when we’re not sure ourselves.

We are exhausted.
We are scared.
We cry into our pillows at night so the children won’t hear.
We try to be strong for Dmitriy, but sometimes the despair is too heavy.

And yet, every morning, Dmitriy looks at us with those bright eyes and gives us strength we didn’t know we had.
He teaches us about patience, about courage, about what truly matters.
He is our hero.

Why We’re Asking You

We’ve heard of the miracles that happen when people come together.
We’ve seen stories of children saved because strangers chose to care.
We know that organizations like Siepomaga and thousands of kind-hearted people have made the impossible possible before.

That is why we are writing this.
Why we are laying our hearts bare.
Why we are begging for your help.

Dmitriy is only five years old.
It is not time for him to die.
He has so much life left to live.
We are not ready to lose him — and he is not ready to give up.

How You Can Help

We cannot do this alone.
Every donation, no matter how small, goes directly to his treatment.
Every share of this story can reach someone who might help.
Every prayer, every kind word, every gesture gives us one more day of hope.

We are not asking for luxury or comfort.
We are asking for our son’s life.

We dream of the day when Dmitriy will come home healthy, running into the arms of his brothers.
We dream of a day when this story is not about desperation but about survival.
We believe it can happen — but only with your help.

Please, open your heart to Dmitriy.
Help us save him.
Let’s give him the future he deserves.

A Message from Us

From the depths of our hearts, we thank you for reading our story.
We thank you for caring about a little boy you’ve never met.
We thank you for being the kind of people who make miracles happen.

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

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

With love and hope,
Dmitriy’s parents

“From Five Million to 800,000: Branson’s Incredible Step Forward”.1499

Today, for the first time in what feels like ages, we have some encouraging news to share.
It’s not the end of the road, not even close, but it is a sign that maybe, just maybe, the tide is turning.

Branson’s white blood cell count, which had been stuck at a worrisome level, has risen from 5,000 to 8,000 in a single day.
For most people, numbers like that don’t mean much, but for us, they mean everything.
These aren’t just numbers on a chart—they are markers of life, signs of a body slowly finding its footing again.

Even more encouraging is that the majority of those white cells are neutrophils.
Neutrophils are the body’s frontline soldiers, the ones that rush to the site of infection and fight with everything they have.
When you are neutropenic—when you have none of these cells—you are left defenseless.
A simple cold can turn deadly.
But now, seeing Branson’s neutrophil count rise gives us hope that his body is slowly rebuilding an army, one cell at a time.

And as if that wasn’t enough good news, we learned something even more remarkable.
His adenovirus levels, which had been terrifyingly high—over five million—have dropped to 800,000.
From five million to 800,000.
That is not just progress; that is a miracle in motion.
It’s a sign that the treatments are working, that his body is responding, and that maybe his exhausted immune system is finally getting some help.

We are thanking God for these mercies.
Every step forward feels like a gift.
Every drop in those viral numbers is an answered prayer.
These are the moments we cling to when the nights feel endless and the days blur together inside hospital walls.

In addition to these promising lab results, Branson is receiving albumin infusions.
Albumin is a protein that helps pull excess fluid out of tissues and into the bloodstream, where it can be processed and removed.
For a boy whose body has been battered by infection, chemotherapy, and countless medications, these infusions provide relief.
They ease the swelling, support his circulation, and give his weary body a fighting chance to keep healing.

These little pieces of progress—the lab results, the treatments, the small mercies—are what keep us going.
They remind us that even in the bleakest days, there is still movement, still reason to hope.

But I need to be honest: progress on paper does not erase the suffering in reality.
The truth is that Branson is still absolutely miserable.
His body has been pushed right up to the edge of what it can handle, and we see that in every movement, every expression, every moment of his day.
Watching it is gut-wrenching.
It feels like a cruel paradox: the numbers look better, but my boy still looks so broken.

His hair has fallen out again.
It wasn’t unexpected—we’ve been here before—but that doesn’t make it easier.
This time, though, it isn’t just his hair.
His eyelashes and eyebrows are starting to fall out too.
For a child who has already lost so much, this is another visible reminder of the war his little body is fighting.
When I see him without those small features that frame his face, I am reminded that cancer takes so much more than what lab results can measure.

There are no words to describe the helplessness.
Some days, I sit by his bed, holding his hand, wishing I could take every ounce of his pain into myself.
I want him to laugh again, to play again, to feel the lightness of childhood instead of the weight of survival.
I want my boy to be happy and healthy, free from the tubes and wires and endless pokes.
That desire is so strong that it aches.

And as if the physical battle wasn’t enough, there is an emotional one unfolding too.
Donald will soon be leaving to return home.
The thought of saying goodbye has cast a shadow over the small joy we’ve felt with today’s good news.
We are not ready for him to go.
We dread the days ahead without him here.
In the middle of all this uncertainty, having family close is what steadies us.
The idea of being apart again feels like another burden on a heart already too heavy.

So we ask, again, for prayers.
Prayers for Branson’s continued healing.
Prayers for strength in the days and weeks and months to come.
Prayers for our family as we navigate the separation, the exhaustion, the endless roller coaster of fear and hope.

We are clinging to faith, even in the darkest stretch of this journey.
Faith that these numbers are not just coincidences but signs of a comeback in motion.
Faith that God is holding Branson in His hands, even when we feel like we can’t hold ourselves together.
Faith that healing is possible, even when suffering feels overwhelming.

Your love, your support, your prayers—these are what carry us when our legs give out.
You are the hands holding us up when we fall.
You are the light that reminds us we are not alone in this fight.
We love you all more than words could ever express.

For now, we will hold onto the progress.
We will celebrate the rise from 5,000 to 8,000.
We will marvel at the drop from five million to 800,000.
We will be grateful for every infusion, every medicine, every sign of healing.
And we will keep fighting.

Because Branson is worth every battle.
He is worth every prayer, every sleepless night, every tear shed.
He is our boy, our heart, our warrior—and we will never stop believing that his comeback is near.