Misha came to us like a miracle. For ten long years, we dreamed of this moment, we prayed and hoped, imagining the warmth, the laughter, and the joy a child could bring into our lives. When he was finally born, it felt as if life itself had answered all our prayers, placing into our arms a small, fragile bundle that seemed to carry the light of the world.
I remember holding him on that first day, afraid to blink, afraid that a single second away from him could erase all the hope we had built in our hearts. He was perfect — tiny hands, soft skin, a smile that could melt the heaviest sorrow. In those early days, our home felt whole, like the pages of a photograph where happiness seemed effortless and nothing bad could ever touch us.
For two years, life felt normal, quiet, and blissful. Misha laughed, played, and discovered the world with the unguarded joy only a small child can have. Every day was a celebration of his life, and we allowed ourselves to forget the long wait, the uncertainty, the years we spent wishing for this very moment.
Then, small changes began to creep into our lives. Minor illnesses after kindergarten, a fever that refused to disappear, visits to doctors that offered no answers beyond vague reassurances. “It happens. He’ll grow out of it,” they said. But our instincts told us something was wrong.
Finally, my husband urged me, “Go get an ultrasound. Check everything.” I remember the cold, sterile room, the sound of the machine, and the doctor’s face, which avoided ours. The silence after his words stretched unbearably long, until finally he spoke the words that shattered everything: a tumor.
I held Misha’s hand, feeling the foundation of our world collapse beneath me. My husband was far away, and all I wanted was to scream into the sky so someone, somewhere, could hear our despair. But I stayed quiet, keeping Misha close, watching him smile as if nothing had changed, while inside my heart was breaking with every beat.
What followed were two years of hell. Chemotherapy, radiation therapy, surgeries that seemed endless, anesthesias that became a blur, a bone marrow transplant. Nights spent watching his tiny chest rise and fall, days when he could barely swallow water, and yet, through it all, Misha became our strength, whispering to us, “Mom, everything will be fine,” as if he were protecting us instead of the other way around.
We survived that nightmare together. When he was finally discharged, relief washed over us like a warm wave for the first time in two years. Misha laughed, ran, played, and dreamed about kindergarten again. He believed his life had returned, and for a moment, so did we.
But hope can be fragile. In September, test results showed troubling changes, subtle at first. By November, the doctors delivered news that no parent should ever hear: the tumor was growing again. Quietly, stealthily, like a shadow that had never left, it returned.
We watch Misha play, his laughter filling the air, his lively eyes sparkling with curiosity, and we know that inside him, darkness is returning. He builds block towers, jumps, runs, and dreams, unaware of the shadow threatening his life. Meanwhile, we live in constant fear, a fear that never leaves, not for a second, that gnaws at every quiet moment, every smile, every breath.
We cannot risk his life any longer. Treatments in Russia have failed twice, and now the only chance lies in Israel, where specialists are prepared to fight for him. The total cost of the treatment is 1,176,000 rubles — an amount far beyond our reach. We are an ordinary family, unable to bear such an expense, yet powerless to watch our child fade before our eyes.
We ask, we beg, we plead with anyone who can hear us. Help us save Misha, the child we waited ten years to hold, the boy who so desperately wants to live, to learn, to run, to grow, to laugh, to be a part of this world. Every donation, every gesture of support, is a step closer to keeping him with us. Please… help save our son. Every moment, every heartbeat, every smile matters.
Ariella’s Brave Fight: A Family’s Plea for Hope.2986
My name is Mya, and I am writing with a heart full of both love and fear to share the story of my daughter, Ariella, who is fighting for her life. On October 28th, 2022, Ariella was diagnosed with RSV and Bronchitis. For most children, this would be a serious illness—but for Ariella, who has already faced tremendous health challenges, it is life-threatening.
Ariella’s journey began long before this recent illness. She was born at just 30 weeks, weighing only 1 pound 5 ounces. From the very beginning, she has shown a strength and determination that defies her size. She was born with a complex heart condition called Vascular Ring and Aortic Arch with Pulmonary Veins to Stenosis, making her extremely vulnerable to even common illnesses. Every day of her life has been a battle, and yet she has amazed everyone around her with her courage and resilience.
On November 2nd, 2022, our world changed again. Ariella stopped breathing. I watched in terror as the nurses and doctors performed CPR on my tiny daughter. Every second stretched into an eternity as I prayed for her life. Thanks to their quick and expert response, she survived, but the fight was far from over. Her oxygen levels were dangerously low, and her CO2 levels were too high. As a result, she had to undergo a tracheotomy to ensure she could breathe properly. Seeing my baby connected to so many machines, relying on tubes and monitors to live, is a pain that is impossible to describe in words.
Ariella is currently sedated in the hospital, surrounded by a team of doctors working tirelessly to monitor her condition. She will soon have a CT scan, and it is possible she may need a procedure for her Pulmonary Stenosis. The uncertainty is overwhelming, and each day brings new challenges. Her tiny body continues to fight, but it requires constant care and support from everyone around her.
I am at the hospital 24/7, unable to leave her side even for a moment. I cannot work, and the financial strain is immense. Ariella’s father is doing everything he can to support us, traveling back and forth from our home in Vancouver while caring for our 5-year-old daughter. Between medical bills, everyday expenses, gas for travel, and basic necessities, the burden is enormous. We are doing everything possible to stay strong for Ariella, but we need help.
Every donation, every act of kindness, every prayer, matters. Your support will go directly toward Ariella’s medical expenses, helping us cover bills, providing food, gas, and allowing her father and me to remain at her side without the crushing worry of finances. Ariella deserves every possible chance to survive and thrive, and your generosity can make that possible.
Ariella has already overcome so much in her short life. She has faced prematurity, a complex heart condition, and now a severe respiratory illness that could be fatal. Yet, she continues to fight with a spirit that inspires everyone who meets her. Her tiny hands clutch ours, her eyes sparkle with life, and her strength reminds us daily why we must never give up hope.
To everyone reading this, we ask for your prayers, your support, and your compassion. Please help us ensure that Ariella gets the care she needs, that we can remain by her side, and that our family can navigate this incredibly difficult journey. Your kindness will help provide stability in a time of chaos and hope in a time of fear.
Ariella is fighting. Her family is fighting. And with your help, she does not have to fight alone. Each donation, no matter how small, contributes to her survival and to keeping our family together during this unimaginable ordeal.
Please join us in lifting Ariella up, surrounding her with the love and support she so desperately needs. Together, we can give this tiny warrior the fighting chance she deserves and show her that she is not alone in this battle. Every prayer, every share, and every dollar brings hope and courage to her and to all of us who love her.
Ariella’s life is precious, her fight is heroic, and your support can make a life-saving difference.
