If it weren’t for that first mistake, perhaps our daughter would be healthy today. Perhaps she would be laughing, playing, and enjoying her childhood. Perhaps she would feel joy instead of the pain and fear that now fill every moment of her young life. But instead, she lies in a hospital bed, fighting for her life, and every day is a battle for survival.
Our daughter was diagnosed with cancer just two months after her first symptoms appeared—only because of a misdiagnosis. Today, the cancer is already at stage IV and has metastasized. Every day we pray that we do not lose the last chance fate has given us to save her. The disease is relentless, and the clock is ticking.
It all began with a small, unusual lump on her buttock. At first, we thought it was from a simple fall while playing. Doctors reassured us, saying it was likely nothing more than an abscess. During the first hospital visit, the lump was cut open and fluid was collected—but crucially, it was never sent for histopathology. That was the first mistake, one with tragic consequences.
About a month later, the tumor began to grow again. We returned to the hospital, but once again, no further diagnostics were done. We were sent home without any answers, while the tumor continued to grow unchecked. Only when our daughter started limping and complaining of pain in her leg and groin did doctors finally perform a full abdominal ultrasound. That is when the devastating truth became clear: a 7-cm retroperitoneal mass was growing inside her body, a malignant tumor that had been developing unchecked due to the early misdiagnosis.
On April 22nd, a biopsy was performed. The diagnosis was devastating: stage IV metastatic alveolar leiomyosarcoma. The abscess that had initially been dismissed was actually a malignant tumor. We realized, with horror, that for two months, nothing had been done to stop the disease. Precious time had been lost, and the cancer had grown stronger, spreading further.
The emotions we felt were overwhelming—anger, despair, helplessness. We cried for days, unable to comprehend how quickly a small misjudgment could escalate into a life-threatening situation. But amidst the fear and pain, we knew we could not give up. Our daughter’s life depended on urgent, aggressive treatment, and we had to act quickly.
After her first round of chemotherapy, we began desperately searching for specialized care abroad. Local doctors warned that the options were limited, and time was running out. We eventually found a clinic in Israel that could provide the advanced treatment she needed, giving her a real chance at survival. But the cost of this treatment was enormous—beyond what our family could possibly afford.
Every day counts. The cancer is aggressive, and any delay could be fatal. That is why we are reaching out for help. Every donation, every share of our story, every word of support brings hope and brings us closer to saving our little girl. No amount is too small—every contribution helps cover the cost of her lifesaving therapy.
Our daughter is only three years old. Her life has just begun, yet she faces a battle that no child should ever have to endure. She deserves the chance to grow, laugh, play, and experience the joys of childhood. She deserves a future—a chance to live fully. And we are willing to do everything to give that to her.
We fall to our knees and ask for your help. Help us provide the treatment, care, and resources that can save Lada’s life. Help us give her hope in a time filled with fear. Every donation, every prayer, every shared message is a lifeline, a step toward giving our daughter the chance she deserves to survive and to thrive. Together, we can fight this disease and give a little girl the life that was cruelly threatened before it had even truly begun.
— Lada’s parents
Kacperek’s Story: A Little Boy, a Big Machine, and a Dream Stronger Than Fear.3492
Hi. My name is Kacperek. I came into this world as a completely healthy baby, with a perfect Apgar score of 10. That was the moment I first saw my mother’s loving eyes and felt her warm, gentle touch. I was welcomed with joy by my dad and my older brother, and for the first weeks of my life, everything was exactly as it should be. I grew, smiled, and felt safe in my family home. No one imagined that just a few weeks later, everything would begin to change.
When I was about six weeks old, something started to worry my parents. My hands didn’t work the way they should. Over time, I struggled more and more. No one knew the exact cause, though vaccinations were suspected. By the time I was three months old, I still couldn’t hold my head up on my own. Even then, no one realized this was only the beginning of a long and painful battle with a devastating disease.
One October evening, when I was around seven months old, my parents rushed me to the hospital because I was struggling to breathe. That was the first time I saw real terror in their eyes. At the hospital, doctors placed an oxygen mask on my face, but by morning my condition had worsened so much that I had to be connected to a respirator. For five days, a machine breathed for me. I saw my mother’s tears, the ones she tried so hard to hide. I wanted to tell her, “Mommy, don’t worry. Everything will be okay.” But I couldn’t. I spent ten long days in the hospital before my breathing finally stabilized. The diagnosis was RSV.
Everyone hoped that was the end of it. I was supposed to go home. But things didn’t return to normal. My body kept getting weaker. I still couldn’t hold my head up, my arms went limp, I couldn’t sit or crawl. My parents’ faces were filled with fear and sadness. I could hear them crying when they thought I couldn’t see or hear them, and all I wanted was for life to go back to the way it was before. They searched everywhere for answers, clinging to hope. After all, I had been born healthy. Why would I suddenly be such a sick little boy?
Two months later, fear returned with full force. On December 7th, I stopped breathing on my own. My parents rushed me back to the hospital, where doctors once again connected me to a ventilator to save my life. I lay there for days. When my condition slightly improved, doctors promised I could go home for Christmas. But two days later, my breathing failed again. I was intubated. My first Christmas was spent in a hospital room, not at home under a glowing tree, not surrounded by warmth and celebration. Mom and Dad were there, smiling at me through tears, but I could see they were never truly at peace.
In January 2009, doctors placed a PEG feeding tube directly into my stomach, which I still rely on today. Weeks passed, then months. Still no clear diagnosis. Doctors eventually decided that I would not be able to breathe independently for a very long time, possibly for years. In mid-March, I underwent a tracheotomy. It was another devastating moment for my parents, but it was the only way to keep me alive.
Thanks to the Łódź Children’s Hospice, my parents were able to borrow a ventilator, and finally, I could go home. I became a hospice patient, and to this day doctors, nurses, and caregivers regularly visit me and monitor my condition. I was the happiest child in the world simply because I was home, surrounded by love.
Today, I am six and a half years old. I still cannot breathe on my own. A ventilator keeps my body alive every single day. But something incredible has happened. Thanks to intensive home rehabilitation, I’ve made progress that even doctors call astonishing. I can move my arms and legs. I play with toys, stack blocks, and draw with crayons. I can talk. Doctors are amazed that I can speak with such a large tube in my neck. And just to surprise them even more—I sing. I sing because it makes my mommy smile. I try to be cheerful every day so that fear and pain disappear from my parents’ eyes, even if only for a moment.
Since September, I’ve been a first-grade student at Primary School No. 205 in Łódź. I sit among my peers, learning, dreaming, and hoping. I believe that one day I will recover enough to be like them. But that hope depends on continued treatment and rehabilitation, which is very expensive. It is my only chance.
I dream of walking on my own. Of running. Of playing football with my dad. Of going shopping with my mom. Of playing freely with my little brother. I believe that one day you will see me stand up by myself and prove that willpower can be stronger than fear, machines, and pain. I promise to exercise with all my strength. I promise to fight for independence. And above all, I promise to keep trying—so that I never again see tears of fear and heartbreak in my mother’s eyes.
That is my biggest dream.
