My name is Reyne, and I am the mother of two beautiful children. One of them, my 14-month-old baby, has already faced more challenges in his short life than many adults experience in decades. Over the past few weeks, our family has been navigating a medical journey filled with fear, uncertainty, and exhaustion, as my baby recovers from his second open-heart surgery.
From the moment he was born, we knew that his heart would require special care. Surgeries, hospital visits, and constant monitoring have become the reality of our daily lives. Each procedure carries hope, but also worry. Despite the surgeries, he continues to experience complications, becoming sick repeatedly, with doctors working tirelessly to determine what is happening and how best to help him heal.
These past weeks have been some of the most challenging we have ever faced. Long hours in the hospital, sleepless nights, and the emotional strain of seeing my child in pain have left our family exhausted. Every day is filled with appointments, medications, and constant vigilance, while we try to maintain some semblance of normal life for our older child, who also needs attention, love, and care.
On top of the emotional toll, the financial strain has been overwhelming. I have had to take time away from work to be by my baby’s side, which has made it difficult to cover everyday expenses. The costs add up quickly: hospital parking, meals, medications, and unexpected fees that arise in the midst of medical emergencies. Balancing financial obligations while ensuring my baby receives the care he needs feels impossible at times.
Our family is reaching out to our community for support. Every donation, no matter how small, can help lift some of this burden, allowing me to focus entirely on my baby’s recovery and the well-being of both of my children. Your contribution will directly help cover medical expenses, travel to the hospital, daily necessities, and other costs that have become unavoidable during this difficult time.
More than financial support, your kindness brings hope. Your compassion reminds us that we are not alone in this fight and that others care about the lives of children who are struggling for every heartbeat, every breath, and every step toward recovery. Every act of generosity—whether a donation, sharing this story, or offering prayers and encouragement—provides strength to a family walking through one of the hardest periods of our lives.
Watching my baby fight through pain and recovery is both heartbreaking and inspiring. He is so small, yet so brave. Each time he opens his eyes, smiles, or responds to gentle touches, he reminds me why we keep going. He teaches me daily about resilience, courage, and the deep bonds of family love. These moments of hope, though fleeting at times, are what sustain us through sleepless nights and anxious days.
We dream of a future where my baby can grow strong, play with his sibling, and experience the joys of childhood without constant fear or hospitalization. We hope for the day when the hospital lights and machines are replaced by the laughter of two healthy children running freely at home. Every donation, prayer, and word of encouragement brings us closer to that vision—a chance for our baby to heal and thrive.
To anyone reading this, we ask for your help. Your support, whether financial or emotional, will have a direct impact on our family’s ability to care for our baby and navigate this challenging journey. No contribution is too small; every gesture is a lifeline that allows us to focus on what matters most: the health, recovery, and happiness of our child.
My 14-month-old has already faced immense challenges, but with love, care, and the support of others, he can continue to fight and grow. Your generosity can make a real difference in our lives, allowing me to be fully present for both of my children while giving my baby the chance to heal and thrive.
Thank you for reading our story, for keeping us in your thoughts, and for supporting our family in any way you can. Your kindness, compassion, and generosity mean more than words can express and give us hope that our little boy will have a future filled with health, love, and happiness.
A mother’s plea for Erika: A story of love, fear, and the fight to survive.1782
When my daughter Erika was born, the world instantly shifted. Her tiny fingers wrapped around mine, and in that moment, I understood that nothing—absolutely nothing—held more value than the life of my child. She became my reason for existing, my breath, my heartbeat.
But now, a cruel and merciless disease is trying to take her away from me. And I am terrified.
Erika has a recurrence of neuroblastoma, one of the deadliest childhood cancers known to medicine. Half of the children diagnosed with it never survive. And today, my daughter is fighting for her life all over again.
I beg anyone reading this—from the deepest part of my soul—please help us. Without urgent treatment, my precious girl will die. Those are words no mother should ever have to say, yet here I am, living inside that nightmare.
It began in early September of 2022. Erika’s eyelids and ears turned yellow, her appetite vanished, and she grew tired so easily. She became moody and withdrawn, and fear gripped my heart. I thought it might be jaundice, so I rushed to get her examined.
During the ultrasound, the doctor suddenly fell silent. He had found a large tumor near her kidneys. Within hours, we were pushed into a whirlwind: emergency referrals, urgent hospitalizations, and an oncology ward where my world collapsed.
When they told me my daughter had something inside her body that threatened her life, my knees buckled. I held Erika tightly as she cried in my arms, and the world around me seemed to disappear.
After more tests, the diagnosis came: stage 4 retroperitoneal neuroblastoma with bone marrow involvement.
The chief physician told me she likely had only two to three months left. A bone marrow transplant abroad might help—but with no guarantee.
I walked out of his office unable to breathe. I ran to Erika’s room, knelt beside her bed, and held her tiny hand. Tears streamed down my face. How could this happen to a child so young, so innocent? Why her? Why not me?
Chemotherapy was brutal. When the pain became unbearable, she would strike her own head, tear at her clothes, and try to run from the agony burning inside her body. I held her every time, whispering promises she couldn’t understand, praying words that barely formed.
I was drowning in fear.
And we had no money for the life-saving treatment she needed.
That truth broke me completely.
One night, overwhelmed by helplessness, I ran into the dim common room and collapsed in tears, pulling at my hair, begging God to save her. I didn’t notice another mother standing quietly in the shadows. She approached me, wrapped her arms around me, and whispered, “Cry as much as you must—but never in front of your daughter. She needs your strength, not your tears.”
That simple act of kindness changed something in me.
I knew I had to fight—for Erika, for our future.
On October 10th, we flew to Turkey to begin treatment. They shaved her hair, and she cried. I cried too, picking up her soft strands and tucking them into my bag.
After three rounds of chemotherapy, the tumor had shrunk enough for surgery—and by a miracle, the surgery was successful. She then endured three more cycles of chemotherapy. She vomited, burned with fever, struggled to eat, felt weak and achy, but she never stopped fighting.
She underwent an autograft, more chemotherapy, more radiation—and finally, after many months, we came home. For a year, life was calm again.
Until March 2024.
Doctors found a recurrence, this time with metastases in her brain, bone marrow, and bones.
The words shattered me.
Emergency chemotherapy began again, but Erika’s small body is tired now. Each round brings pain she should never have to feel.
And now, doctors are clear: chemotherapy alone will not save her this time.
Erika urgently needs immunotherapy in Barcelona, a treatment with a real chance of saving her life.
But the cost…
It is impossible for us.
It has brought us to our knees.
And so I ask—no, I beg—please help me save my daughter. She is only a child. She has so much life left to live.
This is not her time to die.
Please… help Erika live.
— Erika’s mother
