I wanted to share a few updates about our brave girl, Sabina.

Not long ago, we returned from the United States — our final trip as part of the clinical trial program. There are still six months left of taking the medication and follow-up checkups ahead, but this last visit marked a turning point. As always, the anxiety before each exam was overwhelming — no matter how many times we go through it, it never gets easier. But this time, we left with something precious:

hope. The treatment is working, and Sabina’s remission continues.

It feels like breathing again after years of holding our breath.

Life, slowly but surely, is finding its rhythm. A new school year has begun, and Sabina has just started second grade. She goes to school with enthusiasm, curious about everything, eager to learn. Watching her walk into the classroom with her backpack — something so normal, yet so extraordinary for us — fills me with indescribable gratitude.

We believe this will be another victorious year for her.

But behind this fragile normalcy lies a story of unimaginable struggle — one that began in early 2022, when we heard the words no parent should ever have to hear:

“Your child has cancer.”

That moment shattered our world. Sabina was diagnosed with stage IV neuroblastoma, an aggressive childhood cancer. A massive 9-centimeter tumor was growing inside her tiny abdomen. Around the same time, war broke out in our country. Overnight, our life became a battle on two fronts — against cancer and against fear itself.

I found myself alone abroad with three children, while my husband stayed behind, saving every bit of money he could to help us survive. Our days were spent inside hospital walls, fighting for Sabina’s life.

Our first hope came from Israel, where Sabina began her treatment — rounds of chemotherapy, surgery to remove the tumor, and then more chemotherapy. The months blurred together in a haze of hospital rooms and sleepless nights. We tried to cling to any sign of improvement, but uncertainty loomed over every scan, every test.

After completing her chemotherapy in Israel, we made the difficult decision to move to Spain for immunotherapy. The treatment there was less toxic and more affordable — but the cost, both emotional and financial, was still enormous.

For a while, things seemed to be improving. The scans looked better. Sabina’s strength began to return. Then came the blow that almost broke us — a relapse.
The cancer had spread to her brain.

Another urgent surgery followed. Fear came back, heavier than before. We had just started to believe again, and suddenly we were thrown back into the nightmare.

In September 2023, Sabina finished her last cycle of immunochemotherapy. Her doctors were cautiously optimistic — the results were finally where they should be. Step by step, treatment began to show results. And then, one day, we heard the word we had prayed for so long to hear:

remission.

It felt like light flooding into a room that had been dark for years.

Months have passed since that moment. Sabina is now undergoing post-remission treatment — taking a special medication called

DFMO, designed to prevent relapse. It’s part of a clinical trial available only in the United States, though thankfully, her monitoring can continue in Spain under close supervision from both the U.S. and Spanish teams.

This program is planned to last two full years, with regular tests every three months and five required visits to the U.S. After that, Sabina will continue with checkups for another three years — less frequent, but still essential.

Recently, the hospital sent us a bill for the upcoming five years of exams and monitoring. The sum is overwhelming — far beyond what our family can manage, even when divided into smaller payments. We are already at our financial limit, and Sabina’s path to lasting remission is still long.

And yet, despite the fear and exhaustion, there’s an unshakable strength that keeps us moving forward — Sabina’s strength.

She has endured more than most adults ever will: endless hospital stays, pain, nausea, blood transfusions, procedures that steal away her childhood. And still, she smiles. She laughs. She dreams. Her spirit is fierce, her will unbreakable.

Every time I see her playing, coloring, or telling her teacher about the planets she loves so much, I realize that miracles don’t always come in grand gestures — sometimes, they come in the quiet resilience of a child who refuses to give up.

We still need help to continue her treatment. Every visit, every test, every bottle of medication counts toward her chance at a cancer-free future. We cannot do this alone.

Please — if you can — help us keep Sabina’s fight alive. Help us make sure her remission lasts, that she has the childhood she deserves, filled not with hospital walls but with laughter, school days, and sunshine.

We dream of the day we can finally go home — safe, healthy, and free from fear.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for every donation, every prayer, and every kind word. Your support is the reason we’re still standing.

Because of you, Sabina is still fighting — and winning. 💛