“Your daughter has cancer.”
Those words shattered our world. My little girl’s laughter and dreams were replaced by hospital rooms, chemotherapy, and endless fear.

In 2019, Arianka was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia. Months of grueling treatment followed, and after a year, we heard the words we had prayed for — remission. For two precious years, we dared to hope.

Then, in January 2024, the cancer returned — stronger and more aggressive. Harsh chemotherapy and a bone marrow transplant followed. Arianka survived, but her body is fragile. She can’t go to school or play like other children, and every infection could be life-threatening.

Yet, she smiles. She hopes. Her spirit is stronger than the disease.
The cost of her ongoing care is overwhelming, and we cannot do it alone.

Please, help us give Arianka a chance to live, to laugh, and to run again.
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Arianka’s Battle Against Leukemia – A Mother’s Cry for Life

💖 Arianka’s Battle Against Leukemia – A Mother’s Cry for Life

“Your daughter has cancer.”
With those few words, our world shattered into a million pieces. In one brief moment, my little girl’s happy childhood ended, replaced by a desperate fight for her life. Her bright, cozy bedroom was swapped for a cold hospital room, and through her tiny veins began to flow the burning poison of chemotherapy.

I still remember the first time I saw her lying there—pale, trembling, her small body wracked with nausea, her once golden hair falling strand by strand onto the pillow. No child should ever have to suffer like that. All I could do was wipe away her tears and whisper promises I wasn’t sure I could keep—that this nightmare would soon be over, that everything would be okay. Inside, I was breaking apart.

Our nightmare began in 2019. Arianka suddenly began to feel unwell—her legs hurt constantly, she lost her appetite, and the weight began to fall off her tiny frame. Worried, I took her to the doctor right away. The test results came back quickly, and they were terrifying. We were sent to the pediatric oncology ward with a suspected cancer diagnosis.

I wanted to believe it was all a horrible mistake. Things like this happen to other people, far away, not to us. My daughter couldn’t have cancer. She was only a little girl with a big smile and dreams of starting school. I remember holding her in my arms, feeling the world crumble beneath me.

When we arrived at the oncology unit, the reality hit me. The hallways were lined with children—frail, bald, and so weak they could barely walk. Beside each bed sat a parent, their eyes full of exhaustion and tears. I wanted to turn around and run away with my daughter, but I knew we couldn’t. I had to be strong—for her.

The doctors decided to take a bone marrow sample. The results were like a death sentence: acute lymphoblastic leukemia. My heart stopped. There was no time to lose—Arianka had to begin chemotherapy immediately, combined with hormonal treatment. Our days turned into weeks, our weeks into months, and every single moment felt like a lifetime. We lived inside the hospital, surrounded by the constant smell of antiseptic and the sound of machines beeping.

But then… after more than a year of relentless treatment, something miraculous happened.

We heard the words we had prayed for—remission.
I cried tears of relief. My little girl had beaten cancer. We could finally go home, hug her brothers, and dream about a normal future.

For two years, we lived in that fragile happiness. We dared to believe that the nightmare was over. But on January 11, 2024, our world collapsed again. The disease was back—

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relapse. The word that every cancer parent fears the most. The leukemia had returned, stronger and more aggressive than before

Arianka was immediately admitted back to the oncology ward. This time, the treatment was even harsher—stronger chemotherapy, new medications, and finally, a

bone marrow transplant. We clung to every bit of hope. Watching her go through the same agony again broke me in ways I can’t describe, but she never complained. She just held my hand and said, “Mommy, we’ll win again.”

After weeks of isolation, the transplant was successful, and she was allowed to return home. But the battle was far from over. Her immune system was so weak that she couldn’t share a room with her brothers. We had to move to a new apartment where she could stay isolated and safe. Every week, we travel back to the hospital for check-ups, blood tests, and treatments.

Arianka is still so fragile. She can’t go to school, can’t play outside, can’t live like other children her age. Every infection, every fever, could be life-threatening. Yet, she still smiles. She still talks about the day she’ll run again with her friends. Her spirit is stronger than her illness.

But our fight isn’t only against leukemia—it’s also against time, fear, and the crushing financial burden of her care. The costs of ongoing treatments, medications, physiotherapy, and the special conditions she needs to stay safe are overwhelming. We’ve spent everything we had, but it’s not enough.

That’s why I’m asking, from the depths of my heart—please, help my little girl live.
Even the smallest donation can make a difference. Arianka has beaten cancer once. She can do it again. But we can’t do it alone.

Every day with her is a gift, but also a battle.
Please, help us win it. For Arianka. For her tomorrow.
For her life. 💔