“Zosia’s Courage: Fighting for Life, One Battle at a Time”.

There are days that carve themselves so deeply into your heart that you know you will never forget them. Days that test your courage, shake your soul, and at the same time remind you of the incredible strength hidden in the smallest of human beings.

For us, today was one of those days.

Our little girl, Zosia, faced yet another battle. She underwent a procedure known as therapeutic apheresis — a complicated, demanding, and exhausting process of cleansing the blood. For many, those words may sound like nothing more than a medical definition, something read in a textbook or explained in sterile terms. But for us, as her parents, it was something much more. For us, it was another battle for her life.

Imagine a child lying still for hours, her tiny body attached to sophisticated medical machines. Imagine her blood leaving her veins, flowing through tubes into a machine that strips away what is diseased, then returns it — cleaner, purer, ready to give her another chance at life. That is what our daughter went through.

And Zosia? Though her body is tired, though fear flickers in her eyes and pain tries to steal her strength, she fights with the courage of a lioness. She endures, she breathes through the fear, she finds the bravery within herself that humbles even us, her parents.

Around her, a team of doctors and nurses watched every moment. Every small change in her condition was noted, every possible complication anticipated and prevented. It was a day filled with tension, with hope, with relief. And when the procedure ended, we held onto the words we had been longing for, clutching them like a treasure: Zosia is stable.

Stable. Such a simple word, and yet it carries the weight of the world.

But we cannot fool ourselves. This is not the end of her battle. This is not even close. We are only halfway through this brutal journey. Behind us are three long months of hospital life — three months in sterile rooms filled with machines, in air heavy with the scent of disinfectant and medicine. Three months where silence was broken only by the beeping of monitors and the soft footsteps of nurses. Three months of watching, waiting, praying, and clinging to hope.

Ahead of us are three more.

The hospital has become our second home. The bed by her side is where we rest, the corridor where we pace is where we measure time, and the cafeteria meals taste of fatigue rather than food. And yet, amid all this, there are the small victories that keep us going.

A smile that appears through her exhaustion.
A set of test results that bring a sigh of relief.
The simple act of holding her hand and feeling that it is warm, steady, alive.

These small moments, invisible to others, are everything to us. They are our victories. They are the proof that despite the cruelty of her illness, our daughter is still here, still fighting.

Zosia has shown us what resilience truly means. She has shown us that courage is not the absence of fear but the decision to keep fighting despite it. She has reminded us, over and over again, that life is measured not only in years but in moments of strength, moments of hope, and moments of love.

But this fight is far from over.

Her autologous stem cell transplant still lies ahead — a treatment that carries enormous risks but also offers a chance at survival. The road is long and steep, filled with uncertainties, filled with sleepless nights and endless prayers. And we know that we cannot walk it alone.

We need you.
Zosia needs you.

She needs your words, your prayers, your energy. She needs to know that there are people beyond the hospital walls who believe in her, who are cheering for her, who carry her in their hearts.

Every message of support, every whispered prayer, every thought sent her way matters more than we can ever explain. They reach us in the quiet hours of the night when exhaustion takes over. They lift us when despair begins to creep in. They remind us that we are not fighting this battle in silence — that there is a chorus of voices behind us, keeping us strong.

We know that the road ahead will not be easy. We know there will be setbacks, tears, and moments when hope feels fragile. But we also know that with you beside us, we can keep going. With your strength combined with ours, with your love wrapped around our daughter like a shield, we can face whatever comes next.

Three months behind us.
Three more to go.

A lifetime of love waiting beyond.

We dream of the day when Zosia can walk out of this hospital, her little hand in ours, free from the machines and the wires. We dream of the day when her laughter will echo in the open air instead of hospital corridors, when she can run, play, and live the childhood she so deserves.

Until then, we will keep holding her hand, keep standing by her side, keep believing in miracles. And we will keep asking you to stand with us.

Because no child should ever have to fight alone.

Because Zosia is worth every battle, every tear, every prayer.
Because with your help, we can keep her moving forward, one day, one heartbeat, one victory at a time.

Please — stay with us. Stay with Zosia.

Together, we can carry her through this storm and into the light of tomorrow.