Nastya was once the kind of child whose laughter seemed to echo long after she left a room, a bright spark of joy that made ordinary days feel lighter. She loved the simple magic of childhood — colorful toys, bedtime stories, and the promise of tomorrow without fear.
Her world was small but full, built around family, play, and the endless curiosity that belongs to the very young. No one could have imagined that such innocence would be interrupted so suddenly. Yet leukemia entered her life without warning, stealing her childhood in ways no one was prepared to face.
The diagnosis arrived like a quiet storm, spoken in careful words that carried devastating meaning. In a matter of days, playgrounds were replaced by hospital rooms, and storybooks gave way to medical charts.
Nastya was only a few years old when chemotherapy became part of her daily vocabulary, though she was too young to understand what it truly meant. She knew only that the adults around her were worried, that needles hurt, and that the walls of the hospital felt different from home. Childhood, once defined by play, became defined by survival.
Chemotherapy is a relentless companion, demanding strength from even the strongest adults, let alone a small child. Nastya endured treatments that left her tired and fragile, her tiny body fighting battles invisible to the outside world.
There were days when exhaustion replaced laughter, when even lifting her head felt like an effort. Yet in the quiet moments between procedures, she would still manage a soft smile. It was a reminder that even in the midst of illness, her spirit had not surrendered.
Despite months of treatment, the fight has grown more urgent. Doctors have explained that chemotherapy alone is no longer enough, that her body now needs a bone marrow transplant — her only real chance at survival.
The words are clinical, but their meaning is profound: without this procedure, her future narrows in ways too painful to fully articulate. For her family, the transplant represents hope, fragile but real. It is the bridge between hospital corridors and the possibility of a normal childhood.
The cost of such hope, however, is overwhelming. Medical bills have accumulated faster than her family ever imagined, creating a financial burden that feels impossible to carry alone.
The transplant itself, along with the specialized care required before and after, is far beyond what they can afford. Each conversation about funding carries both urgency and heartbreak. No parent should have to measure their child’s chance at life against a price tag.
And yet, even in this uncertainty, hope has not disappeared. Doctors stand ready, prepared to do everything within their power to give Nastya another chance. Medical teams coordinate carefully, aware that time matters and that every step forward must be deliberate.
Beyond the hospital walls, strangers have begun to care about a little girl they have never met. Compassion travels quietly but powerfully, reaching across distances in ways that remind us of our shared humanity.
Every donation, no matter how small, becomes more than money; it becomes a lifeline. It moves Nastya closer to the transplant she desperately needs, closer to stability, closer to life. It represents a community choosing to believe that her story is not finished
. Each act of generosity becomes a vote for her future, a declaration that her childhood is worth fighting for. In these moments, kindness transforms into tangible hope.
For Nastya’s family, the days are a mixture of fear and fierce determination. They sit beside her hospital bed, holding her hand through treatments, whispering promises of playgrounds and sunshine. They dream of the day she can run without fatigue, laugh without discomfort, and wake up without the shadow of illness.
They imagine her returning to the life she once knew, chasing dreams instead of medical milestones. And they refuse to stop believing that such a day can still come.
This is more than a fight against cancer; it is a fight for stolen time. It is a fight to give a child back the ordinary joys that illness tried to erase. Leukemia may have interrupted her story, but it does not have to write the ending. With a transplant, with support, with collective compassion, the narrative can shift toward healing. And in that possibility lies the reason her family continues to hope.
Nastya should be chasing dreams, not fighting for her life. She should be counting toys, not treatments, planning playdates instead of procedures. Yet even within hospital walls, her future still flickers with possibility. The road ahead is uncertain, but it is not without light. And if enough hands reach forward in time, this little girl may yet reclaim the childhood she deserves.
A Journey of Strength and Resilience: My Battle with Osteosarcoma.2286
During the summer holidays of 2019, I started to notice that my knee would occasionally ache. At first, I thought it was just growing pains—I’m tall for my age, and this kind of discomfort was typical for someone going through a growth spurt. But when the pain persisted and even worsened during school, particularly in physical education (PE) classes, it became clear that something wasn’t quite right. My mum took me to our GP on November 1st, hoping for a simple explanation, but despite no visible signs of swelling, bruising, or lumps, the GP still suggested we get an X-ray, just to rule anything out.
We went for the X-ray and returned home, thinking little of it. Less than an hour later, my mum got a call from the GP asking us to return immediately. We were told they’d found something on the X-ray that needed urgent attention, and within moments, I was facing the worst news of my life: I had osteosarcoma, a rare and aggressive type of bone cancer. The doctor’s words felt surreal, and the reality of what I was hearing slowly sank in. I was scared, overwhelmed, and unsure of what was going to happen next. I didn’t know what the future held, but I knew it was going to be a battle.
The Beginning of My Treatment Journey
After the biopsy confirmed the diagnosis, my medical team quickly put together a treatment plan. It started with chemotherapy in December 2019, followed by limb salvage surgery in February 2020. This would be followed by more chemotherapy sessions, physiotherapy, and hydro pool therapy to help regain the use of my leg. Despite the harshness of the treatment, I was determined to stay strong and continue pushing forward.
Chemotherapy, however, was not an easy journey. The first dose made me so sick that I couldn’t keep anything down. It took time to find the right anti-sickness medication that worked for me, but once we got it sorted, I was able to manage the nausea, even though the sickness still lingered. The hardest part for me, though, wasn’t just the physical effects—it was the emotional toll of losing my hair. The first rounds of chemo quickly robbed me of it, and for a while, I hated looking at myself. It felt like I lost part of my identity, and I couldn’t bear to see my reflection, so I removed all the mirrors from around the house.
In addition to hair loss, I struggled with mucositis—painful sores in my mouth that made eating nearly impossible. I had to rely on a feeding tube (PEG) to get the nutrition I needed. The process of learning how to feed myself through the tube was frustrating, and it added to the emotional strain of everything I was already dealing with. I also became severely fatigued. I’d sleep most days, waking up just long enough to go through the motions of my treatment, and then it was back to bed.
Adapting to a New Reality
Despite the exhaustion and pain, there were moments of light during my stay at the hospital. The staff were absolutely incredible. From the doctors and nurses to the cleaners, cooks, and auxiliary staff, they made me feel cared for and never treated me as just a patient. I was assigned to a private room on the teenage ward, which was bright and welcoming with mood lighting and a big settee for my parents to stay with me. The ward was a safe space, not just for me, but for my family as well, and I found comfort in the kindness of everyone around me.
One of the hardest parts of my journey was the COVID-19 restrictions. Due to safety measures, my dad couldn’t be with me on the ward, and I often had to FaceTime him instead of having him by my side. It was lonely at times, but I knew that my family was supporting me from afar, and I took strength from that. I also missed a whole year of school and lost contact with many of my friends, but through the hospital, I found new friends who were going through similar struggles. These friendships became invaluable to me, and we helped each other get through the toughest days.
A Step Toward Recovery: Surgeries and Overcoming Obstacles
After months of chemotherapy, I underwent the crucial limb salvage surgery in February 2020. The surgery removed the tumor from my leg and replaced part of my bone with a metal prosthesis. The recovery process was difficult and painful. I had to go through months of physiotherapy to help me regain movement in my leg, but I was determined to fight back. It’s still not fully functional, and I’m working every day to improve its flexibility and strength through regular exercises and sessions.
The road wasn’t easy. Along with the physical challenges, I was also struggling emotionally. It’s hard to feel normal when everything in your life has changed, and even harder when you’re so used to being independent and active. The fact that I was forced to rely on others for basic tasks, like getting dressed, showering, and even walking, was difficult to accept. But through the support of my family, friends, and medical team, I slowly learned how to adapt to this new reality.
The Power of Support and the Importance of Early Detection
After my surgery, I continued to have chemotherapy and was closely monitored for any signs of recurrence. I was fortunate that my doctors acted quickly, and the early detection of my osteosarcoma helped me begin treatment before the cancer had spread too far. I also made it a priority to talk about my journey in the hopes of raising awareness about the importance of early diagnosis, especially for rare cancers like osteosarcoma. For anyone experiencing persistent pain or unusual symptoms, I urge you to trust your instincts and seek medical advice. Early intervention truly saves lives.
By September 2020, I had completed my chemotherapy plan, and the scans showed promising results. My doctors were hopeful that the treatment had been successful, and I was finally given the all-clear. I still have regular check-ups, but for the most part, I’m continuing to heal and live my life.
A Message of Hope and Strength
Looking back on everything I’ve been through, I’m proud of how far I’ve come. The pain, the struggles, and the uncertainty were difficult, but I’ve learned to appreciate the strength and resilience I’ve discovered within myself. My family has been my rock, and without their support, I wouldn’t have made it through.
To others who are facing a similar diagnosis, I want to share this message: Stay strong, even on the hardest days. Focus on your goals and the future, no matter how distant they may seem. There will be tough days, but every small victory counts. And always remember, you’re never alone—there is strength in community and support.
I’m now moving forward, one step at a time, and I’m determined to live my life to the fullest. This journey has changed me, but it has also shown me the power of hope, the importance of never giving up, and the incredible support that surrounds me. I’m ready for the next chapter, and I know that no matter what comes next, I’ll face it with courage, just as I always have.
