It started subtly — a minor shift that only a parent’s intuition could sense. On May 6, 2024, I realized my little boy, Elxan, was not his usual self. He appeared pale, weak, and alarmingly listless. Deep down, I sensed this was more than mere fatigue or a fleeting illness. I hurried him to the hospital, hoping for the best.
That same day, after a series of tests, the doctors delivered news I will never forget — their expressions were somber, uncertain, and filled with compassion. “The results are concerning,” one of them finally stated. The following morning, May 7, we were referred to the Hematology and Transfusion Center in Baku for additional testing.
In that sterile room filled with machines and dread, we heard the words that shattered our lives:
“Your son has acute myeloid leukemia.”
Everything that followed became a blur — the doctors’ voices, medical jargon, numbers on reports — but those four words echoed relentlessly in my mind. My son had cancer.
The Fight Commences
From May to October 2024, our existence transformed into a chaotic blend of hospital visits, IV drips, and prayers shared through tears. Intensive chemotherapy commenced immediately. Each cycle spanned weeks. We witnessed our son endure unimaginable suffering — the nausea, the fatigue, the endless nights filled with pain.
Yet through it all, Elxan never ceased to smile. Even on his worst days, when he lacked the strength to lift his head, he would whisper, “I’m okay, Mama.” That resilience — that unwavering bravery — fueled our determination to persevere.
As the months rolled by, there were fleeting moments when we dared to hope. The doctors indicated that the treatment was effective, that the blood results were improving. For the first time in months, we allowed ourselves to envision a future beyond the confines of the hospital. We began counting down the days until chemotherapy concluded, clinging to the belief that the nightmare was nearing its end.
But leukemia is a merciless, unpredictable foe.
The Return of the Storm
On January 10, 2025, our fragile tranquility shattered. Routine blood tests revealed what every parent of a child with cancer dreads most: the leukemia had returned, more aggressive than before.
The words hit like a bolt of lightning. I recall the doctor’s voice quivering slightly as he said, “It’s aggressive. He will need a bone marrow transplant — urgently.”
Three days later, on January 13, we traveled to Medical Park Hospital in Antalya, Turkey. We left everything behind — our home, our jobs, our sense of safety — because the only priority was saving our son. There was no time to ponder finances or distance. Our sole focus was: he must survive.
In Antalya, a new chapter of the battle began. Tests, consultations, preparations — all leading to one desperate hope: a successful bone marrow transplant. Doctors explained that this procedure was Elxan’s only chance at life. Without it, the disease would claim him. With it, there was a chance — a fragile, invaluable chance — for him to grow up, laugh again, and be the vibrant, inquisitive boy he was before cancer invaded our lives.
A Family on the Brink
No parent ever envisions having to choose between their child’s life and financial stability. Yet, that is precisely our reality. The expenses for treatment, surgery, and post-transplant recovery are overwhelming. We have sold what we could, borrowed what was feasible, and stretched every resource to its limits.
Still, it’s insufficient.
Every day in the hospital incurs another bill, another medication, another test. We are surrounded by receipts, invoices, and hope — each figure a reminder that saving a life costs more than we ever anticipated.
There are moments of unbearable dread — the nights when alarms blare, when doctors rush into his room, when I stand outside praying I won’t hear the worst. But there are also moments of brightness — when Elxan’s eyes flutter open, when he smiles at me, when he asks, “Mama, when I get better, can we go to the park?”
In those moments, I remind myself: we cannot give up. Not now. Not ever.
The Strength of Hope
Leukemia has robbed our son of so much — his vitality, his freedom, his childhood. Yet it has not extinguished his spirit. Each morning, he awakens and fights anew. And so do we.
But we cannot fight alone.
That’s why I am reaching out — to anyone reading this, to anyone who believes that no child should face death before experiencing life. We are asking, pleading, for assistance.
Every contribution, no matter how small, is another step toward saving our son’s life. Every act of kindness brings us closer to the day we can finally say, “He’s healthy. He’s home.”
If you’ve ever loved someone so deeply that the thought of losing them feels like losing your own breath — then you understand what this means to us.
A Father’s Hope
When I gaze at Elxan — his frail body, his gentle gaze, his quiet bravery — I see more than just my son. I see the reason I rise each morning. The reason I still believe in miracles.
We have nothing left but faith — faith in doctors, faith in strangers, faith in humanity. Because sometimes, the greatest miracles are not found in medicine, but in people — in hearts willing to help a child live.
Please, help us save Elxan Elturan Naghiyev.
Help us provide him with the chance every child deserves — a future.
Because right now, every heartbeat of his is borrowed time — and every act of kindness could grant him one more.
