Dear Donors,
It has been some time since my last update. I wish I could share that the hardest times are behind us—that my daughter Wikusia is healthy, joyful, and pain-free. Unfortunately, I cannot. Our battle continues, and it feels more challenging than ever.
A Childhood Stolen by Cancer
While other children play freely in the grass, my daughter spends her days gazing out the hospital window. The oncology ward has become her playground, and the sounds of machines are her lullabies.
Wiktoria is still undergoing rigorous treatment—chemotherapy, and now, immunotherapy. The procedures are exhausting. Her body is weary, yet her spirit continues to shine.
“She should be playing outside, not lying in a hospital bed with tubes in her chest,” I whisper to myself every night.
Recently, doctors had to drain fluid from her pleural cavity again. The drain has been in place ever since. I hold her hand through the pain, trying to appear strong, but inside, I’m crumbling.
The Weight of a Mother’s Fear
It’s difficult to express the feeling of watching your child fight for her life. To see her entangled in wires, surrounded by machines that breathe for her, nourish her, and keep her alive.
“It’s a constant pain,” I tell people, “one that never leaves you.”
The fear is ever-present—fear of losing her, fear of receiving bad news, fear of not being able to afford the next treatment. For parents like me, cancer is not merely a diagnosis; it’s a life we never chose. Every beep from the monitor, every nurse’s glance, every sigh from the doctor can break your heart.
Between Hospitals and Survival
Each day brings new hurdles: medications, hospital visits, check-ups, and endless travel between the hospital and clinic. Then there’s life outside the ward—the rent, bills, food, vitamins, cleaning supplies.
The costs accumulate faster than I can manage. I cannot work right now; Wikusia needs me around the clock. Yet even while sitting by her side, I find myself worrying—how will I afford the next treatment cycle? The fuel to get us to the hospital? The medications not covered by insurance?
“It’s just the two of us,” I say softly. “And I have to be both mother and provider, nurse and protector.”
Holding on to Hope
Despite everything, we haven’t lost hope. Every morning, I remind my daughter—and myself—that we are still fighting. I tell her she’s brave, even when she cries. I assure her we’ll get through this, even when I’m uncertain how.
“Hope,” I tell her, “is stronger than cancer.”
There are moments—when she smiles, when her blood counts improve, when a doctor says “good progress”—that remind me why we persevere.
Those moments are made possible because of you. Because of every person who has donated, shared our story, or sent a kind word. Your support keeps us afloat. Your kindness gives my daughter another day, another chance.
Please, Stay With Us
This journey is long, lonely, and filled with fear—but it’s also filled with love. The love of a mother who refuses to give up, and the love of strangers who make survival possible.
I’m reaching out to you, from the depths of my heart—please don’t abandon us now. The fight isn’t over. Every donation helps cover another day of medication, another hospital stay, another heartbeat.
“Thank you,” I whisper each night, as my daughter sleeps beside me. “Thank you for keeping her alive.”
Your support is the light that breaks through the darkness of this hospital room. Please, help us keep that light shining.
With all my heart,
Viktoriia Kachmar
Mother of Wiktoria 💛
