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My name is Rachel, and I'm writing this from a hallway in the pediatric oncology wing where my daughter Mia is finishing her third round of chemotherapy. If you had told me six months ago that I'd be asking strangers for help, I wouldn't have believed you. But here we are — and I'm so grateful you're reading this.
Mia is eight. She loves painting, her rescue puppy Coco, and telling jokes she doesn't quite get yet. In March, after weeks of unexplained bruising and fatigue, we got the diagnosis no parent wants to hear: acute lymphoblastic leukemia. Since then, our lives have been reorganized around a treatment plan that stretches over the next 24 months.
Insurance covers the treatment itself, but it doesn't cover the reality of what this year looks like for our family. The specialty hospital is 4 hours from home. My husband and I have taken unpaid leave in shifts. Our older son is staying with grandparents. The bills that fall between the cracks — lodging, gas, meals, co-pays, the endless small things — are what this campaign is for.
Here's exactly where the funds go: about $18,000 covers lodging near the hospital for the remaining inpatient stays. Roughly $12,000 covers travel and lost wages for the parent who needs to be there at every appointment. Around $15,000 covers medical co-pays that aren't waived. The remaining $5,000 is a buffer for the emergencies that keep finding us.
If you've made it this far, thank you. Truly. Every single donation — $5 or $500 — is a small vote of confidence that our family is going to be okay. And on the hard days, that matters more than I can explain.
— Rachel, Mia's mom
Other Health emergencies happening right now.
On the way home from her wedding rehearsal dinner, Melissa was T-boned in a serious car accident — and doctors found masses throughout her body. She's 30, newly married, and now facing chemotherapy.
Five-year-old Katrina is in America for leukaemia treatment. Her mother Maria has paid everything she could, but therapy and aftercare remain far beyond what she can afford alone.
Patricia lucha contra un cáncer de tiroides con metástasis pulmonar y lleva 3 días sin morfina porque no tiene dinero para comprarla. Su hijo también perdió la vista de un ojo.
Nora's cancer is eating away at her face. The wound bleeds every day, she can barely eat, and without urgent surgery her son Christopher will lose her.
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