Help Me Show Sarah She’s Not Alone

My three year old daughter has Stage IV cancer. 💔

Her name is Sarah. She has already gone through fifteen cycles of chemotherapy, radiation therapy, serious complications, and time in intensive care.

After all of that, the cancer returned and spread to her lungs.

I am her father, Samuel, and I am asking for help because the treatment that may still give Sarah a chance costs approximately $720,000.

I never imagined that I would have to ask strangers to help save my child.

I always believed that as her father, it was my responsibility to protect her and find a solution whenever something went wrong. But I cannot solve this alone.

Sarah does not understand what Stage IV cancer means. She does not know what metastases are or why her mother and I become frightened whenever doctors ask to speak with us privately. She only knows that she hates the hospital.

Before some treatments, she becomes angry with us. She cries and asks why we are bringing her back there again. Sometimes she pushes our hands away because she knows that another needle, test, or infusion is coming.

I cannot blame her. She is only three years old, and the hospital has already taken up such a large part of her life.

Then, after she becomes calmer, she often hugs us and says, “I love you, Mommy. I love you, Daddy.”

She says it many times every day. Sometimes she says it while playing, sometimes before falling asleep, and sometimes immediately after being angry with us. Those words break my heart because I know that she trusts us completely. Even when she is frightened or upset, she still believes that we are taking care of her.

We are trying. We are doing everything we can.

Before Sarah became ill, our family lived a normal and active life. Elena, Sarah’s mother, worked as a lawyer in the banking sector. I worked as an engineer specializing in security systems.

Sarah has an older sister, Eva, who is six. We enjoyed camping, hiking, swimming, watching sunrises, playing football, and spending time outdoors. Elena often went running while pushing Sarah in her stroller. Sarah would sit in front of her, looking around, smiling, and pointing at things she saw along the way.

We did not think of those moments as anything special at the time. They were simply our life. Now we miss them every day.

Sarah’s illness began with something that looked like a small bruise under her left eye. At first, we did not think it could be something life-threatening. Children fall and get bruises. We hoped it would disappear. But it did not.

We took her for examinations, still hoping that someone would tell us it was harmless. Instead, we learned that Sarah had alveolar rhabdomyosarcoma, a rare and very aggressive childhood cancer.

The tumor had begun in the left orbital region around her eye. It spread to the lymph nodes in her neck and later to her lungs. Her cancer was already Stage IV.

I remember the doctor explaining it to us, but I could not fully process what I was hearing. I kept looking at Sarah and thinking that she was too young for any of this. She still needed help getting dressed. She still wanted to be carried when she was tired. Yet we were being told that cancer had already spread through her body.

Sarah also has Fanconi syndrome, which affects her kidney function. This makes her treatment more complicated because the doctors must monitor her carefully and consider how every medication may affect her kidneys.

Surgery was not possible, so treatment began with chemotherapy and radiation therapy.

Sarah went through fifteen cycles of chemotherapy. She received radiation and endured repeated blood tests, scans, IV infusions, hospital admissions, and procedures. The treatment made her extremely weak. She suffered serious complications and, at one point, had to be admitted to intensive care.

There is no way to prepare yourself for seeing your child there. Elena and I stayed beside her as much as we were allowed. We spoke to her, held her hand, and tried not to show how scared we were. Sarah would look at us, waiting for us to tell her that everything was okay. Sometimes I told her that even when I did not know whether it was true.

After months of treatment, Sarah reached remission. 🙏

We were afraid to celebrate too much, but we allowed ourselves to hope. We imagined her getting stronger, returning home, playing with Eva, going to school, and slowly forgetting the hospital. Then, in January 2026, the cancer returned.

The chemotherapy and radiation Sarah had received were not enough to prevent the disease from coming back. Because her cancer is aggressive, metastatic, and has relapsed after intensive treatment, her chances with the usual treatments are not considered high. Hearing that was devastating.

Sarah had already suffered through so much, and we were being told that the treatments she had received had not managed to control the cancer. We continued searching for another option.

Eventually, a new medical center offered Sarah an advanced immunotherapy treatment. The doctors explained to us that the purpose of this treatment is to help her own body recognize and fight the cancer cells that survived the previous treatments.

I am not a doctor, and I do not pretend to understand every medical detail. What I understand is that the standard treatment Sarah received did not stop the disease from returning, and this new treatment may give her another chance to reach remission.

It is not a guarantee, and we know that. But it is a real option when we have very few options left.

Sarah needs twelve courses of immunotherapy. Each course costs approximately $60,000. The twelve planned courses cost around $720,000 in total. This is an amount our family cannot pay alone.

Today, neither Elena nor I is able to work. Sarah’s condition requires one or both of us to be with her constantly. Her treatment, appointments, hospital stays, and sudden complications have taken over our lives.

Eva is also suffering. She is only six years old. She misses her sister and misses having both of her parents at home. She asks when Sarah will come back and when everything will return to normal. We do not know how to answer her.

Sometimes Eva tries to make Sarah laugh. Sometimes they watch cartoons or play quietly together. Those moments mean everything to us because they remind us that, underneath the illness, they are still two little sisters who love each other.

Sarah still gets excited about toys. She still laughs at cartoons. She still asks to play and wants to be near us. And she still tells us she loves us, again and again.

Before treatments, she may become angry and tell us she does not want to go. Later, she climbs into our arms and says, “I love you.”

I wish I could tell her that she never has to return to the hospital. I wish I could tell Eva that her sister will definitely come home and stay home. I cannot promise either of them that. All I can do is continue fighting for Sarah and ask for help.

Every donation helps bring her closer to another course of treatment. Every person who shares her story may help us reach someone who can give her a chance.

Please help Sarah continue her treatment. Please help her return home to Eva, play outside, go swimming, make friends, and one day walk into school like any other child.

Please help us give our daughter the chance to grow up. Please help us keep Sarah alive.