My daughter Karakat is only four years old, and yet, she is already fighting a battle for her life. Acute lymphoblastic leukemia has robbed her of the childhood she deserves, and it has stolen the peace and security I once took for granted. What’s left now is an overwhelming fear that my little girl’s life might end before it truly begins. The disease is unpredictable, the future uncertain, and the prognosis is bleak. I’m not asking for help—I’m begging for it. This is a fight for her life.
Every day, I wake up with fear. I check her tiny hands, where the IV drips have left marks, hoping they aren’t trembling more than the day before. And every evening, I have to face the heartbreaking sight of another strand of her hair on her pillow. The hair of a four-year-old child. My little girl’s hair, which I once lovingly braided into two small braids, is now falling out, a constant reminder of the battle she’s facing. This sight breaks my heart, draining every ounce of my strength.
Before her diagnosis, Karakat was a healthy, joyful, and curious little girl. I remember the happiness we shared during those first two years of her life. I thought the biggest challenges we faced were sleepless nights or dealing with colic. How I wish I could go back to those times when our biggest concerns were so small in comparison to the nightmare we are living now. I would give anything for leukemia to disappear and for her to return to the carefree child she once was.
I still remember the moment everything changed. Karakat began acting differently—tearful, cranky, as though nothing was wrong. But when the blood test results came back, the words “leukemia” hit me like a punch to the chest. I couldn’t breathe. The world as I knew it shattered in that instant. Life before and after the diagnosis would never be the same again. I had no idea how we were going to face what lay ahead.
Life in oncology is a place of terrifying helplessness. It’s watching my child play with an IV line running into her tiny arm, instead of toys in her hands. It’s the sound of tears and screams filling the hospital rooms every single day. It’s the constant, gnawing fear in my heart, paired with a flicker of hope that refuses to die, no matter how dark it gets.
When we finally left the oncology ward after months of pain, chemotherapy, and unrelenting fear, I thought maybe, just maybe, our nightmare was over. But the leukemia returned—stronger, fiercer, and more aggressive than before. It seemed determined to remind us that it was not finished with us. When the doctors told us the news of a recurrence, it was more than just fear—it was pure despair. After everything we’d been through, the thought of facing this fight again felt like an insurmountable mountain.
After two cycles of chemotherapy in Kazakhstan, the doctors reached the limit of what they could do for her. They told us we needed help abroad. That’s when we found hope again, with the green light from a hospital in Turkey. Without hesitation, we packed our bags and flew, knowing that there was no time to lose when it comes to saving a child’s life.
But the cost of treatment in Turkey is staggering—nearly $150,000. For our family, this is an unattainable sum. We are a family of six, with four children. We love them all, and we want to ensure that, despite this cruel illness, they don’t have to grow up under the shadow of their sister’s battle. But we can’t bear this burden alone.
I am asking for help as a mother whose heart is breaking. I am on my knees, begging for any support I can find because I cannot save my child alone. If I could give my life to help her, I would do it without hesitation. Every day, I am ready to do anything to help my daughter.
Please, I am pleading for Karakat’s life. Your help can be the light in this darkness, the hope we so desperately need. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for any support, no matter how small. Every contribution brings us closer to the chance of saving my daughter’s life.
