Latest update on Artyom: a six-year-old running out of time.
My name is Roman Ensh, and I am the father of a six-year-old boy named Artyom. Writing these words still feels unreal. No parent ever imagines that one day they will have to ask the world for help to save their childâs life. Yet here I am, doing exactly thatâbecause my sonâs life now depends on time, kindness, and the compassion of others.
Discover more
Colleges & Universities
Hospitals & Treatment Centers
Artyom is not just my child. He is my heart, my breath, my reason for living. And today, his life is measured not in years or dreams, but in hours and days.
Artyom is fighting one of the most aggressive childhood cancers known:Â T-cell acute lymphoblastic leukemia. This disease does not wait. It does not compromise. It does not forgive delays. Every hour matters, and every lost day brings us closer to a future I am terrified to imagine.
Discover more
Colleges & Universities
Hospitals & Treatment Centers
It all began quietly. One day we noticed a small rash on Artyomâs neck. It looked harmlessâlike a simple infection or a passing virus. We reassured ourselves that children get sick and recover all the time. But a routine blood test destroyed that sense of safety forever.
Cancer.
From that moment on, our normal life disappeared. Our home was replaced by hospital rooms, our routines by fear, and our future by uncertainty. We rushed Artyom to Medipol Mega University Hospital in Turkey, where doctors immediately began intensive treatment.
The next ten months were the longest and most painful of our lives. Artyom endured multiple stages of chemotherapy, treatments strong enough to weaken his small body but never strong enough to break his spirit. He was admitted to intensive care five times. During one terrifying moment, his breathing stopped, and he had to be placed on a ventilator. Watching your child struggle for air is something no parent ever recovers from.
And yetâhe survived. Artyom endured pain that many adults could not. He held our hands through fear, smiled through exhaustion, and showed courage far beyond his six years. We believed his strength, combined with modern medicine, would be enough. But leukemia is cruel. Recent biopsies showed that the cancer has begun to grow again. The disease is still fighting back. And now, doctors have told us the words no parent wants to hear: There is only one chance left.
Artyom urgently needs a bone marrow transplant. A compatible donor has already been foundâsomething that feels like a miracle in itself. That discovery gave us hope when we were running out of it. We traveled once more, this time to Hadassah Medical Center in Israel, where Artyom is currently receiving treatment. He has completed another round of chemotherapy and is now recovering. The most important test still lies ahead. If the results are positive, doctors are ready to proceed with the transplant immediately. Hope is closeâbut so is heartbreak.
The cost of the transplant is 3,178,800 rubles. To some, it may be just a number. To us, it is the price of our childâs life. We have already given everything we had. We have sold what we could, exhausted all resources, and reached the limits of what a family can do alone. There is nothing left to sacrificeâexcept time. And time is something Artyom does not have.
My son is only six years old. He is gentle, bright, and full of love. He dreams of going home, hugging his little sister, playing with his grandmother, and caring for our animals. He loves dinosaurs and shaping figures out of dough. He does not dream of hospitals, needles, or IV lines. He dreams of being a child againâof laughing freely, of waking up without pain or fear.
Artyom is alive today because of people with kind hearts. Every donation, every message, every shared post has given him one more day, one more breath, one more chance. But now, we cannot continue this fight alone. I am asking youânot as a stranger, but as a fatherâplease help me save my son.
Every contribution, every share, every act of kindness brings us closer to the bone marrow transplant that can save Artyomâs life. It is another chance for his heart to keep beating, for his laughter to return, for his place in this world to remain.
My son should not die.
He should live.
He should grow up, come home, and fill our house with laughter again.
We believe that with your help, this nightmare can still have a hopeful ending.
With hope and endless gratitude,
Roman Ensh and the Ensh family đâ€ïž
More Than a Battle: The Life of Szymek
 I can hardly write these words without my heart breaking: Szymek is gone.
He will remain forever in the hearts of all who loved him so deeply. Yet his storyâhis fight, his joy, his courageâmust be remembered. Not only as a story of illness, but as a testament to hope, strength, and the extraordinary power of a childâs smile.
It began with words no parent should ever hear:
âIâm sorry, but your son has a 12-centimeter tumor on his left adrenal gland.â
In that moment, the world seemed to collapse around us. A tumor. Twelve centimeters. Our only sonâour long-awaited child, the light of our lives. We barely remember what the doctor said next. All we felt was disbelief, fear, and a grief so heavy it stole the air from our lungs.
Szymek was diagnosed with one of the most aggressive childhood cancers:Â stage IV neuroblastoma, with metastases to his bones, bone marrow, lymph nodes, and chest. Everything we knew as ânormalâ disappeared instantly.
Born on August 25, 2014, Szymek had always been a child of pure joy. From his very first breath, he filled every room with happiness. His smile was constantâradiant, effortless, and contagious. Life without it felt gray, empty, and incomplete. And suddenly, that joy was interrupted by fear.
The hospital became our second home. On the very day we were meant to begin our summer vacation, Szymek received his first chemotherapy drip. The oncology ward replaced playgrounds; sterile corridors and treatment rooms became his daily reality. Watching your child endure chemotherapy, surgeries, and radiotherapy is a pain no parent should ever know.
And yet, through it all, Szymek kept smiling.
He faced every challenge with a bravery far beyond his years. Even in suffering, he taught us how to find happiness in the smallest momentsâa joke shared with a nurse, a story read in the ward, the simple joy of playing with other children. His strength lifted us when we felt we could no longer stand.
Neuroblastoma is relentless. It often returns, stronger and more resistant each time. Still, Szymek was given a chanceâa European clinical trial that offered hope. Over many months, he endured eight cycles of intensive chemotherapy, a major surgery to remove the adrenal tumor, megachemotherapy with a bone marrow transplant, and radiotherapy.
Then came the word we had prayed for:Â remission.
For the first time in months, hope bloomed again. We prepared for the final stageâimmunotherapy in KrakĂłwâbelieving that perhaps, at last, we could return to ordinary life.
But cancer is merciless.
Just days before our planned departure, a small lump appeared on Szymekâs head. Though it proved to be only a cyst, further scans revealed disease progression in residual tissueâcells that had survived every treatment. The relapse crushed our hopes. Survival chances dropped dramatically, and time became our greatest enemy.
Desperate, we searched the world for answers. We found a clinical trial in the United States showing remarkable resultsâraising survival rates for relapsed children from 5% to 50%. Even more encouraging, the treatment could be administered in Poland under the care of Professor Walentyna Balwierz. But bureaucracy stood in our way. Approval was denied.
Then, when hope felt almost gone, Professor Holger Lode in Greifswald, Germany, offered a final chance: chemotherapy combined with antibody therapy. It was our last and best hope to keep Szymek alive.
The costââŹ265,000âwas overwhelming. We asked the world for help, believing in the kindness of strangers, in compassion, in shared humanity.
Szymek loved blowing out the candles on his birthday cake. Each flame symbolized life, dreams, and hope. Every candle was a promise of tomorrow.
Though his journey ended far too soon, Szymekâs smile, courage, and spirit will never fade. He taught us how to face fear with hope, pain with joy, and life with love. He may no longer be in our arms, but he will always live in our hearts.
Let us remember him not only as a child who suffered, but as a shining lightâone who showed us that even in the darkest moments, love, courage, and a smile can endure forever.
Nadiaâs Light: A Courage That Will Never Fade
 There are no words strong enough to describe the pain of losing a child. Nadia is gone⊠yet she will remain forever in the hearts of those who loved her â in every laugh, every hug, and every fleeting moment that no illness, no time, and no death can ever take away.
Her life was heartbreakingly short, but it was filled with courage, determination, and an unshakable spirit that touched everyone who had the privilege of knowing her. We are profoundly grateful to every person who stood beside her â through prayers, support, kindness, and care â as she fought the bravest battle of her life.
Nadiaâs story began quietly in January 2023, in a hospital in OstrĂłw Wielkopolski. What started as routine medical tests quickly turned into every parentâs worst nightmare. Doctors suspected leukemia, and in an instant, our world shifted into fear and uncertainty. We clung desperately to hope, praying that this diagnosis would be wrong â that cancer would somehow spare our little girl. But the biopsy confirmed our deepest fear: acute myeloid leukemia (AML M5).
From that moment on, Nadiaâs life became a series of relentless battles. Chemotherapy began, and at first, it seemed to work. But soon, complications followed. A suspected fungal infection in her lungs forced doctors to pause treatment, plunging us into months of hospital stays, powerful medications, and agonizing uncertainty. Then, in September, a routine blood test revealed blasts in her bone marrow â a recurrence that shattered the fragile sense of peace we had been holding onto.
We waited, trusting the system, believing that a plan would come. When weeks passed without intervention, fear turned into resolve. We knew we had to fight â not just alongside our daughter, but for her. Nadia underwent treatment with Vidaze and Venetoclax. When a growing lesion threatened her life, surgeons were forced to remove half of her right lung lobe. Each surgery, each chemotherapy cycle, drained her tiny body â but never her spirit.
Nadia amazed everyone around her. She recovered from surgeries faster than expected, left intensive care sooner than predicted, and faced every procedure with a quiet strength that stunned even seasoned doctors. By December, a fragile hope returned. Vyxeos chemotherapy reduced blast counts, her condition stabilized, and granulocyte transfusions helped rebuild her weakened immune system. A stem cell transplant was planned â the moment we believed might finally save her.
January 26, 2024 was meant to be a turning point. Instead, it brought another cruel test. A drug-resistant bacterial infection led to sepsis, and Nadiaâs condition deteriorated rapidly. Once again, we stood on the edge of despair, forced to choose between fear and faith. Thanks to tireless medical teams, advanced treatments, and hemodialysis, Nadia fought her way back â slowly, painfully, but bravely.
Even then, the battle was not over. Graft-versus-host disease attacked her skin and gastrointestinal tract, leaving painful wounds and relentless discomfort. Though medication brought some relief, new nodules appeared. Biopsies confirmed extramedullary relapse â leukemia had returned outside the bone marrow. Despite no molecular relapse in her marrow, the disease had found another way in.
At last, doctors made the devastating decision to stop further cancer-directed treatment. But Nadia never stopped fighting â not in her own way. She fought in every breath, every transfusion, every moment she spent wrapped in love. Through endless needles, procedures, pain, and exhaustion, she remained our bright, beautiful girl. Even confined to hospital rooms, she comforted us with smiles, gentle gestures, and moments of joy that felt like miracles.
Today, Nadia is no longer physically with us. But her presence is everywhere. In the love she gave so freely. In the courage she showed without ever being asked. In the lessons she taught us about strength, resilience, and what it truly means to be brave.
Leukemia may have taken her body, but it could never take her spirit.
Nadiaâs life â though far too short â left an indelible mark on this world. Her story lives on in every heart she touched, every life she inspired, and every moment she showed us that even in the face of unimaginable suffering, love shines brightest.
Her fight is over.
Her legacy is eternal.
Peggyâs Story: A Tiny Fighter with an Unbreakable Spirit
 When two-year-old Peggy first began to show what looked like a lazy eye, her parents never imagined it would mark the beginning of a life-changing journey. Like many parents, they assumed it was something minor â a quirk of early childhood that would resolve itself in time. During a routine check-up, they mentioned it casually, reassured by the lack of concern from medical professionals.
But within days, that quiet reassurance dissolved into fear.
Peggyâs eyelid began to droop noticeably, and her eye stopped moving altogether. Something was undeniably wrong. Trusting their instincts, her parents insisted on a face-to-face GP appointment. That insistence would prove vital.
Peggy was urgently referred to the Royal United Hospital in Bath, where doctors ordered an MRI scan. The results were devastating. The scan revealed a brain tumour sitting directly on top of the toddlerâs optic nerve â a diagnosis no parent is ever prepared to hear, and one that instantly turned their world upside down.
Despite the seriousness of her condition, Peggy herself seemed blissfully unaware of the danger she faced.
âYou wouldnât know anything is wrong with her,â said her mum, Emma Williams, 37.
âSheâs the most independent and bubbly child â always causing mayhem on the hospital ward and running around the corridors.â
Behind Peggyâs laughter, however, was a family living in limbo.
For six long months, they existed in a state of uncertainty, waiting for answers that never seemed to come. Peggy underwent repeated MRI scans, endured a lumbar puncture to drain excess fluid from her brain, and was placed on steroids in the hope of shrinking the tumour. Each procedure carried its own risks. Each day brought new questions, new fears, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness.
The steroids failed. The tumour remained.
Eventually, doctors made the difficult decision to operate. Peggy underwent an incredibly complex ten-and-a-half-hour surgery at Bristol Childrenâs Hospital. Surgeons fought carefully against time and risk, working millimetres away from vital structures in her brain. But the tumourâs size and location made removal impossible. The only option was to take a biopsy.
Waiting for the results was agonizing.
In August 2021, the family finally received a diagnosis: Peggy had a low-grade meningioma, a rare type of brain tumour. While âlow-gradeâ offered a glimmer of relief, it did not bring certainty. The tumour was still there. The future remained unclear.
âWhat weâve had to deal with as a family over the last five years has been incredibly difficult,â Emma shared.
âIâve had support for anxiety and depression. There are moments when it feels overwhelming, when the weight of it all becomes too much.â
Yet through every hospital stay, scan, and setback, Peggy continued to shine. She brought joy into spaces filled with fear. Nurses knew her by name. Corridors echoed with her footsteps as she ran, laughed, and played â a small child carrying a strength far greater than anyone could have expected.
Determined to turn their pain into purpose, Emma decided to take action.
Now, she is taking part in Brain Tumour Researchâs 10,000 Steps a Day in February Challenge, walking daily to raise funds and awareness for a cause that has become deeply personal.
âI walk everywhere,â Emma said.
âIt gives me time to think, to reflect, and to process everything weâve been through. Taking part in this challenge means so much to us. If we can help even one family, raise awareness, or contribute in a small way â then itâs worth every step.â
Mel Tiley, Community Development Manager at Brain Tumour Research, praised Emmaâs efforts:
âWeâre incredibly sorry to hear about Peggyâs diagnosis and everything the family has faced. Itâs inspiring to see Emma using this challenge to support others who may be going through similar circumstances.â
Peggyâs story is one of resilience, instinct, and unwavering love. It is a reminder that sometimes the smallest signs can reveal the biggest battles â and that listening to parental instinct can save lives.
Through uncertainty and fear, this family continues to move forward, step by step. And at the heart of it all is Peggy â bright, fearless, and full of life â reminding everyone around her that courage can come in the smallest, most joyful forms.
You may also like
Leave a Reply