He should be outside, running barefoot in the grass, chasing butterflies, or building castles out of sand.
Instead, five-year-old Kostya lies in a hospital bed, surrounded by the cold hum of machines and the sharp scent of antiseptic — a world far too small for a child with dreams this big.

For five long years, hospitals have been his second home. His small body, weakened by endless treatments, has learned to endure pain that no child should ever have to know. His mother has watched it all — every injection, every blood test, every sleepless night — holding on to one impossible dream: that one day, her son might just get to live like any other child.

But now, that dream is slipping away.

A Race Against Time

In recent days, Kostya’s condition has taken a frightening turn. His blood levels have dropped sharply, his oxygen saturation keeps falling, and the doctors are fighting to stabilize him hour by hour.

The child who once laughed at cartoons now lies quiet, his small hand gripping his mother’s with a fear too heavy for words.
He’s tired — tired of hospitals, tired of needles, tired of fighting battles that never seem to end.

“He doesn’t want to go back,” his mother whispers. “He’s afraid of the walls, of the machines. He just wants to be home.”

But home isn’t an option — not now. His condition has worsened so rapidly that doctors had no choice but to hospitalize him again. Every test brings new numbers that paint a darker picture. Every hour feels like a countdown.

The infection risk is rising, and his body — frail after years of chemotherapy — doesn’t have much strength left to fight.

A Mother’s Breaking Point

For most parents, bedtime means tucking in their child with a kiss.
For Kostya’s mother, it means sitting beside a hospital bed, praying that her son will still be breathing when morning comes.

She hasn’t slept properly in months. Her eyes are swollen from crying, but her voice remains steady — because mothers don’t get to fall apart when their child’s life depends on them.

Her phone is filled with messages from doctors, pharmacies, and donors — reminders of bills she can’t pay and deadlines she can’t miss. Every treatment, every injection, every blood test costs money that she doesn’t have.

But when asked what she wants most, her answer is always the same.

“Just relief for my son,” she says quietly. “That’s all I pray for — that the pain will stop, even for a little while.”

Five Years of Fighting

Kostya’s story began five years ago — a time when he should have been learning to walk, not learning the language of disease.

He was diagnosed with arare and aggressive form of blood cancer, one that attacks the immune system and leaves the body defenseless. Since then, his life has been a blur of hospital rooms, transfusions, and chemotherapy sessions.

There were moments of hope — times when the numbers looked good, when the doctors smiled and said, “He’s getting stronger.” But the cancer always found its way back, each time crueler than before.

Through it all, Kostya has fought with a strength that astonishes even his doctors.
He smiles when he can. He jokes with the nurses. He tells his mother that he’ll get better soon, even when his body tells a different story.

He still dreams — of going to school, of playing soccer, of one day having a birthday party without doctors or medicine.

But dreams are fragile when reality keeps knocking at the door.

The Cost of Survival

There’s one word that haunts Kostya’s mother more than “cancer.”
Money.

The next phase of his treatment — a complex combination of medication and bone marrow therapy — could save his life. But it comes with a price that feels almost impossible to reach.

She’s already sold everything she owns — jewelry, furniture, even her car. Friends have helped where they can, but the bills keep growing.

Without the next round of treatment, the doctors have warned,Kostya won’t survive.

His mother knows it. She’s seen the signs — the pale skin, the trembling hands, the way his breathing slows when the pain gets too strong.
She’s living a nightmare that no parent should ever have to face: watching her child fade away, knowing the cure exists, but the cost stands in the way.

The Boy Who Fears Hospitals

For most of us, a hospital means healing.
For Kostya, it means fear.

He knows every hallway, every smell, every sound of the monitors that track his heartbeat. He knows the pain that comes with each needle, the way nurses whisper when the numbers drop.

“Please, no more,” he sometimes says when they bring the IV cart closer.
But then, he clenches his tiny fists, closes his eyes, and says, “Okay, let’s do it.”

That’s who he is — a fighter in the body of a child.

He dreams of being a firefighter when he grows up. “Because firefighters save people,” he tells his mom. “Like you’re saving me.”

His mother forces a smile every time he says it. Because she knows — right now, she’s the one who needs saving.

The Endless Bills and the Empty Hope

The doctors are doing everything they can. But even medicine has its limits.

The biggest threat now isn’t just the cancer — it’s time.

Each day without treatment increases the risk of relapse. Each relapse lowers the chances of survival.

The bone marrow therapy that Kostya needs must begin immediately. The donor is ready. The hospital is ready. But the money isn’t.

The bill sits on the table like a silent sentence — a number so large it might as well be another language.

“How do you put a price on your child’s life?” his mother asks.
She doesn’t expect an answer. There isn’t one.

A Plea for Mercy

She’s not asking for miracles. She’s asking for compassion.

For help to cover the next phase of treatment. For enough support to keep her son alive long enough to see another birthday, another sunrise, another smile.

Because no mother should have to watch her child die knowing that money could have saved them.

Kostya’s story isn’t just about illness — it’s about injustice. About a world where a five-year-old boy has to beg for his life while adults debate over numbers and paperwork.

He doesn’t understand why he’s sick. He just knows he wants to live.

And that, somehow, should be reason enough.

The Heartbeat of Hope

When asked how she keeps going, Kostya’s mother says, “Because he’s still here.”

She listens to the rhythm of his breathing, the faint rise and fall of his chest, the fragile proof that her child is still fighting.
That’s all the motivation she needs.

She dreams of the day she can finally take him home — not for another hospital break, but for good.
A day when she can cook his favorite meal, tuck him into bed, and hear him say, “Good night, Mama,” without the sound of machines in the background.

It’s a small dream — but right now, it’s everything.

The Call to Action

We can’t cure cancer overnight.
But we can give Kostya a chance — a chance to keep fighting, to grow, to live.

He doesn’t need pity. He needs help.

Every donation, every share, every prayer brings him one step closer to the miracle his mother has been begging for.

He has the heart of a warrior, but even warriors need an army behind them.

He’s tired. He’s scared. But he hasn’t given up.
And neither should we.

Because sometimes, the fight for one small life can remind the world what it means to be human.

Help Kostya keep his promise to live — because every child deserves more than pain, more than hospitals, more than fear.
Every child deserves a chance to just be a child.