When your child is dying — when you watch them fight, bleed, and suffer, and you can do nothing to stop it — shame no longer exists. Pride disappears. All that remains is one desperate, unrelenting instinct:save your child.

That’s where I am. My name is Konstantin, and my 8-year-old son Kostek is dying of cancer. He has only one chance left — an experimental treatment inSouth Korea, the only place that has agreed to take him after every other hospital turned us away.

If we can’t raise the money for this treatment — our last, fragile hope — my son will die.

I am begging you, from the bottom of my heart, to help us.

I would crawl on my knees around the world if it meant saving him. But I can’t leave his side — not now, not when every moment might be the last time I see his face, hear his laugh, feel his small hand in mine.

Kostek has spent most of his short life in hospitals. Instead of playgrounds and classrooms, his world has been IV poles, white walls, and the smell of antiseptic. He has learned to smile through pain no child should ever know.

It began in October 2020, when our world collapsed. The doctors said words no parent should ever hear: “Your son has rhabdomyosarcoma — a malignant tumor.”

The tumor was in his right leg. The prognosis was grim, but we clung to hope. He was just a little boy, and we believed — wehad to believe — that his courage and modern medicine would save him.

The treatment began immediately. Nine cycles of chemotherapy, major surgery, and 23 rounds of radiation. We spent sleepless nights by his bedside, praying that the next test would bring good news. We watched as his hair fell out, his body weakened, and yet — he kept fighting.

He never gave up.

While other children cried at the sight of a needle, Kostek faced them every day — sometimes several times a day. He stopped asking, “Does it hurt?”and started asking, “When can I go home?”

And then, after months of torment, the scans finally showed remission. For a brief, golden moment, we breathed again. We dared to dream that the worst was behind us.

But just three months later, the nightmare returned. The cancer was back — this time, more aggressive, with metastases to the lymph nodes.

One hospital after another refused to take him. Doctors spoke in careful tones about “palliative care,” while we shouted back,“No — he’s still fighting!”

That’s when we found hope — a clinic in South Korea that agreed to help.

We sold everything we owned, including our home, to pay for the first treatment. We organized fundraisers, begged strangers for help — and the world responded. Thanks to generous hearts, we made it to Seoul, where doctors performed new therapies that saved Kostek’s life.

For a time, the tumor retreated. We smiled again.

But the cancer never truly left us.

Over the following years, it kept coming back — once on his testicle, again in the retroperitoneal space. Each time, the doctors acted quickly. Each time, chemotherapy and radiation stopped the spread. We learned to live in fragile hope, counting every cancer-free day as a blessing.

Then came February 2025. Another checkup. Another blow.

A new lesion had appeared on his right leg — the same leg where the first tumor had started years ago. A biopsy confirmed our fears. It was back. The surgeons removed it, but within weeks, it grew again — larger, more aggressive than before.

The doctors in Korea are doing everything they can. They’ve built a new, personalized treatment plan, including radiotherapy and targeted irradiation of the tumor. But Kostek’s body is exhausted. His immune system can’t handle heavy chemotherapy anymore. Everything must be done carefully, gently, so as not to destroy what little strength he has left.

And once again, we are running out of money.

We’ve been fighting this battle for almost five years. Every cent we had — gone. Every loan — taken. Every piece of our old life — sold. All that remains is our love for our son and the belief that somewhere out there, people will hear our plea and help us save him.

Kostek has endured more than any adult should. He’s only eight, but he speaks like someone who’s lived a lifetime of pain. Still, he smiles. He still dreams — of going to school, of playing football, of having a dog. He talks about what he’ll dowhen he gets better, not if.

He hasn’t given up. Neither can we.

Please, help us continue his treatment. Help us buy him time — time for the doctors to fight, for the medicine to work, for a miracle to happen.

This isn’t just about money. It’s about life. About an 8-year-old boy who still believes the world is kind.

💔 Please help us save Kostek.

Every donation, every share, every word of support matters. You can be the reason he wakes up tomorrow with another chance to live.

For Kostek. For our son. For hope.