I can barely remember those moments of Lera's childhood — the normal moments mothers ought to remember — her first steps, her first words. All of those memories are overshadowed by events of the past two years that tear your world apart: so many hospitals, so many doctors, so many tests and then that awfule day back in 2008 when we finally got Lera's dreadful diagnosis: left adrenal neuroblastoma. She had a tumour the size of a one-litre bottle in her tiny stomach.
On September 11th, her third birthday, her first round of chemotherapy began. Lera quickly became familiar with all the needles, intravenous injections, the poking and the prodding. 
She was in so much pain, she was exhausted and she was crying. And when I asked her why she was crying, all she said that she was sad that she couldn't take sweets in to her kindergarten friends to celebrate her birthday.
She doesn't remember her kindergarten friends any longer. When we began the treatment she was only 3 years old. Now she is 5. Over the past 2 years she has gone through many cycles of chemotherapy and had undergone the surgical removal of an adrenal gland as well as a bone marrow transplant. She has spent weeks on an IV drip that almost completely knocked out her immune system. Although she was physically weakened from all her treatment, my daughter was always strong and was ready to struggle and endure whatever was coming her way. She just wanted to live, to walk down the streets, and to go to kindergarten again, to live a life of normality and ease that children her age do, instead of a life inside of a hospital.
The remains of the tumor were removed on December 25th, along with an adrenal gland. We stayed in a hospital through the New Year, after which Lera began to take chemotherapy pills which were easier to tolerate. In May 2009, she was placed on supportive therapy, which was a lot easier for her tiny little body to cope with. It seemed as though we were there, that we had got through the worst, but then a little while afterwards Lera felt pain in her stomach.
Doctors advised that it was colitis, but the pain increased. The cancer had returned and the diagnosis was wrong. By March 10, 2010 Lera had received a new diagnosis: recurrent neuroblastoma with multiple lymph node metastases in the mediastinal and chest areas as well as bone marrow infiltration. Doctors in Russia gave her only a 10% chance of survival.
Despite the devastating prognosis, I've always had great faith that my precious little girl would recover.
If you have been touched by anyone with cancer you know the urgency of commencing the treatment. We immediately started new cycles of chemotherapy and the drugs became more potent. Lera felt terrible, but she had to go through a round of high-dose chemotherapy with a subsequent bone marrow transplant. Those were the two hardest months of our lives, but Lera endured the hardship as a true champ and even learned to count to 100 in the meantime.
After the transplant, a small tumor seemed to remain active on her upper spine. Lera went through yet another cycle of radiotherapy treatment. After multiple surgeries and this last round of chemotherapy, Lera's illness seemed to subside.
3 months after supportive therapy started, during her doctor's visit, three new active tumors were found. Currently, there is a second recurrence of neuroblastoma. My daughter will have to undergo additional treatment.
There are only five hospitals in the world where patients like Lera can be treated. I've sent her medical data to all of these hospitals, and we are waiting urgently for their response.
Unfortunately, I'm not in the financial position to afford the costs. Up until now, Lera and I have been grateful for the help of the Russian "SCHASTLIVYE DETI" ("Happy Children") charitable foundation that has provided for us as far as care and treatment are concerned, but they can no longer afford to help because they are unable to raise enough funds. Lera does her best to stay strong, and I am constantly amazed at her bravery, but now we wait on borrowed time. I am sharing our story. I simply ask for your help, help to keep my little girl alive.
