When you picture a five-year-old child, you imagine laughter, movement, and curiosity — a world defined by discovery, not disease. For Agatka, life once looked exactly like that. She loved to run, to dance, and to giggle with her friends in the playground. Every morning began with energy and joy. But in 2023, everything changed — for her, and for her family.

The First Signs

It began so quietly that no one noticed at first. Around age three, Agatka’s parents saw that her bruises lingered longer than they should. Small scratches left dark marks that took weeks to fade. A light bump could leave her skin purple. She was often tired, cold even on warm days, and wrapped herself tightly in blankets when other children wore shorts and T-shirts.

Then came the pain.
Unexplained leg aches that woke her at night. Fevers that came and went. Night sweats that drenched her pajamas.

In August 2023, she caught what seemed like a routine bronchitis — but the cough didn’t go away. Hospital scans ruled out pneumonia, yet strangely, no blood tests were ordered. Her parents, uneasy, pushed for answers. When a complete blood count was finally done, the call from the lab came quickly — and it shattered their world.

The numbers were dangerously low. Too low to be a mistake.

Agatka’s doctor demanded immediate retesting. The emergency room, at first, dismissed it. But her family physician insisted she be admitted. Within days, she was in the hematology department, surrounded by machines and sterile lights. There were bone marrow biopsies, endless blood draws, and waiting — so much waiting.

Doctors warned that she could no longer attend preschool. Even a simple cold could be life-threatening. For a little girl who loved to play tag and dance with her friends, isolation was a punishment she could not understand.

---

A Devastating Diagnosis

By October 2023, the truth arrived — cruel and undeniable.
Severe Aplastic Anemia.

A rare, life-threatening disorder where the bone marrow — the body’s blood factory — simply stops working.

It wasn’t cancer, the doctors said. But untreated, it could be just as deadly.

Agatka’s childhood vanished into a blur of hospital corridors and transfusion rooms. Every three days, she needed platelets. Every week, blood. Sometimes her body reacted badly, breaking into hives or fevers mid-transfusion.

The family hoped for a miracle match — a sibling donor for a bone marrow transplant. But genetic testing ended that dream. No one in her family was compatible.

In December, doctors placed a Broviac catheter, a small tube under her skin that would spare her the endless needle pricks. Then came immunosuppressive therapy, the first major treatment designed to stop her immune system from attacking her own marrow. It was a difficult balance — strong enough to help, but not so strong that infection could take hold.

For months, it felt like two steps forward, three steps back. Pneumonia, fever, hospital stays, fear. The world outside — playgrounds, friends, the dance studio — grew distant, replaced by the rhythmic beeping of monitors and the whisper of hospital gowns.

---

Glimpses of Hope

In June 2024, there was a flicker of light. A cytometric bone marrow test showed “relatively good function.” It wasn’t a full recovery, but it was something — proof that her body was still fighting.

By October, the doctors dared to use a word they hadn’t before: remission. Partial remission, yes — but it was enough to breathe again.

For Agatka’s parents, every improved number on the chart felt like a sunrise after a long night. Slowly, carefully, they began to rebuild a rhythm of normal life.

By September 2025, Agatka returned to preschool. She played with her friends again, attended creative workshops, and even joined a small dance class — the thing she had missed the most. Her mother considered going back to work. The family smiled again, cautiously but genuinely.

For a brief, fragile season, it felt like the nightmare was ending.

---

The Relapse

Then, in July 2025, the numbers began to slide.
At first, it was just a small drop — nothing alarming. But mothers notice things that charts don’t. By September, Agatka’s blood counts were nearly identical to those from two years earlier, when the whole journey began.

The doctors ordered new tests: another platelet transfusion, more biopsies, another trepanobiopsy. The results are still pending — but the signs point toward one painful truth: relapse.

Once again, Agatka has been pulled out of school. Her dance shoes sit untouched by the door. The laughter that once filled her home now comes in shorter bursts.

For her parents, it feels like being dragged back into the same nightmare they thought they had escaped. Each hospital visit reopens wounds they had tried to heal. And yet, every day, they put on brave faces for their daughter — because she deserves a world that still feels hopeful.

---

Living a Nightmare — Again

Agatka’s parents describe it as living in cycles of fear and faith. One moment, there’s progress — the next, another transfusion, another infection scare.

They hold her hand through every procedure. They whisper encouragement during every long hospital night. They’ve learned to smile when they want to cry, to speak of the future as if it’s certain, even when it isn’t.

Because Agatka needs them to believe — even when it’s hard.

---

The Fight Ahead

Severe Aplastic Anemia can be treated — sometimes even cured — but the road is steep and uncertain. Treatment means transfusions, powerful immune therapies, and, when possible, bone marrow transplants from compatible donors.

Every option carries risks. Every step is expensive. And every setback chips away at the family’s emotional and financial strength.

Even when the numbers rise, the fear never fully leaves. One infection can undo months of progress. One bad test result can send them back to square one.

Agatka’s parents no longer measure time in months or seasons, but in blood counts and hospital days — in the fragile victories of a week without fever, a day without pain.

---

A Call for Compassion

Today, they’re asking for help — not out of pity, but out of love. They want their daughter to have a chance at a future not defined by hospital walls. A chance to play, to dance, to grow.

Every donation, every prayer, every share of her story keeps hope alive. It funds her treatments, her transfusions, and the constant fight to keep her stable.

Each kind word reminds her parents that they are not alone.

---

Hope Beyond the Hospital Walls

Agatka is more than a diagnosis.
She is a little girl who loves to twirl to music, who dreams of birthdays and sunny days, who lights up every room with her smile.

She has endured more than most adults ever will — yet her spirit remains bright. Her laughter, when it comes, is pure magic.

🙏 Please keep Agatka in your thoughts and prayers. Pray for her strength, for her parents’ courage, and for the miracle of lasting healing.

Because behind every lab report is a child with dreams.
And behind her stands a family that refuses to give up.