When I came to the U.S., I wanted a safer, better life for myself and my family. Starting over wasn’t easy, but I worked hard and built a new life from nothing. Every step forward made me feel like I was getting my life back, and I finally started to believe that I could be happy again.

In September 2024, everything just stopped. One doctor’s visit changed my life forever when I heard the word cancer. Stage 3C transverse colon cancer. A few weeks later, in October 2024, I had my first major surgery to remove the tumor. I thought that would be the end of it. From December 2024 through June 2025, I went through round after round of chemotherapy, landed in the hospital with sepsis, and somehow fought my way through recovery.

By July 2025, I finally let myself breathe again. My doctors told me I was in remission. I remember calling my daughter and saying, “We did it.” I cried happy tears. For the first time in a long time, I let myself dream again. But then August came, and with it, the news no one ever wants to hear. The cancer was back. A larger tumor this time. I had to go through another surgery that same month. And just a few weeks ago, in November 2025, scans showed that the cancer had spread to my liver.

Even then, I kept working. Because I had to. Because I didn’t want my daughter to see me give up. But now, my doctors have made it clear that I physically can’t keep doing this. The chemo has completely weakened my body. I get dizzy just walking to the kitchen some days. My doctor told me I have to focus on recovery, that continuing to work could make things worse.

Every hospital bill, every rent payment, every grocery bill, it’s all on my shoulders. I’ve had seven ER visits in the past year alone, and most of my medical bills are from those emergencies. The costs just don’t stop. I also had to rely on credit cards just to get through the basics, and now I’m about $16,000 in debt on top of everything else. It’s overwhelming. And honestly, I’m exhausted, both physically and mentally.

Still, I’m not ready to stop fighting. I want to live. I want to laugh with my daughter, cook her favorite meal, sit in the sun without fear. That’s something I’ve always dreamed of being able to give her.

That’s why I’m asking for help. Your support means I can focus on healing instead of worrying about how to cover rent, food, medication, or hospital bills.

Even a small donation, a share, or just a kind word makes a difference. And if you can’t give, that’s okay. Please just keep me in your prayers. Believe with me that this isn’t the end of my story.

With love and gratitude,

Gayatri Sharma