In August, our whole world changed in a way I never expected. My 9-year-old daughter, Samantha, went from being a perfectly healthy, energetic kid who loved playing travel soccer to suddenly losing the ability to walk. It started with her saying her legs felt “tired” or “heavy,” and within days, she went from limping, to crawling, to not being able to stand at all. Watching your child try to walk and collapse over and over is something I will never forget.

We ended up at Lurie Children’s Hospital, where she spent a week undergoing endless tests, scans, and evaluations. I watched her legs shake uncontrollably. I watched her try to move them with everything she had, and nothing happened. After days of doctors coming in and out, they finally diagnosed her with Functional Neurological Disorder (FND), something I had never heard of before but now rules every single part of our lives.

FND affects how her brain communicates with her body, and in Samantha’s case, it affects so much more than just her legs. She is completely wheelchair-bound now and has episodes where her breathing suddenly tightens and she can’t get enough air, tremors that shake through her body without warning, chest pain that scares her, dizziness that makes her feel like the room is spinning, and moments where her upper body weakens so quickly she can’t lift her own arms. There are days where her body feels like it just shuts down on her. Sometimes it’s calm, and sometimes it hits without any warning at all.

Just in these past few weeks, she’s had three more hospital visits because her breathing episodes suddenly got worse. Seeing her panic because she can’t breathe, shaking and gasping for air, is something I don’t think I’ll ever get used to. I don’t think any parent could.

Our life now revolves around appointments. Physical therapy every week. Occupational therapy every week. Neurology appointments. Constant follow-ups at both Lurie Children’s and Silver Cross. We spend more time in hospitals and clinics than we do anywhere else. At home, she needs help with everything—bathing, dressing, getting in and out of her wheelchair, and calming her body when her symptoms start spiraling. She can’t be left alone because things can change so quickly.

Because of all of this, I haven’t been able to work. Samantha needs full-time care, and between her physical limitations and all of the medical appointments, there’s just no possible way to manage a job right now. We’re struggling to keep up with basic needs—food, gas, clothing for the kids, medical-related expenses, and everyday essentials that start to add up when you’re constantly on the road for doctors and therapy.

And now with Christmas approaching, this is the part that hurts to even write: I really wish I could take care of it myself, but I don’t have the ability to get the kids anything this year. Not even something small. After everything they’ve gone through—especially Sam—it breaks my heart that I can’t give them the Christmas they deserve.

I’m asking for help because I don’t know how else to make it work right now. Donations will go toward gas for all the medical trips, food, clothing, daily household needs, things the kids need day-to-day, and giving them something to look forward to this Christmas. Even a share helps more than you know.

To everyone who has donated, shared, prayed for Sam, or even just taken the time to read our story—thank you. Your kindness has meant everything during a time that has felt overwhelming and scary in ways I never imagined.

Thank you for caring about my daughter.

— Ariel