Help Cancer Patient Afford Healthcare
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$6,433 raised of $15K
209 donations
My story:
My name is Eldiara, but many online may know me as Semi-Bionic Barbie. I’m currently 24 years old, and when I was just 19, I was diagnosed with a rare and aggressive kind of cancer called synovial sarcoma. My cancer was unexpectedly discovered during an excision of what was thought to be a noncancerous nerve tumor in my right elbow. I had been living in severe pain for years before I found a doctor that did not dismiss my symptoms as anxiety. I was a teenager facing the medical system without the support of any adults, and I hadn’t yet learned to self-advocate before accidentally stumbling into a terrifying cancer diagnosis.
After getting the news that my tumor was malignant, I had to receive 35 rounds of radiation therapy. My second surgery officially put me into remission, and though I had developed some permanent numbness in my fingertips, I was 19, still felt somewhat invincible, and I was grateful to be “in the clear.” I re-enrolled in college, and my life began to have direction again.
Unfortunately, at my one year set of scans, my doctors discovered a recurrence larger than my original tumor, growing along the median nerve in my elbow. This was extremely painful. This time around, my oncologist recommended 12 weeks of chemo with a regimen called AIM: doxorubicin / Adriamycin, which is often referred to as the “red devil” due to it being the harshest chemo drug available, ifosfamide, and mesna. The fact that my cancer returned in less than one year was a grave sign for my prognosis, so I underwent chemotherapy all throughout my 21st birthday and the few months surrounding it, and on March 29th, 2023,
I went in for my third surgery, done by a limb salvage surgeon to try to avoid amputation.
Upon starting the surgery, they discovered much more disease than previously expected. As my cancer grew, it had traveled along my median nerve, using it as a sort of “trail”, making it difficult to spot on my pre-op MRI. They also found that my recurrence had managed to double in size over the last few months, despite actively going through chemo. Pathology of my cancer cells has revealed them to be grade 3, the most aggressive and quickest-spreading type possible.
I again underwent an unplanned excision of what was originally only supposed to be a few centimeters of tissue, and my two hour surgery turned into 6 hours. This time around, I woke up from surgery with no sensation in the right half of my right hand, the left side of my arm extending down to my elbow, and zero movement in my middle finger, pointer finger, and thumb. I was told it was the nerve block, but as the days went on & the block wore off, it became clear the thing I had dreaded was true: my median nerve had been damaged beyond repair during the tumor removal. My dominant hand was largely no longer mine to control, feel, or use. Essentially 1/2 of my hand and wrist became paralyzed from that day on. But still, I trudged along, frustrated but alive.
My hair grew back.
My nausea faded.
I picked up gardening.
I relearned piano.
With nothing holding me back, I finally moved away from home with my little sister, who I took care of, and we drove all the way to the other end of the country to establish a new life there. I was removed from my parents insurance, and I started paying for a private plan that mostly covered the specialists I required. I started dog training for money, and writing for a young adult cancer magazine as a way to find community. I began seeing somebody after healing from a traumatic relationship with my ex-caretaker during chemo.
Shortly after my move to California, my grandmother, who had been my primary mother-figure for my entire life, suddenly traumatically passed away. The next many months were spent surviving grief and establishing myself in this new world, post-chemo. My heart was damaged from the doxorubicin, and I started picking up new exercises to counteract this.
If you’ve seen my content online, you know that luck is rarely part of my story. In October 2024, after being in remission for almost 1 year and 3 months, I suddenly felt a tiny nodule in the area where they had done my prior surgeries. I tried telling myself it was nothing, perhaps some fibrous tissue developing after all of the work they had to do. But the moment I felt it, I had a sickening feeling in my gut that something was very wrong. I messaged my surgeon in a panic and had an emergency biopsy done to test the tiny lesion. In some strike of absurd irony, I had been scheduled that very day to undergo reconstructive surgery with the goal of finally restoring sensation to my paralyzed hand. I was supposed to receive a second chance at music, art; a hand that finally belonged to me again. But upon reviewing the MRIs, we discovered not one, but three new lesions - one in my bicep, one in my old tumor bed, and one in my bone. My surgeon was able to remove 2 during the biopsy. The third was too deep.
During the biopsy, they took tissue samples to send off to pathology, which confirmed my worst fear: the new growths were aggressively cancerous. My life began to crumble in a matter of days: instead of a reconstructive surgery to help me regain normalcy, a tumor board meeting with experts in ortho oncology, radiology, limb salvage, and sarcoma surgery came to the same grim conclusion: my safest option was to remove the entire arm, just above the elbow. Upon considering my options, I decided that my arm was not more important than my life. Trying to salvage the limb for a 4th time would likely render it completely unusable, and with my cancer being as aggressive as it was, leaving behind even a single cancer cell would risk it traveling to my lungs and becoming a stage four diagnosis, something that only roughly 15% of people survive. As an artist, a gardener, a musician, a gymnast; I couldn’t fathom what it would be like to live as an amputee, but even scarier than that was imagining what it would be like to die a preventable death. To this day, I have never regretted this decision, and I would do it 10 times over if it meant I’d be around to tell the story.
After saying goodbye to my arm, I underwent the amputation less than a week later, not wanting to risk any further cancer spread. And this is where my online presence began, with people developing a sudden interest in my story after I shared my medical journey on social media. After I was sufficiently healed from my amputation – at least physically – I also was faced with the incredibly difficult decision to go through with yet another cycle of chemotherapy, including the infamous red devil.
In many ways, the decision to proceed with chemotherapy again was harder and more heartbreaking than losing my arm. I had spent the past year watching my hair regrow, forgetting the taste, smell, and feeling of being poisoned. Distancing myself from the sound of a drug pump running empty. Ignoring my acute fear of vomiting, and working through my avoidance of glazed donuts because I ate too many on chemo days. It’s one thing to agree to have your world changed in a way you can’t truly imagine, but it’s another thing to know what struggles await you.
Upon finishing my second 12 weeks of chemotherapy, I had nearly reached the lifetime limit of doxorubicin, a dosing maximum that was implemented due to its extreme cardiotoxicity. The damage to my heart was evident though, and to this day, I am still on daily heart medications to help reverse and minimize the strain I experienced from the red devil. Among this set of medications are ones for nerve pain, PTSD, brain fog, and chemotherapy induced insomnia. To this day, my memory and cognition are only a fraction of what they used to be, thanks to the neurotoxic effects of Ifosfamide.
Left reeling from this series of events, I was once again officially in remission, and it was now time to sit down and reassemble the pieces of my life. I dove fully into educational content creation, and despite losing so much of myself, I am more full of life than ever. As long as I am still alive, things will never be quite as bad as they seem.
Why I’m fundraising:
I do not receive financial support from my family or government programs; I do not qualify for disability. And even through all of the monetary burdens of American healthcare, I have managed to survive and build a life full of meaning, one that I am incredibly grateful for. It is a privilege to be able to live independently as a disabled person, but as you can imagine, it is not without struggle. Every month, the cost of my healthcare alone reaches well over $1k, and this does not include rent or other necessities.
I have largely been able to afford my way through everyday expenses by creating educational content and doing advocacy work, but I don’t often feel like I have the luxury to stop and catch my breath, nor is it possible for me to save for emergencies. I recently spent thousands of dollars on dental procedures as a result of chemo-induced oral damage & infections. And though I have managed to get by without a prosthetic arm, being able to afford one would greatly improve my quality of life. This fundraiser is meant to ease the weight of all of my survival expenses, including, but not limited to, appointment co-pays, health insurance, out-of-pocket medication costs, pet care, and the cost of a prosthetic arm.
Please only consider donating if you truly & comfortably have the means to do so; I first encourage you to support the many others that are facing homelessness or serious financial ruin, as I am grateful to live in stable housing at this point in time.
If you do feel compelled to donate however, just know that your help is extremely valuable to me and my goals; if you read this far, I cannot thank you enough for simply caring. Being able to educate people about the realities of cancer is my true joy in life, and your curiosity & support alone is invaluable to me.
With all the love in the world,
Bionic Barbie
Eldiara
My name is Eldiara, but many online may know me as Semi-Bionic Barbie. I’m currently 24 years old, and when I was just 19, I was diagnosed with a rare and aggressive kind of cancer called synovial sarcoma. My cancer was unexpectedly discovered during an excision of what was thought to be a noncancerous nerve tumor in my right elbow. I had been living in severe pain for years before I found a doctor that did not dismiss my symptoms as anxiety. I was a teenager facing the medical system without the support of any adults, and I hadn’t yet learned to self-advocate before accidentally stumbling into a terrifying cancer diagnosis.
After getting the news that my tumor was malignant, I had to receive 35 rounds of radiation therapy. My second surgery officially put me into remission, and though I had developed some permanent numbness in my fingertips, I was 19, still felt somewhat invincible, and I was grateful to be “in the clear.” I re-enrolled in college, and my life began to have direction again.
Unfortunately, at my one year set of scans, my doctors discovered a recurrence larger than my original tumor, growing along the median nerve in my elbow. This was extremely painful. This time around, my oncologist recommended 12 weeks of chemo with a regimen called AIM: doxorubicin / Adriamycin, which is often referred to as the “red devil” due to it being the harshest chemo drug available, ifosfamide, and mesna. The fact that my cancer returned in less than one year was a grave sign for my prognosis, so I underwent chemotherapy all throughout my 21st birthday and the few months surrounding it, and on March 29th, 2023,
I went in for my third surgery, done by a limb salvage surgeon to try to avoid amputation.
Upon starting the surgery, they discovered much more disease than previously expected. As my cancer grew, it had traveled along my median nerve, using it as a sort of “trail”, making it difficult to spot on my pre-op MRI. They also found that my recurrence had managed to double in size over the last few months, despite actively going through chemo. Pathology of my cancer cells has revealed them to be grade 3, the most aggressive and quickest-spreading type possible.
I again underwent an unplanned excision of what was originally only supposed to be a few centimeters of tissue, and my two hour surgery turned into 6 hours. This time around, I woke up from surgery with no sensation in the right half of my right hand, the left side of my arm extending down to my elbow, and zero movement in my middle finger, pointer finger, and thumb. I was told it was the nerve block, but as the days went on & the block wore off, it became clear the thing I had dreaded was true: my median nerve had been damaged beyond repair during the tumor removal. My dominant hand was largely no longer mine to control, feel, or use. Essentially 1/2 of my hand and wrist became paralyzed from that day on. But still, I trudged along, frustrated but alive.
My hair grew back.
My nausea faded.
I picked up gardening.
I relearned piano.
With nothing holding me back, I finally moved away from home with my little sister, who I took care of, and we drove all the way to the other end of the country to establish a new life there. I was removed from my parents insurance, and I started paying for a private plan that mostly covered the specialists I required. I started dog training for money, and writing for a young adult cancer magazine as a way to find community. I began seeing somebody after healing from a traumatic relationship with my ex-caretaker during chemo.
Shortly after my move to California, my grandmother, who had been my primary mother-figure for my entire life, suddenly traumatically passed away. The next many months were spent surviving grief and establishing myself in this new world, post-chemo. My heart was damaged from the doxorubicin, and I started picking up new exercises to counteract this.
If you’ve seen my content online, you know that luck is rarely part of my story. In October 2024, after being in remission for almost 1 year and 3 months, I suddenly felt a tiny nodule in the area where they had done my prior surgeries. I tried telling myself it was nothing, perhaps some fibrous tissue developing after all of the work they had to do. But the moment I felt it, I had a sickening feeling in my gut that something was very wrong. I messaged my surgeon in a panic and had an emergency biopsy done to test the tiny lesion. In some strike of absurd irony, I had been scheduled that very day to undergo reconstructive surgery with the goal of finally restoring sensation to my paralyzed hand. I was supposed to receive a second chance at music, art; a hand that finally belonged to me again. But upon reviewing the MRIs, we discovered not one, but three new lesions - one in my bicep, one in my old tumor bed, and one in my bone. My surgeon was able to remove 2 during the biopsy. The third was too deep.
During the biopsy, they took tissue samples to send off to pathology, which confirmed my worst fear: the new growths were aggressively cancerous. My life began to crumble in a matter of days: instead of a reconstructive surgery to help me regain normalcy, a tumor board meeting with experts in ortho oncology, radiology, limb salvage, and sarcoma surgery came to the same grim conclusion: my safest option was to remove the entire arm, just above the elbow. Upon considering my options, I decided that my arm was not more important than my life. Trying to salvage the limb for a 4th time would likely render it completely unusable, and with my cancer being as aggressive as it was, leaving behind even a single cancer cell would risk it traveling to my lungs and becoming a stage four diagnosis, something that only roughly 15% of people survive. As an artist, a gardener, a musician, a gymnast; I couldn’t fathom what it would be like to live as an amputee, but even scarier than that was imagining what it would be like to die a preventable death. To this day, I have never regretted this decision, and I would do it 10 times over if it meant I’d be around to tell the story.
After saying goodbye to my arm, I underwent the amputation less than a week later, not wanting to risk any further cancer spread. And this is where my online presence began, with people developing a sudden interest in my story after I shared my medical journey on social media. After I was sufficiently healed from my amputation – at least physically – I also was faced with the incredibly difficult decision to go through with yet another cycle of chemotherapy, including the infamous red devil.
In many ways, the decision to proceed with chemotherapy again was harder and more heartbreaking than losing my arm. I had spent the past year watching my hair regrow, forgetting the taste, smell, and feeling of being poisoned. Distancing myself from the sound of a drug pump running empty. Ignoring my acute fear of vomiting, and working through my avoidance of glazed donuts because I ate too many on chemo days. It’s one thing to agree to have your world changed in a way you can’t truly imagine, but it’s another thing to know what struggles await you.
Upon finishing my second 12 weeks of chemotherapy, I had nearly reached the lifetime limit of doxorubicin, a dosing maximum that was implemented due to its extreme cardiotoxicity. The damage to my heart was evident though, and to this day, I am still on daily heart medications to help reverse and minimize the strain I experienced from the red devil. Among this set of medications are ones for nerve pain, PTSD, brain fog, and chemotherapy induced insomnia. To this day, my memory and cognition are only a fraction of what they used to be, thanks to the neurotoxic effects of Ifosfamide.
Left reeling from this series of events, I was once again officially in remission, and it was now time to sit down and reassemble the pieces of my life. I dove fully into educational content creation, and despite losing so much of myself, I am more full of life than ever. As long as I am still alive, things will never be quite as bad as they seem.
Why I’m fundraising:
I do not receive financial support from my family or government programs; I do not qualify for disability. And even through all of the monetary burdens of American healthcare, I have managed to survive and build a life full of meaning, one that I am incredibly grateful for. It is a privilege to be able to live independently as a disabled person, but as you can imagine, it is not without struggle. Every month, the cost of my healthcare alone reaches well over $1k, and this does not include rent or other necessities.
I have largely been able to afford my way through everyday expenses by creating educational content and doing advocacy work, but I don’t often feel like I have the luxury to stop and catch my breath, nor is it possible for me to save for emergencies. I recently spent thousands of dollars on dental procedures as a result of chemo-induced oral damage & infections. And though I have managed to get by without a prosthetic arm, being able to afford one would greatly improve my quality of life. This fundraiser is meant to ease the weight of all of my survival expenses, including, but not limited to, appointment co-pays, health insurance, out-of-pocket medication costs, pet care, and the cost of a prosthetic arm.
Please only consider donating if you truly & comfortably have the means to do so; I first encourage you to support the many others that are facing homelessness or serious financial ruin, as I am grateful to live in stable housing at this point in time.
If you do feel compelled to donate however, just know that your help is extremely valuable to me and my goals; if you read this far, I cannot thank you enough for simply caring. Being able to educate people about the realities of cancer is my true joy in life, and your curiosity & support alone is invaluable to me.
With all the love in the world,
Bionic Barbie
Eldiara
Organizer
