My name is Ryan Hamilton. I'm a singer/songwriter from Texas, a dad to an incredible little girl named Della, and someone who very recently came frighteningly close to not being here to write this.

Severe abdominal pain sent me to the emergency room.

At the emergency room, doctors discovered that my spleen was enormously enlarged — to a size they told me they had rarely, if ever, seen. They still don't understand how it hadn't ruptured. Had it ruptured, I likely wouldn't be here.

Then came another number that was difficult to comprehend.

My white blood cell count was nearly 300,000.

A normal white blood cell count is generally around 5,000.

My mom met us at the emergency room to help with Della.

It took every ounce of strength I had to keep it together in front of my daughter. I tried to stay positive, keep her calm, and shield her from the reality of what was happening.

Eventually, Della left with my mom.

I was rushed from the emergency room in Granbury, Texas, to an ICU in Fort Worth that had the resources and specialists necessary to save my life.

I spent nearly a week there.

I'm not ready to talk about what happened during that week, and I may never be. What matters is this:

**I made it out of the ICU.**

I will never be able to adequately thank the doctors, nurses, and medical staff who made sure I did.

From there, I was transferred to the oncology floor, where specialists began treating me for the rare cancer they had discovered:

**Mantle Cell Lymphoma in leukemic form.**

I spent more than another week in the hospital receiving chemotherapy, blood transfusions, medications, and treatment to get me stable enough to finally go home.

And... I am home.

I've never been so thin. I've never been so weak.

I've also never been so thankful to be alive.

There is hope. My doctors have a treatment plan, and the goal is to get this cancer into remission.

So that's what I'm going to do.

I'm going to fight it.

Unfortunately, fighting cancer comes with another reality that I wasn't prepared for: the extraordinary cost.

I have health insurance. I've also qualified for financial assistance. I am incredibly grateful for both.

Even with that help, the expenses I'm facing are overwhelming.

To put it into perspective, just **one** of the medications I have to take costs approximately **$300 per pill**.

I have to take one every day for at least the next two years.

That's roughly **$219,000 for one medication alone.**

And right now, I'm taking eight different prescriptions.

That doesn't include everything else that comes with cancer treatment: ongoing oncology care, chemotherapy and other treatments, testing, scans, hospital expenses, follow-up appointments, and the financial reality of trying to recover and work while undergoing treatment.

I never imagined I would be creating a GoFundMe to afford to fight for my life.

But I also never imagined I'd be sitting in an ICU being told I had a rare form of cancer.

So I'm asking for help.

I've set an initial goal of $50,000. That isn't an estimate of what this entire fight will cost. Frankly, I don't know that number yet. It's a starting point to help me absorb the enormous medical and treatment expenses that have suddenly become part of my life.

If you're able to contribute, thank you.

If you're not in a position to donate but can share this fundraiser, that helps too.

And if all you can do is send some good thoughts my way, I'll happily take those as well.

I have a lot to fight for.

I'm a dad, and more than anything else in this world, **I want to be here to watch my daughter grow up.**

I have songs I haven't written yet. Shows I haven't played yet. Friends and family I love, and a whole lot of life I'm not finished living.

A few weeks ago, I didn't know if I was going to make it out of that hospital.

I did.

Now it's time to fight.

Thank you for helping me do that.

— Ryan