<div>Hello, my name is Kiandra.

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<div>I’ve spent most of my life in hospitals—fighting battles most people never have to face. I’m a two-time sepsis survivor and have endured septic shock. But that’s only part of my story.

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<div>Since birth, I’ve lived with complex, life-altering illnesses. Things many people do without thinking—walking, writing, getting out of bed—have always been a fight for me. I experience seizures and damage to my basal ganglia, which means I often have to relearn basic abilities again and again. Each time I lose them, it feels like losing a piece of myself. It’s exhausting, heartbreaking, and isolating.

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<div>At 15, I was placed on permanent life support. My daily routine revolves around medications and treatments just to stay alive. I rely on TPN (total parenteral nutrition) and live with severe gastroparesis, caused by lupus—which often comes with a package of other ailments: diabetes, fibromyalgia, sleep apnea, and autoimmune diseases that have destroyed my bone marrow. I’ve lost part of my stomach, intestines, and colon. I now live with an ileostomy and G and J peg tubes, which require constant monitoring and maintenance. These tubes are often rejected by my body every three months—if I’m lucky.

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<div>I also battle aplastic anemia caused by lupus, which has destroyed my bone marrow—requiring regular blood and platelet transfusions.

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<div>I require multiple surgeries because my body tends to reject the tubes. This is partly due to lupus and gastrointestinal issues, as well as TD (tardive dyskinesia), which causes involuntary movements.

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<div>With so many ailments, even doctors struggle to determine what’s affecting me at any given time. Right now, <strong>I’m losing my vision—something I critically need for daily living, self-care, and guiding my nurses in how to best care for me.</strong> I need to supervise my care, but I also need to live. And I do very little of that, burdened by constant worries and unable to work.

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<div><strong>I wish for a bed to rest in. I need surgery for my eyes.</strong> It’s time to set pride aside and come to terms with the fact that I may never live a life free of pain and worry—for myself and for my mom’s side of the family.

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<div>My mom has been my lifeline—my rock—fighting alongside me every step of the way. But the financial strain has been relentless. We’ve stretched every resource, and still, it’s never enough. Every setback, every hospital stay, every new diagnosis chips away at our stability.

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<div>I’m asking for help—not just to survive, but to live. I want to create memories while I still can. I want my mom to have moments with me that aren’t just about caregiving, but about joy and connection. She has dedicated 22 loyal and supportive years to me. I want to preserve my vision, find peace, and experience the kind of stability most people don’t even realize they have.

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<div>Your support means more than you know. It’s a lifeline. It’s a chance to reclaim moments that illness has stolen. Thank you for reading, for caring, and for helping me hold onto hope.

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<div>With love,

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<div><em>Kiandra</em>

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Herbert Lindsey

Arturo Carrillo

Jaleen Perez

Alberta Magana

Rosa Maria Cruz Esquivel

Rita Bocanegra

Anonymous

Chris Casiano

Suara Cardenas

Claudia Reyes

Jose Carrillo

Jesus Gutierrez

Jason Gottshall

KARLA MIWA

Margelis Batista

Monica Reyes

Alejandra Ovalle

Kiandra’s Lifeline: Surgery, Support, and a Chance to Live

Kiandra’s Lifeline: Surgery, Support, and a Chance to Live

Still $33,740 to go. Help us build momentum.