<div>My name is Cynthia, and I am a single mom of six beautiful children — four still at home. I never imagined I would be sitting here writing something like this, with tears streaming down my face, trying to explain the nightmare my family has been living in for nearly two years.
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<div>For so long, I have felt like I’ve been screaming into the void, trying to save my babies while no one could tell me what was wrong. Every day has felt like a fight — a fight to get answers, a fight to be heard, a fight to hold my children together while they slowly fell apart.
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<div>And now I know why.
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<div>And the truth has broken me in ways I can’t put into words.
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<div>But I’m going to try.
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<div><strong> When this began, it was small… little things here and there.</strong>
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<div>A stomach ache.
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<div>A headache.
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<div>A weird rash.
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<div>A new behavior we couldn’t explain.
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<div>A night spent crying, then another, then another.
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<div>And then it spread — slowly, silently — until every one of my children was suffering.
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<div>I tore apart our lives searching for answers. I changed everything I could think of.
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<div>I removed chemicals, fragrances, dyes, cleaners.
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<div>I replaced cookware, water filters, food, routines.
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<div>I stripped our home down trying desperately to find the thing hurting my children.
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<div>And still… they got worse.
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<div>I felt like I was drowning.
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<div>We traveled to Johns Hopkins again and again, sat through the same conversations, the same confused looks, the same shrugging of shoulders. We saw endocrinologists, gastroenterologists, cardiologists, allergists — I lost count of the specialists at some point. We collected thousands of dollars in bills, but no answers.
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<div>And meanwhile, my children were suffering more and more.
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<div><strong> My 10-year-old… my sweet girl…</strong>
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<div>She has endured pain I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
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<div>Her migraines have become so severe that she <strong>screams</strong> — not cries, not whimpers — screams for help. She becomes pale and drenched in sweat as her little body shakes in agony. All I can do is hold her and pray over her while she begs me to make it stop.
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<div>And then I wait for the moment she vomits, because only then will the pain finally release its grip long enough for her to collapse into sleep.
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<div>Doctors told me it was POTS.
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<div>Doctors told me to give her salt pills.
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<div>Doctors told me to put her on beta-blockers, antidepressants, anti-seizure medications.
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<div>Every instinct in me screamed <strong>no</strong>.
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<div>She has developed severe anxiety, depression, sensory issues, learning difficulties — things that stole pieces of her childhood right out of her hands. At seven, they wanted to give her Lexapro.
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<div>She now sleeps on nearly <strong>20 ice packs every night </strong>because her body cannot regulate temperature. No one could explain it.
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<div>Her<strong> TSH was 747</strong> — so high the doctors looked terrified. And still, no one could tell me why her thyroid was collapsing.
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<div>Her triglycerides are over 700.
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<div>Her cholesterol is over 300.
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<div>One doctor casually suggested an anti-seizure medication because a side effect would make her lose weight.
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<div>I went home and cried for hours.
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<div><strong> My 8-year-old…</strong>
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<div>She entered <strong>precocious puberty</strong> at seven.
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<div>A child who should be playing and imagining and dreaming instead had to cry through painful exams and frightening tests.
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<div>Her doctor was so sure she had a pituitary tumor that she told me ahead of time what the MRI would show.
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<div>But the MRI found nothing.
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<div>She had to do it <strong>twice in one week</strong> because the contrast was done incorrectly the first time.
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<div>The doctors were baffled. And my daughter was traumatized.
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<div><strong> My 5-year-old…</strong>
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<div>My tiny princess.
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<div>The one I held and begged to stay little forever — not knowing how cruelly life would twist those words.
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<div>She was found to be <strong>hyperthyroid</strong> at four years old.
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<div>Three months later, she suddenly became <strong>hypothyroid</strong>, her TSH climbing to 16, then to greater than 150, so high that for whatever reason, they didn't report back the actual number.
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<div>I held her in my arms, so small and trusting, and I felt like the air left my lungs.
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<div><strong> All my children were suffering in ways no child should.</strong>
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<div>Stomach pain
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<div>Fatigue
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<div>Dizziness
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<div>Vomiting
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<div>Hormone crashes
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<div>Behavioral swings
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<div>Emotional breakdowns
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<div>Developmental struggles
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<div>Symptoms that made no sense
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<div>Doctors who shrugged
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<div>Nights spent crying in my arms
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<div>Every day another piece of them slipping away
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<div>I felt helpless.
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<div>Terrified.
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<div>Completely alone.
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<div><strong> Even our dog was sick.</strong>
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<div>Years of antibiotics, steroids, allergy meds, supplements — nothing helped.
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<div>Looking back, all the signs were there. We just didn’t know what it was.
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<div><strong> And then there was me…</strong>
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<div>I developed hives, autoimmune issues, elevated antibodies.
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<div>I did <strong>everything right </strong>— even 100 days of strict Whole30 — and my markers got worse.
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<div>My doctor told me “maybe 100 days wasn’t long enough.”
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<div>I wanted to collapse under the weight of it all.
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<div><strong> **Then one day, someone so precious to me said the word that changed everything:</strong>
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<div>“Mold.”**
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<div>I didn’t want to believe it.
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<div>But something inside me whispered <strong>yes</strong>.
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<div>A Functional Nutrition Practitioner agreed immediately — all our symptoms matched mold toxicity.
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<div>I ordered testing.
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<div>At Johns Hopkins, when I mentioned the possibility of mold, the doctor actually shrugged and said he knew of <em>no connection.</em>
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<div>I have never felt so dismissed.
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<div>But something in me said, “<strong>Test anyway</strong>.”
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<div>So I did.
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<div>I spent over $2,000 out-of-pocket — money I didn’t have — to test my children, myself, and our home.
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<div>And then the truth slammed into us.
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<div><strong>⚠️ Our home — the home my children grew up in — is contaminated with toxic mold.</strong>
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<div><strong>Category 3 contamination.</strong>
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<div><strong>Aspergillus. Penicillium. Stachybotrys. Chaetomium.</strong>
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<div><strong>Mycotoxins in our bodies that match the mold in our walls.</strong>
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<div><strong>Levels thousands of times higher than normal.</strong>
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<div>The invisible enemy that had been silently poisoning us for years finally had a name.
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<div>I felt relief… and then I felt horror.
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<div>We were told to
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<div>And worse…
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<div>We were told to <strong>abandon almost everything we own</strong>.
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<div>We have <strong>seven pets,</strong> and five must now be rehomed.
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<div>My children are devastated.
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<div>We must leave clothing, furniture, toys, books, bedding, anything porous.
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<div>We are starting over from almost nothing.
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<div><strong> Now we are being forced to leave our home.</strong>
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<div>Our only option is to temporarily move <strong>out of state</strong> into a small <strong>one-bedroom cabin</strong> my parents own.
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<div>All four of my younger children will share one small room with me but at least we will be safe. Our bodies can start healing.
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<div>My children are being pulled out of their schools, away from their friends, routines, and everything they know. They are scared. Confused. Heartbroken.
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<div>And I feel like I am failing them, even though I’m doing everything I possibly can.
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<div><strong> The financial reality is overwhelming.</strong>
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<div>•	<strong>$40,000–$50,000+</strong> for home remediation
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<div>•	<strong>$3,500</strong> upfront to start medical treatment
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<div>•	<strong>$1,700</strong>/month for 6–12 months for detox protocols
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<div>•	Ongoing medical tests
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<div>•	Temporary relocation
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<div>•	Replacing what we cannot take
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<div>•	Supplements, prescriptions, appointments
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<div>•	And on top of everything…
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<div><strong> I still have to pay the mortgage on a home we cannot live in.</strong>
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<div>I have been silently carrying this alone, working<strong> 80-hour weeks</strong>, trying so hard to keep us afloat.
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<div>But now… I can’t do it without help.
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<div><strong>❤️ I am humbly asking for help.</strong>
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<div>Every single donation — no matter the amount — helps us:
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<div>•	Remediate our home
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<div>•	Make it safe again
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<div>•	Continue medical treatment
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<div>•	Replace what we must leave behind
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<div>•	Keep a roof over our heads
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<div>•	Give my children a chance to heal
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<div>•	Rebuild a life that has been slowly falling apart
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<div>If you cannot donate, <em>please</em> share our story.
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<div>It would mean the world to us.
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<div><strong> Thank you for reading our story.</strong>
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<div>Thank you for caring.
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<div>Thank you for giving us a glimmer of hope in one of the darkest moments of our lives.
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<div>I pray that one day my children will be healthy again.
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<div>That we will walk back into our home healed, whole, and free from the suffering we’ve endured.
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<div><strong>God bless you for helping us take the first step toward healing.</strong>
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<div>With love,
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<div>Cynthia &amp; Family
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Anonymous

Kendra Wearing

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Misty Heekin

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Our Home Became Our Nightmare - Please Help Us Heal

Our Home Became Our Nightmare - Please Help Us Heal

Nog $61,075 te gaan. Help ons de vaart erin te houden.