Hello, guys. I am Maixee Vang, I am living at Minneapolis, MN, the United states of America. I am taking this chance to do this donation to help a child in Laos, her name is a Maixoua Vang, she is a 5 years old girl who got a cancer in her intestines ("Intestinal cancer"). About Maixoua's disease, the doctor said she must get an operation immediately but the problem is that her family is poor, her parents has no money to pay for the treatment because the expense for treatment is at around 2500USD (This is only for treatment fee, not included other expenses). So, now Maixoua's father takes her back home and Maixoua only can counts the day to leave our world. So, if you see this event, please help a dollar to pay her treatment. Donate for a life.

To see videos please search a facebook account of Tamon Yang Or Candy Hang.

Thank You for you help.

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Here is a short story of Maixoua Vang

A sad story of a Miss. Maixoua VANG who is only 5 years old, she has got an intestinal cancer.

The sterile scent of the clinic clung to Mee like a shroud. It masked, but couldn't erase, the fear that had clawed its way into his heart the moment the doctor pronounced the word: "cancer." He looked down at Maixoua, his five-year-old daughter, nestled in his lap, oblivious to the weight of the pronouncement. Her bright eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were dulled with fatigue. It was hard to reconcile the word, this monstrous disease, with the vibrant little girl who loved to chase butterflies in their small village.

The doctor had explained, with a gentle but unyielding tone, the location of the cancer - in her young intestines. He spoke of treatment plans, of chemotherapy, of surgery. Hope flickered, a fragile candle in the gathering darkness. Then came the blow.

"The treatment," the doctor had said, his voice softening, "will cost approximately two thousand US dollars."

Two thousand dollars. The words echoed in Mee's ears, each syllable a hammer blow. Two thousand dollars was a fortune, a king's ransom. He was a rice farmer. He earned barely enough to feed his family, let alone afford a medical bill that dwarfed his entire yearly income. He worked from sunrise to sunset, his hands calloused and rough, the sun beating down mercilessly on his back. How could he possibly amass such a sum?

He’d asked, desperation clinging to his voice, about payment plans, about government assistance. The doctor shook his head, sympathy etched on his face. The reality was stark and brutal. Without the money, there was nothing they could do.

Now, as he boarded the overcrowded bus heading back to their village, Mee felt a hollowness that threatened to swallow him whole. The clatter of the engine, the chatter of other passengers, it all seemed muted, insignificant. He held Maixoua tighter, her small body fragile against his.

The village welcomed them with its familiar sights and sounds. The clucking of chickens, the barking of dogs, the smoky scent of cooking fires hanging in the air. But for Mee, the joy had leached out of everything. His tiny, dilapidated hut, usually a haven of warmth and laughter, now felt like a prison, a constant reminder of his powerlessness.

Maixoua, sensing his despair, looked up at him with her innocent eyes. "Papa, are we home?"

"Yes, little butterfly," he managed, his voice thick with unshed tears. "We are home."

He sat her down on the woven mat that served as their bed and watched her play with a worn-out doll, her laughter a fragile melody in the otherwise silent hut. He knew the cancer was slowly stealing her strength, her joy. He watched her, memorizing every detail, every gesture, every precious moment. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that time was running out.

That night, sleep eluded him. He tossed and turned, the image of Maixoua’s face, her small hand reaching for his, burned into his mind. He had to do something. He couldn't simply watch his daughter fade away.

He thought of selling his rice paddy, the source of their livelihood. But it wouldn't be enough. He considered borrowing money from the village elders, but he already owed them for last year's harvest. Despair threatened to overwhelm him.

As dawn broke, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Mee made a decision. It was a desperate one, born of a father's love and a deep-seated fear. He knew the risks, the shame it would bring, but he couldn't bear the thought of losing Maixoua.

He would go to the city. He would find work, any work. He would beg, he would borrow, he would do whatever it took to raise the money. He would leave Maixoua in the care of his sister, knowing that every day apart would be an agony.

He knelt beside Maixoua, who was still sleeping soundly. He stroked her hair, her soft, dark hair.

"Papa loves you, little butterfly," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I will come back for you. I promise."

He kissed her forehead, a silent vow etched onto his soul. Then, with a heavy heart and a desperate hope, Mee left his village, leaving behind everything he knew, everything he loved, for the sake of his daughter. The road ahead was long and uncertain, but he knew one thing: he would fight. He would fight for Maixoua, until his last breath. The cure might cost two thousand dollars, but his love was priceless. And that, he hoped, would be enough.