Help Me Fight Cancer - A Humble Request from Someone Who Hates to Ask (Scroll Down to the bottom for Updates)

My name is Rodney aka Rodchata, and I'm reaching out to you today with something I never thought I'd have to do – ask for help.

Throughout my life, I've always been the one offering support to others. Whether through teaching dance lessons, contributing to festivals, or simply being there when someone needed a hand, I've found joy in giving back to this community. I've never been comfortable asking for money unless it was in exchange for something I could offer – a dance lesson, a festival product, my time and skills.

But today, I'm facing something I can't dance my way through alone.

I've been diagnosed with liver cancer.

While I'm truly blessed to have health insurance, the reality of this journey is hitting hard. High deductibles, co-pays, medications, and the inability to work during treatment are creating a financial burden I didn't anticipate. The costs are adding up quickly, and I'm worried about keeping up with both medical bills and basic living expenses.

I'm humbly asking for your help.

Any amount – whether it's $5, $20, or $100 – will make a real difference in my ability to focus on healing rather than worrying about finances. Every contribution helps cover:

Medical deductibles and treatment costs

Medications and follow-up care

Rent, utilities, and basic necessities while I can't work

Transportation to appointments

If you can't contribute financially, I completely understand. Sharing this fundraiser or keeping me in your thoughts means the world to me.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. Your support, in whatever form it takes, gives me hope and strength during this difficult time.

With gratitude,

Rodney

My Symptoms and Diagnosis...This is what I posted on Social Media

Nope, I wish this a joke, and I wish I didn't have to post this.

I hesitated to make this public—as some of you already know—because I don't want pity, and I intend to fight this my own way. However, given my obligations and commitments to others this year, transparency felt important. This will be my only post regarding this matter.

Last August, I started feeling off. I was having diarrhea, dark urine, and sometimes reddish urine. I brushed it off, thinking it was just a virus or food poisoning. But when the chills, high fever, and stomach cramps started, I knew I had to go to the ER.

After several rounds of tests over the course of several weeks, I was diagnosed in September with liver cancer (hepatocellular carcinoma). The diagnosis revealed two tumors, and the goal of treatment is to shrink or completely eliminate them and prevent the cancer from spreading to other organs.

I started pre-chemo medications, and two weeks ago—just before the Hawaii Expo—I had my first cycle of chemotherapy. I was determined to make it to Hawaii because showing up for this community means everything to me. I got through the event, though I was battling fatigue the entire time. But then something unexpected happened: I had a severe gout flare-up that left me in excruciating pain and unable to walk. For the first time in my life, I had to use wheelchair assistance at the airport. It was humbling and, honestly, a bit scary.

When I got back and told my medical team what happened, they explained that chemotherapy elevates uric acid levels, which triggered the gout attack. I've been managing chronic gout for over 10 years, but I had no idea how intensely these two conditions would collide. They told me this is common for cancer patients who also deal with gout, and they warned me that with each cycle of chemo, the fatigue and other side effects will become much more severe—to the point where traveling or even doing everyday activities will be nearly impossible.

My treatment will continue through the end of December. After that, I'll take a month to recover, and then we'll do another round of tests to see if the tumors have decreased in size. If everything goes according to plan, the next step will be surgery.

Because of this, beginning next week, I'm suspending all my classes and events (local and International) for the remainder of the year. My medical team has made it clear that the coming cycles will be severe, and I need to focus all my energy on treatment and recovery.

God willing, I'll be back next year—triumphant.

Update: February 17, 2026

I wanted to take a moment to share a personal update with all of you who have been so incredibly supportive throughout this journey. It's been two months since completing my chemotherapy and radiation treatments, and while the medical team warned me that recovery could take at least six months from the side effects, I'm grateful to report some truly positive news.

The tumors are gone! They were successfully eliminated through SBRT (Stereotactic Body Radiation Therapy), which delivers highly concentrated, targeted radiation to tumors. This was a huge victory and gave us all so much hope.

However, the journey isn't without its challenges. About a month after the SBRT treatment, follow-up testing revealed that my liver enzymes are abnormal, meaning my liver isn't functioning as well as it should. My oncology team has decided to wait one more month before conducting additional tests. If my liver function hasn't returned to normal by then, we may need to consider a transplant procedure.

I'll be honest with you all—I'm crossing my fingers and hoping for the best. The toll of treatments, medical visits, prescriptions, and just the basic costs of living has been overwhelming. I've had to return to work at least twice a week and continue teaching dancing, simply because every little bit helps right now.

The financial situation has been particularly challenging. When my health insurance subsidies expired in January, I had to change insurance plans. Unfortunately, the new premium has increased tenfold, and my out-of-pocket expenses have skyrocketed. If a transplant becomes necessary—which truly would be the last resort—I understand the success rates for remission and preventing cancer recurrence are much better. But the cost of a liver transplant runs around $400,000, give or take.

So yes, I'm definitely crossing my fingers, but I also believe in planning ahead no matter what the outcome.

To each and every one of you who has supported me through donations, kind words, prayers, or simply being there—you have no idea how much your love and support has meant to me. You've helped me keep fighting when things felt impossible, and you've given me strength beyond what I thought I had.

I promise to keep you all updated as things progress. Please continue to keep me in your thoughts and prayers.

With heartfelt gratitude,

Rodney