Abi B

Berkeley, October 21, 2026 Please watch the videos Hi thanks so much for your generous donations, I got a lot of updates, and I wish I had better news: I’m still behind and I’m facing eviction imminently while going through chemotherapy, and have scheduled surgery, and I need your help today to keep my home, and to make past donations count. I need $10,000 to catch up on September and October rent, late fees, to halt the eviction process, the rest is for urgent bills, and to buy food. If you can donate today, preferably within the next few hours, please do. Any amount helps. I’m hoping for a real crowdfunding spirit: These amounts are staggering, but I’m not asking anyone to carry this whole burden. With 10, 20, or 30 people pitching in, I believe I can catch up on September and October and cover the bare necessities much sooner. For example, $8,000 of that goal could come from 8 people giving $1,000 each, 16 giving $500, or 32 giving $250. Those are only examples. Smaller gifts matter, too, and a mix of amounts can get me there. Whatever you can give would be one part of that shared effort. What your help has meant: I started this fundraiser earlier this year to ask for help with my medical expenses until I could afford them myself. Since then, 51 kind people — friends and strangers — have helped pay for treatment, prescriptions, rides to Stanford, and groceries. I began chemotherapy at Stanford in the spring. One person, in addition to donating, sent me a plush emotional support dog. Another gave a large donation over the summer when I desperately needed help beyond medical expenses. Every gesture, big or small, has meant so much to me. You carried me through the hardest months of treatment. I’m deeply grateful. Where things stand today: This is one of the hardest updates I’ve written. I’m sharing what my life looks like when no one else is around, because I can’t afford to keep it to myself any longer. My savings and all the funds raised here are gone. My credit cards are maxed out. One bank account is overdrawn; the other holds $26 in checking and $10 in savings. That is all I have for food, medication, and everything else. My September and October rent and utilities are overdue, along with my phone, internet, and electricity. I’ve received two three-day notices. The deadline was October 20, and my property manager has given me a little more time—but not much. November’s rent is due in ten days. My internet was cut off October 20th. I need it for work, and I’m writing this on my phone. However, my phone service and electricity are suspended next, unless I pay ASAP. I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten anything fresh in weeks. I stand in front of my nearly empty fridge and wonder where my next meal will come from. The cats have about two weeks of food left. I wish I had asked sooner. I feel ashamed, and I’m afraid of rejection or of people quietly withdrawing because they don’t know what to say. It is hard to ask again when so many people have already helped. But I need help today. I’m at risk of losing my home while I’m still in treatment. How I got here: Two years without income, including months of debilitating chemotherapy, have used up my savings. Medical debt has left me unable to get a loan. I have no partner or extended family to turn to for financial help. That’s why I’m asking you. My three cats Michaël, Leo, and Mocha are my family. Mocha sleeps next to my head. Michaël and Leo settle on the bed whenever I rest. Finding shelter or a temporary place that will take all three cats would be difficult, and I won’t split them up. Most days, I choose between food for me and food for them. The cats always eat. My two daughters, my absolute favorite human beings, are an adolescent and a young adult. My older daughter just started graduate school. I couldn’t help her move in or fly out to see her settle. My younger daughter lives with her father’s family. Both know I’ve lived with migraines and an autoimmune illness for more than a decade. Neither knows about the new diagnosis or how close I am to losing my home. As they embark on their exciting and beautiful journeys, pursuing their education, I cannot burden them right now. What I need now $10,000 would bring September and October current, dodge eviction, cover urgent bills, restore my internet, keep my phone on, and put food in the fridge. Another $9,000 would help me through November while I work toward earning again. Breakdown of costs: My housing and basic bills alone come to about $5,000 a month. With care not covered by medical care, food, transportation, and other necessities, my monthly expenses total about $9,100: - Rent, pet fees, and utilities: about $4,150 - Renter’s insurance: $25 - Storage and garage: $340 - Electricity, phone, internet, and cloud services for work: $450 - LinkedIn and learning subscriptions: $60–$120 - Treatments and diagnostic tests insurance does not cover: $1,700 - Copays and over-the-counter medication: $500 - Rides to Stanford: $250, down from $600 - Groceries, basic necessities, cat food, and litter: $1,000 - Debt payment plan: $600 I’m looking for somewhere cheaper, but I can’t move in the middle of treatment, and without income, I can’t qualify for a new lease. Right now, I’m asking for help catching up and getting through November so I can stay housed, continue my care, and return to work. What comes next On good days, I work. I’m rebuilding my website, reconnecting with people, and shaping something I’ve wanted to build for a long time: a human-first, AI-native home for writers, thinkers, and creatives. I spent a decade at Apple, practicing to create wonderful things that are beautiful. And the effort is invisible. It’s the work I’ve spent thirty years preparing for. I’m also confident I’ll be able to find people who can see the potential in me, based on the work I’ve done at Apple and elsewhere. After PayPal, Huawei, and a GoogleX moonshot, I shifted my focus to start-ups. I became the first Head of Design at You.com, founded by German, US-based AI pioneer Richard Socher, now valued at $1.5 billion. The craft hasn’t gone anywhere. I am an eternal learner and hands-on product designer. My body needs time to catch up. After my surgery in December, there is a real chance of remission by early 2027. If you can donate today, please help me keep my home. You don’t have to cover a whole bill for your gift to matter. Each donation helps close the gap. If you can’t give, please share this page with a few people and a personal note. If you know someone who needs my design experience, a connection to paid work would help, too. I’m still here, and I love life. Thank you for being here. With love and gratitude, Abi

Berkeley · Caturday, September 12, 2026 · Part 2 Hello, hello again. As mentioned in my earlier update (Part 1), there’s a great deal to unpack this time, so this runs longer than usual. I broke it into sections, to make it more digestible. Why I went quiet First, an apology for the silence since August. Two things kept me away. My campaign was unexpectedly paused for several weeks while GoFundMe ran a verification review. I couldn’t edit my story, post updates, or receive donations, and the funds were frozen. I worked through it with their team, we cleared everything up, and the page is fully back online. All good now. The other reason was simpler and harder: I needed every ounce of energy to heal, and the weeks blurred into something coma-like. My induction therapy, the first and most intensive phase, was brutal: toxicity, painful neuropathy, migraines, nausea, relentless fatigue, brain fog. Because of the progress I made and the toll, my care team has moved me into a rest phase. If things hold, I’ll likely continue with maintenance therapy: a lower-dose, oral form of chemo. I want to be honest about my medical future, though. My conditions are lifelong and, incurable. This isn’t hopeless. Patients before me have gone on to live full, near-normal lives, as long as they get the care they need to stay in remission. That’s the focus: reach remission, maintain a balanced immune system, and hold it. For anyone newer here, a short version of how this chapter began: in late summer 2024, strange symptoms crept in. Night sweats, deep muscle and bone pain that kept me tossing and turning until the early morning hours. I blamed the heat and hormonal shifts, and reached for ice packs, which, by the way, have been lifesavers. I had no idea those miseries were the start of the hardest chapter of my life: two years of health emergencies, ER visits, a difficult diagnosis of multiple conditions, and chemotherapy. Even reading became hard. I’d hold open a book lying down, read the same page twice, black out, and wake a few seconds later to find it had fallen flat on my face. Two steps back I wish my path has been steady, and my recovery sooner, but with almost every step forward, something pulls me two back; the financial pressure grows, without income: Beyond lingering side effects of the chemo and steroids, a few weeks ago I slipped, fell, and went down hard on my right side. My elbow and my head took the brunt — which, strangely, I’m grateful for: my right hip has been fully replaced over a decade ago, and a direct hit could have been catastrophic. My head’s impact left a subdural hematoma, which thankfully didn’t require surgery, just more migraines, and a round of monitoring scans. My elbow needed stitches; the bone and the surrounding complex tissues were deeply bruised, and for a while my arm lived in a splint at a right angle to rest. For a couple of weeks I couldn’t use my right arm for the ordinary business of living. I’m mending, though. Perspective And still, all of it feels small against a recent loss: a brave young friend died of stage-4 cancer at just twenty-five. S. was sunshine and kindness made human, wise far beyond her years, endlessly giving simply to be here. Her motto was “keep swimming — happy to be here.” I’m holding onto that. In her spirit, I’m choosing to keep an open mind, and a grateful, positive attitude. Every day seems to be a miracle. I feel that not only when I wake up, and look at my cats beautiful eyes, but stepping outside and getting a first glimpse of the blue sky, flecked with white clouds (See photos). On that note: today is the first day I’ve been well enough to sit at my computer and write. That, in itself, feels like a fresh start. Where things stand Honestly speaking, my situation is still critical. I won’t pretend otherwise: the last couple of months have been the hardest I’ve known: mounting medical bills, savings gone, no income. I’m behind on everything, and I am beginning to feel a sense of dread and panic. It’s almost mid-September, my bank account is near zero, and even with the kindness of the past few weeks, I’ve fallen behind on rent and utilities for both August and September, and I have nothing for October. I’ve stopped opening letters from collections and debt collectors. I don’t have enough for the most basic needs. My savings were gone earlier this year, and treatment has kept me too sick to work. My landlord’s three-day notice is still looming, and losing my apartment would mean losing the last stability I have, and my three cats, Michaël, Leo, and Mocha, would also meet an uncertain future. They are not “just pets” but my family and my daily reason to keep going. I have no living relatives in the US who could take us in. No hotel, shelter, or friend’s couch can take all three cats, and the thought of giving them up or splitting them apart is unbearable. That being said, I also would not know where to put my belongings: the essential things I need, clothing, furniture, books, and my memories. I don’t write this for sympathy. I’ve decided that honesty is the only way forward. A temporary hardship shouldn’t derail permanent potential. I’ll focus on the financial picture first, but I plan to write an update on what I’m planning to do and how I plan to land on my feet, generate income, and make a dent in the universe. The bridge It takes ~$9K a month to stay afloat, with nothing extra, since rent alone costs $4K.
 Most days I’m choosing between food for me and food for the cats — and the cats always eat (See video). I’m actively looking into more affordable alternatives, but finding a place and moving hasn’t been possible during treatment. And even now, without a full-time job or income, I’m likely to be turned down for a new lease. This is not an open-ended request. If I can avoid eviction, by covering August, September, and October, the picture changes: remission is genuinely within reach, conversations could turn into real work, eventually. I’ll resume networking, build my website and shape an AI-native, human-first concept. I’m confident that I’ll be able to find pre-seed angels who can see the potential in me, based on the work I’ve done at Apple and elsewhere. Meanwhile, your support protects my chance to heal, to keep my home and my three bonded cats, and to get back to building something that matters. Even a small donation helps, especially when you have donated before. Even if you pass on donating funds, by giving your thought and time and by sharing this fundraiser with someone you know and trust, it is very powerful, and it can move mountains. Hope and beauty can live alongside hardship. I’m still here, still creating, and determined to make this count. Thank you for staying with me. With love and gratitude, Abi Photos: my cats mean everything to me, and it seems that they like me, too. The big dog is not AI. It has been an incredibly generous gift by a friend who designs toys for a living.

Berkeley · September 11, 2026 · Part 1 Hello again. It’s been too long since my last update, and I’ve missed being in touch with you. Before anything else, to everyone: thank you. And a special thanks to someone from my past life at a certain fruit company, who resurfaced after almost two decades and quietly made a miracle possible with a gift I never saw coming. Without that generosity, and without yours, I don’t know where I’d be standing today. I mean that plainly. I am profoundly grateful. I’ll share a more detailed update (Part 2) shortly, and record a new video, soon. Thank you for staying with me. With love and gratitude,
 Abi

Important update: October 21, 2026 Hello, and thank you for reading. Welcome to my fundraiser. If you’re new, thank you for visiting. If you’ve donated or shared before, thank you again. I wish I had better news: I’m still behind and I’m facing eviction while going through chemotherapy, and have scheduled surgery, and I need help today to keep my home. I need $10,000 to catch up on September and October rent, late fees, to halt the eviction process, the rest is for urgent bills, and to buy food. If you can donate today, preferably within the next few hours, please do. Any amount helps. I’m hoping for a real crowdfunding spirit: These amounts are staggering, but I’m not asking anyone to carry this whole burden. With 10, 20, or 30 people pitching in, I believe I can catch up on September and October and cover the bare necessities much sooner. For example, $8,000 of that goal could come from 8 people giving $1,000 each, 16 giving $500, or 32 giving $250. Those are only examples. Smaller gifts matter, too, and a mix of amounts can get me there. Whatever you can give would be one part of that shared effort. What your help has meant I started this fundraiser earlier this year to ask for help with my medical expenses until I could afford them myself. Since then, 51 kind people — friends and strangers — have helped pay for treatment, prescriptions, rides to Stanford, and groceries. I began chemotherapy at Stanford in the spring. One person, in addition to donating, sent me a plush emotional support dog. Another gave a large donation over the summer when I desperately needed help beyond medical expenses. Every gesture, big or small, has meant so much to me. You carried me through the hardest months of treatment. I’m deeply grateful. Where things stand today This is one of the hardest updates I’ve written. I’m sharing what my life looks like when no one else is around, because I can’t afford to keep it to myself any longer. My savings and all the funds raised here are gone. My credit cards are maxed out. One bank account is overdrawn; the other holds $26 in checking and $10 in savings. That is all I have for food, medication, and everything else. My September and October rent and utilities are overdue, along with my phone, internet, and electricity. I’ve received two three-day notices. The deadline was October 20, and my property manager has given me a little more time—but not much. November’s rent is due in ten days. My internet was cut off October 20th. I need it for work, and I’m writing this on my phone. However, my phone service and electricity are suspended next, unless I pay ASAP. I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten anything fresh in weeks. I stand in front of my nearly empty fridge and wonder where my next meal will come from. The cats have about two weeks of food left. I wish I had asked sooner. I feel ashamed, and I’m afraid of rejection or of people quietly withdrawing because they don’t know what to say. It is hard to ask again when so many people have already helped. But I need help today. I’m at risk of losing my home while I’m still in treatment. My fridge this October. This is not a stock photo, How I got here Two years without income, including months of debilitating chemotherapy, have used up my savings. Medical debt has left me unable to get a loan. I have no partner or extended family to turn to for financial help. That’s why I’m asking you. My three cats Michaël, Leo, and Mocha are my family. Mocha sleeps next to my head. Michaël and Leo settle on the bed whenever I rest. Finding shelter or a temporary place that will take all three cats would be difficult, and I won’t split them up. Most days, I choose between food for me and food for them. The cats always eat. My two daughters, my absolute favorite human beings, are an adolescent and a young adult. My older daughter just started graduate school. I couldn’t help her move in or fly out to see her settle. My younger daughter lives with her father’s family. Both know I’ve lived with migraines and an autoimmune illness for more than a decade. Neither knows about the new diagnosis or how close I am to losing my home. As they embark on their exciting and beautiful journeys, pursuing their education, I cannot burden them right now. What I need now $10,000 would bring September and October current, dodge eviction, cover urgent bills, restore my internet, keep my phone on, and put food in the fridge. Another $9,000 would help me through November while I work toward earning again. Breakdown of costs: My housing and basic bills alone come to about $5,000 a month. With care not covered by medical care, food, transportation, and other necessities, my monthly expenses total about $9,100: - Rent, pet fees, and utilities: about $4,150 - Renter’s insurance: $25 - Storage and garage: $340 - Electricity, phone, internet, and cloud services for work: $450 - LinkedIn and learning subscriptions: $60–$120 - Treatments and diagnostic tests insurance does not cover: $1,700 - Copays and over-the-counter medication: $500 - Rides to Stanford: $250, down from $600 - Groceries, basic necessities, cat food, and litter: $1,000 - Debt payment plan: $600 I’m looking for somewhere cheaper, but I can’t move in the middle of treatment, and without income, I can’t qualify for a new lease. Right now, I’m asking for help catching up and getting through November so I can stay housed, continue my care, and return to work. What comes next On good days, I work. I’m rebuilding my website, reconnecting with people, and shaping something I’ve wanted to build for a long time: a human-first, AI-native home for writers, thinkers, and creatives. I spent a decade at Apple, practicing to create wonderful things that are beautiful. And the effort is invisible. It’s the work I’ve spent thirty years preparing for. I’m also confident I’ll be able to find people who can see the potential in me, based on the work I’ve done at Apple and elsewhere. After PayPal, Huawei, and a GoogleX moonshot, I shifted my focus to start-ups. I became the first Head of Design at You.com, founded by German, US-based AI pioneer Richard Socher, now valued at $1.5 billion. The craft hasn’t gone anywhere. I am an eternal learner and hands-on product designer. My body needs time to catch up. After my surgery in December, there is a real chance of remission by early 2027. If you can donate today, please help me keep my home. You don’t have to cover a whole bill for your gift to matter. Each donation helps close the gap. If you can’t give, please share this page with a few people and a personal note. If you know someone who needs my design experience, a connection to paid work would help, too. I’m still here, and I love life. Thank you for being here. With love and gratitude, Abi Left: Mocha loves to sleep next to my head. Middle: My first day at the Stanford infusion center, tethered to the IV pole for over six hours. Right: Michaël in the front, and Leo behind him; they love when I am resting in bed. How can a former Apple product design lead, innovator, and creator of experiences enjoyed by billions find themselves in such a situation? In late summer 2024, I began experiencing unusual new symptoms—night sweats, muscle and bone pain that made restful sleep impossible. I wasn’t alarmed at first, attributing these annoyances to the hot weather and hormonal shifts, and thought that ice packs before bed would resolve the issue. Little did I know, these were the first signs of the most challenging period of my life: severe health emergencies, multiple ER visits, a difficult diagnosis, and chemo therapy. Resting with Mocha and icepacks on my head. Your support means the world to me. It protects my chance to heal, to keep my home and my three bonded cats, and to return to building something meaningful. Even small donations matter, and sharing this campaign with someone who can help makes a difference too. Hope and beauty can coexist with hardship. I’m still here, and I love life. Still writing, planning, creating, and determined to make this count. With love and gratitude, Abi PS: M31 & A. Aqua, if you read this, I’ll explain. Trust me, all will be well. August 4, 2026 update video My cats will always eat