My name is Roman Ensh, and I am the father of a six-year-old boy named Artyom. Writing these words still feels unreal. No parent ever imagines that one day they will have to ask the world for help to save their child’s life. Yet here I am, doing exactly that—because my son’s life now depends on time, kindness, and the compassion of others.
Artyom is not just my child. He is my heart, my breath, my reason for living. And today, his life is measured not in years or dreams, but in hours and days.
Artyom is fighting one of the most aggressive childhood cancers known: T-cell acute lymphoblastic leukemia. This disease does not wait. It does not compromise. It does not forgive delays. Every hour matters, and every lost day brings us closer to a future I am terrified to imagine.
It all began quietly. One day we noticed a small rash on Artyom’s neck. It looked harmless—like a simple infection or a passing virus. We reassured ourselves that children get sick and recover all the time. But a routine blood test destroyed that sense of safety forever.
Cancer.
From that moment on, our normal life disappeared. Our home was replaced by hospital rooms, our routines by fear, and our future by uncertainty. We rushed Artyom to Medipol Mega University Hospital in Turkey, where doctors immediately began intensive treatment.
The next ten months were the longest and most painful of our lives. Artyom endured multiple stages of chemotherapy, treatments strong enough to weaken his small body but never strong enough to break his spirit. He was admitted to intensive care five times. During one terrifying moment, his breathing stopped, and he had to be placed on a ventilator. Watching your child struggle for air is something no parent ever recovers from.
And yet—he survived. Artyom endured pain that many adults could not. He held our hands through fear, smiled through exhaustion, and showed courage far beyond his six years. We believed his strength, combined with modern medicine, would be enough. But leukemia is cruel. Recent biopsies showed that the cancer has begun to grow again. The disease is still fighting back. And now, doctors have told us the words no parent wants to hear: There is only one chance left.
Artyom urgently needs a bone marrow transplant. A compatible donor has already been found—something that feels like a miracle in itself. That discovery gave us hope when we were running out of it. We traveled once more, this time to Hadassah Medical Center in Israel, where Artyom is currently receiving treatment. He has completed another round of chemotherapy and is now recovering. The most important test still lies ahead. If the results are positive, doctors are ready to proceed with the transplant immediately. Hope is close—but so is heartbreak.
The cost of the transplant is 3,178,800 rubles. To some, it may be just a number. To us, it is the price of our child’s life. We have already given everything we had. We have sold what we could, exhausted all resources, and reached the limits of what a family can do alone. There is nothing left to sacrifice—except time. And time is something Artyom does not have.
My son is only six years old. He is gentle, bright, and full of love. He dreams of going home, hugging his little sister, playing with his grandmother, and caring for our animals. He loves dinosaurs and shaping figures out of dough. He does not dream of hospitals, needles, or IV lines. He dreams of being a child again—of laughing freely, of waking up without pain or fear.
Artyom is alive today because of people with kind hearts. Every donation, every message, every shared post has given him one more day, one more breath, one more chance. But now, we cannot continue this fight alone. I am asking you—not as a stranger, but as a father—please help me save my son.
Every contribution, every share, every act of kindness brings us closer to the bone marrow transplant that can save Artyom’s life. It is another chance for his heart to keep beating, for his laughter to return, for his place in this world to remain.
My son should not die.
He should live.
He should grow up, come home, and fill our house with laughter again.
We believe that with your help, this nightmare can still have a hopeful ending.
With hope and endless gratitude,
Roman Ensh and the Ensh family 🙏❤️