Hello everyone, I'm Danil, 21 and here's my story. 

Each of us believes that trouble won't touch us. We read the news, learn about other people's sorrows, discuss them with family, friends, and colleagues. We sympathize, but we always think that this will never happen to me and my family. Be it an accident, an illness, or the loss of a loved one. 

My family thought the same. Everything changed in 2010, on 14 January . I remember that New Year. We celebrated it as we always did, with friends of the family. We always had fun together, nobody could have imagined that something was wrong with me. My condition at that time was not the best, I was very pale,  in one of the photographs it was particularly noticeable, but of course neither I nor my family attached any importance to it. This proves once again that most people rule out the possibility of something bad and serious. It all started with an ordinary cold. Temperature, cough, runny nose, sore throat - all as usual. Besides that there were bruises on my body, but we thought it was because I was careless at karate. I did karate for about 8 years, I loved going to competitions, I was glad of every stripe on my belt, and yes, I had an excellent coach who praised me quite often. Back to the cold: my mother could not cure me for a long time, so we decided to have a general blood test at the city hospital, after which we were referred to Donetsk, where after a great many tests I was diagnosed with aplastic anaemia. I will not describe how hard it was and all that, I will just say that probably everyone who faces some kind of grief goes through several stages: denial, acceptance, depression, and only then some kind of decision. All this is very individual, some may spend less time on it, but it is inevitable. A person who lived a quiet life, solving routine problems, cannot be ready for this. That is why everyone should learn to rule out the worst possibilities not in their own head but in clinics, and of course good doctors should help with that. Treatment was prescribed, we were told what sum of money to prepare, it was explained that a bone marrow transplant might be needed later, but I was lucky with that: my own sister, my twin, is a perfect donor for me. Finding a donor is very difficult, so yes, I was lucky. But there was no transplant, the treatment helped me. I was in hospital for 4 months. Back then the whole town helped my family, for which I and my relatives are very grateful. Credit must be given to my family: we never gave up, we lived with hope and with faith in the best. But each of us had thoughts that nobody said out loud. 

They sent me home, where I continued my treatment. I was prescribed medication, and we gradually reduced the dosage, and eventually I stopped taking them. Life at home couldn't be the same, but it was good. Of course, because of the hormones, I didn't recognize myself in the mirror, I rarely went out, and any infection was dangerous for me, but my family stayed with me. Two of my friends often came to see me, but everyone around me treated me like I was seriously ill. I don't remember when it all stopped, probably when I started to forget about my illness. I pulled myself together and lost weight, felt like a normal person, and began living a normal life again, getting tested every month. 

Seven years passed, and the latest test results, to put it mildly, weren't encouraging. My family was literally gripped by panic; during that time, we stopped living in fear.  But this time, we knew what to do. We had tests in Odessa and Kyiv, but the diagnoses didn't add up, nor did the treatment. In any case, this is a relapse, and I need help. My family can't cope on their own.  We don't have the support of our relatives, as we did in 2010 We had to leave our hometown because of the Anti-Terrorist Operation (ATO), and my family is left alone to face this tragedy. 

We each have our own plans for life. Mine are ambitious, and I sincerely hope that I can achieve them.