- The Detective Work Pays Off
Months of searching led me back to a memory from my ICU bed. I remembered an article about a girl who had spine surgery at an American clinic in Cyprus. I didn’t know her, but I tracked down the clinic and found another woman treated there. I applied, sent my records, and to my surprise, they offered me a promising surgery. They even had a local consultant to guide me through the entire process.
I was on cloud nine—until I saw the price tag. The amount was staggering. My family wasn’t wealthy; our only asset was the apartment my father lived in. My husband’s family had property, but I didn’t feel it was right to ask them. I was stuck. Even mortgaging my father’s home wouldn’t cover it.
- Swallowing My Ego
I met another woman who had gone to the same clinic through a fundraising campaign. The thought of doing the same made me sick. I felt like a beggar; I felt a deep, burning shame. But as time ticked away, my chances of a successful recovery were shrinking. I realized I had to kill my ego to save my life.
The woman gave me advice with a cold, business-like precision that struck me. We weren’t talking about health anymore; we were talking about a “business project.” During the Christmas holidays, I made the decision: I was launching the campaign.
- The Solo Campaigner
Standard practice is for family members to run a campaign so the patient can rest. In my case, there was no one to roll up their sleeves and take charge. I had helpers, but I was the CEO. I was the one driving from shop to shop, placing donation boxes, and managing the social media updates. Ironically, being able to drive again gave me the independence I needed to fight for myself.
Unexpectedly, people from my past—old friends I hadn’t seen in years—became my strongest allies. They did the impossible to help. Meanwhile, those I expected the most from were passive, waiting for my “direct orders” because they “didn’t know how to help.” I didn’t have time for resentment. I had a target to hit.
- The Chaos of Survival
My maternity leave ended, and I made the crazy decision to go back to work while running the campaign. It was pure chaos. I was juggling a job, a toddler, and a fundraiser, all while living in constant pain. Every morning, I would check my eyes in the mirror for yellow tints, terrified that the sheer amount of painkillers I was taking was finally destroying my liver.
In the end, we raised half the money through the campaign. For the other half, my father, my sister, and I took out a massive loan. My father promised to cover the installments as long as he could, as my salary at the time was barely enough to survive. The “Project” was funded. The next stop was Cyprus.
Read my Practical guide on How to Manage Your Own Fundraising Campaign (When You Have No Choice) here.
Continue reading the story: Chapter 7: Cyprus and the Weight of Expectations