For Winry

Winry December Tester bounced into the world as the sum of her parents, Brian and Sarah, on December 13, 2012. She immediately captivated her parents and every other person she encountered. By toddlerhood she knew how to con her dad into letting her have his milkshake. By preschool she amazed her teachers with tales of "whale fall," a phenomenon she learned from trusty PBS. (Admit: you don't know what that is--but now you're going to Google it). By fourth grade she was commiserating with her mom over early morning wake-ups for school, since they are both night owls.

At the age of nine, she became the first "ride-or-die" friend her neighbor, slightly older Ava (my daughter), ever knew. They spent the next two years more or less inseparable while I befriended Sarah. We lived two doors down from the Testers, and the girls spent their summers in one backyard or the other.

On February 16, 2024, Brian took Winry to an urgent care to be seen for a suspected swollen/knotted muscle on her left arm near the shoulder. What was supposed to be a routine visit turned into a nightmare. Winry was transported from the urgent care to a local emergency room to Rainbow Babies and Children Hospital in Cleveland. The medical team made referrals for a biopsy and other testing. Suspicion: bone cancer.

On March 6, 2024, Winry was officially diagnosed with metastatic bone cancer. She has a tumor on her left arm, and tumors on both of her lungs. At first there was hope. Maybe a surgery and chemotherapy would solve the problems.

On March 11, 2024, Winry started her first round of chemotherapy. Several subsequent chemotherapy sessions were planned. She immediately experienced adverse side effects, and even spent time in the pediatric intensive care unit. To date, she has not been medically cleared to undergo a second round of chemotherapy. She also hasn't left the hospital.

In a cruel twist of fate to bestow upon the person who is quite possibly the world's wisest and most emotionally mature child, the medical interventions were for naught. The first round of chemotherapy did not help. Winry's cancer is terminal.

On April 3, 2024, Brian, Sarah, and Winry's medical team presented Winry with her options. They are to live a little longer by pursuing further treatment to the great detriment of her quality of life, or to die sooner with a better quality of life.

At the age of eleven, Winry has chosen to die sooner with a better quality of life. She is home. To die in her greatest place of comfort, with her favorite people by her side, on her own terms.

Please help her parents ease the financial burden of this nightmare, so that they can spend her remaining time together.

And while you are at it. What would you do with the opportunity to tell someone what she means to the world? You have it. But only briefly.

[Donations automatically process directly to Brian and Sarah.]