At nine years old, most little girls are busy collecting friendship bracelets, doodling in notebooks, or chasing after ice cream trucks on warm afternoons.
But for Aleida Perez, childhood looks very different.
Her days begin not with cartoons or school bells, but with the steady beeping of machines and the sterile scent of antiseptic.
Her world has become a hospital room — four white walls that now hold her fiercest battle yet.
Aleida is fighting Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML) — a fast-moving cancer that attacks the blood and bone marrow, leaving her tiny body weak, exhausted, and constantly in pain.
And despite her bravery, despite her mother’s endless prayers, the disease is fighting back.
A Mother’s Worst Fear
It started like many childhood illnesses do — with a fever that wouldn’t break and bruises that didn’t seem to heal.
Her mother, Maggie, remembers the first night Aleida complained of feeling tired. “She wasn’t herself,” Maggie said. “Her color looked off, her energy was gone. I thought maybe it was the flu.”
“I never imagined our life could change so fast,” she said quietly. “One minute we were planning her birthday. The next, we were fighting to keep her alive.”
A Tiny Warrior in a Big Fight
Aleida’s battle began at Texas Children’s Hospital, where she started an aggressive round of chemotherapy.
The doctors explained that AML doesn’t wait — it spreads quickly, attacking the very core of the body’s ability to fight infection. The only chance at survival was immediate, intensive treatment.
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On Tuesday, Aleida began a higher dose of chemo. Within hours, the side effects hit hard.
“She’s been throwing up nonstop,” Maggie said, her voice breaking. “Her fever keeps spiking. She looks at me and says, ‘Mommy, make it stop.’ But I can’t. I can only hold her hand.”
For a mother, there is no greater agony than watching your child suffer — especially when you’re powerless to take away the pain.
Maggie stays at Aleida’s bedside day and night, sleeping in a chair, holding cold cloths to her daughter’s forehead, whispering prayers through tears.
“She’s so small,” she said. “And yet she’s stronger than anyone I know.”
The Girl Who Refuses to Give Up
Even on her worst days, Aleida’s spirit shines through.
Between chemo sessions and long nights hooked up to machines, she still manages to smile. Nurses say she greets them every morning with a tiny wave and a whispered, “Good morning.”
When she feels strong enough, she draws pictures — hearts, stars, flowers — and tells her mom, “These are for when I’m all better.”
“She believes she’s going to beat this,” Maggie said. “She keeps saying, ‘God’s not done with me yet.’ And I believe her.”
But the road ahead is long and cruel.
Chemo doesn’t just destroy cancer cells — it destroys everything, good and bad. It wipes out immunity, steals appetite, weakens bones. For Aleida, it means vomiting for hours, losing her hair, and missing the outside world she once loved.
Her favorite stuffed animal, a soft pink bunny, sits beside her hospital bed. Its fur is worn from her small hands clutching it through every needle, every transfusion, every wave of nausea.
The Loneliness of the Long Night
The hardest part, Maggie says, isn’t the machines or the medicine. It’s the loneliness.
“You’re surrounded by doctors and nurses, but you still feel completely alone,” she said. “You sit there watching your child fight for her life, and you’d give anything to trade places — but you can’t.”
There are moments when Maggie sneaks into the hospital bathroom just to cry — to release the fear she hides from Aleida.
“I tell her she’s strong. I tell her she’s going to get better,” she said. “But sometimes I don’t believe it myself. And then she looks at me and says, ‘Mommy, don’t be sad.’ She’s comforting me when it should be the other way around.”
In those moments, Maggie is reminded that strength doesn’t always roar. Sometimes, it whispers from the lips of a nine-year-old who refuses to stop fighting.