"I want to say to everyone who has mercy in his heart, take action for Farah. What are you waiting for? She is an innocent child who does not speak, but her tears are more honest than all words."
This is what Wesal, Farah's mother, told me to tell you all about her fifteen-year-old daughter Farah, a fifteen-year-old autistic girl with chronic kidney failure.
Her kidneys leak potassium, for which she hasn't been properly medicated for over a year. Farah needs to take two pils 3x/day, but because her parents cannot afford to buy more, her mother can only give her one per day now.
The longer this goes on, the worse Farah's health will get, until her heart gives out. Cardiac arrest is a very possible and extremely serious complication of severe potassium deficiency, which is what Farah is suffering from now.
So you can understand how scared Wesal is that she will lose her daughter.
Farah needs our help!
Please, if you are able, even if it's just a little, donate to the fundraiser I created for Farah here or via Paypal here. We have only raised €15 and €96 respectively, which is only half of what is needed to buy a month's worth of medication for Farah.
For verification, please see here. They are vetted by association, as is explained in the link. We are working on getting them vetted by gazavetters, but as you probably all know, this takes time.
[EDIT/ Fantastic news, this campaign is now verified by gazavetters! You will find it as #451 on their spreadsheet. Thank you so much!!!]
Thank you so much for donating if you are able, and/or for sharing this post!
Note: if you would prefer to pay via paypal, you can do so here.
Go to paypal.me/forfarah and type in the amount. Since it’s PayPal, it's easy and secure. Don’t have a PayPal account? No worries.
tagging for reach, please share, thank you <3 (let me know if you don't want me to tag you anymore, apologies for any multiple tags)
Boosting: Help Farah, a fifteen-year-old autistic girl with chronic kidney failure.
June 01 in intensive care vetted ✅. Donation rewards
Need at least 400 euros, raised maybe 374,
may 28
my first boost post with more info, second to last post 2026 ; third latest post 2026
Donation rewards below
Vetted: , this campaign is now verified by gazavetters! You will find it as #451 on their spreadsheet.
Chuffed link or paypal!
"I hate hospitals. I hate hearing the machines in the ICU. Potassium is a deadly element that Farah's kidneys are constantly losing. Death is chasing her. I don't want my joy to be stolen. Help us now, now!"
latest post 2026 ; second latest post 2026
oediex about the paypal
Yes! That's my PayPal, I just gave it that name because that is the only way I'm using it (for receiving money) :) it's also still linked on the chuffed fundraiser. We haven't really been sharing it in the posts anymore because it is linked in the fundraiser. I still receive donations on it every now and then :)
fun fact: people who get organ transplants need to be on lifelong immunosuppressants (e.g: glucocorticoids) and as someone who has a chronic illness that requires me to be on glucocorticoids for life they’re very unpleasant and draining not to mention the feeling of being dependent on meds just sucks, so I’ve gotten into many arguments with my family about me not taking the meds some days and I can’t help but imagine that Inho would be in my family’s shoes lecturing Junho about why he shouldn’t skip his meds who’s just so done with it
sorry for the long ramble and I really love your writing so so so much this is not a request just an idea that I wanted to share
hope you have a great day
oh wow, that actually makes so much sense! And yeah, I can definitely picture In-ho being the one pacing around with his arms crossed, scolding Jun-ho about medication while Jun-ho insists he’s “fine” 😭
Thank you so much for sharing this (and for the little insight into what that’s like), it adds such a real layer to the dynamic. and please don’t apologize for the ramble – it was genuinely interesting to read 🫰❤️
❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ○△□ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜
He had been pacing for twenty-three minutes.
He knew because the clock over the kitchen doorway kept flashing the seconds, every one of them a reminder that Jun-ho was late again. Ten minutes behind schedule. Eleven now. The kind of number that wouldn’t have meant anything to anyone else, but to In-ho, it was a countdown.
The bottle sat untouched on the coffee table. White plastic, amber label, his brother’s name printed in all caps. He could see the faint reflection of it in the TV screen, a glowing shape right under Jun-ho’s face.
He wasn’t angry, not really. Anger would have been easier. What sat in his chest was something meaner, fear that chewed and gnawed and never let him rest.
He remembered the monitors, the smell of antiseptic, the way the doctors had said we caught it just in time. The word rejection still made his stomach twist. It had been weeks since the surgery, and every day he had watched Jun-ho get a little stronger, laugh a little more, sleep without gasping, but he had also watched that bottle shrink one pill at a time. Every dose a lifeline.
He stopped pacing only to look again.
Jun-ho was on the couch, legs folded, a blanket around his shoulders, half watching a rerun of some mindless show. He looked fine. Healthy, even. It was almost cruel, how fine he looked.
“Jun-ho,” In-ho said, his voice already carrying that edge of warning. “It’s time.”
Jun-ho didn’t move. Maybe he hadn’t heard him. Maybe he was pretending not to.
“Jun-ho,” he said again, sharper. “Your meds.”
A pause. Then a sigh from the couch.
“I will,” Jun-ho muttered. “In a minute.”
That was what he had said yesterday. And the day before.
In-ho pinched the bridge of his nose, breath catching. “A minute turns into ten, and ten turns into,” he glanced at the clock again, “exactly what we’re doing now.”
“I said I’ll take them,” Jun-ho snapped.
It hit harder than it should have. The tone. The irritation.
He should have walked away, given him space. But the thought of leaving those pills untouched made his skin crawl. He walked to the table instead and stopped right in front of it.
“They’re not optional,” he said, low. “You know that.”
Jun-ho didn’t look up. The TV kept flickering, soundless laughter from strangers who didn’t have to count their hours in doses.
In-ho breathed through his teeth. Don’t shout. Don’t scare him.
He had promised himself he wouldn’t turn into their father. That he’d never let worry twist into control, but that was exactly what it felt like now, pacing the same three meters, lecturing, hovering like a storm cloud.
He heard himself say it before he could stop: “I gave you that kidney, the least you can do is take care of it.”
And the instant it left his mouth, he regretted it.
The words hung there, too heavy, too sharp.
Jun-ho’s shoulders went still. His face flickered through a dozen unreadable expressions before he schooled it back into calm.
In-ho’s throat felt tight. “I didn’t mean,” he started, then stopped. Of course you meant it. You meant every part that was fear wrapped in guilt, every part that whispered don’t make me lose you.
He sat down beside him, hands clasped so tightly that his knuckles ached. The light from the TV washed them both in pale blue.
“Please,” he said, quieter now. “Just take them.”
The truth was: Jun-ho was counting, too.
Not seconds. Not pills. Just the number of times he had heard this conversation.
It was always the same rhythm: the pacing, the sigh, the Jun-ho, it’s time.
He could have written the script himself by then.
He stared at the TV but didn’t see it. He felt the bottle in his periphery, the label practically glowing with accusation. He knew the drill. Two in the morning, one in the evening. Every day, same time, no excuses. He knew.
He wasn’t trying to be reckless. He wasn’t trying to make In-ho worry. It was just that he was so damn tired of living by the clock.
The pills tasted like metal and dust. They stuck to his tongue and made his stomach twist. But it wasn’t even the taste anymore. It was the weight of it. The reminder that his body wasn’t fully his anymore. That a part of his hyung was inside him now, and that he had to protect it or risk losing both of them.
He thought sometimes about the night before the surgery. In-ho’s hand on his shoulder, steady, calm, like it was no big deal to give away a piece of himself. And how afterward, when they had both woken up in separate hospital beds, In-ho had been the first face he saw. Pale, exhausted, but smiling. That kind of smile that said ‘you’re safe now.’
And now, every time he was ten minutes late, that same man looked at him like he was about to die.
He reached for the bottle, just to make it stop. The pills rattled, echoing in the quiet. In-ho exhaled like he had been drowning. It made Jun-ho’s chest tighten with guilt and annoyance all at once.
He popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed without water. They scraped down his throat.
“Happy now?” he said before he could bite the words back.
The silence afterward was worse than any argument.
In-ho sat beside him, elbows on his knees, eyes on the floor. Jun-ho could feel the worry radiating off him, thick as humidity. It made the room hard to breathe in.
He didn’t hate him for it. He couldn’t.
In-ho had always been everything: brother, father, the person who never left. The man who still looked at him like he was eight years old and sick again, like if he blinked too long, Jun-ho might vanish.
“I’m not a kid,” he said quietly.
“I know,” In-ho answered, just as quiet.
But neither of them really believed it.
The TV flickered again, casting faint shadows across the living room walls. The pill bottle sat lighter now, just a few doses left for tomorrow. And for a moment, Jun-ho let himself imagine a world where he could take them without feeling like he was disappointing someone. Where In-ho could look at him without counting minutes.
He knew it wasn’t that easy. It never was. But still, he wished it could be.
Brie is my fourth cat and the sweetest, best one in the whole house, now at his 13 years of age, he has had his fair share of health issues, including his ongoing kidney failure we have to manage
🚨Urgent, save Farah, kidney failure snatches her from me. I try not to lose hope, but it is difficult to see your child in pain😭💔 Any support — even sharing this post — means so much 🌹✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #451 )✅️https://chuffed.org/project/153965-urgent-appeal-kidney-failure-and-autism-threatens-farah
🔴Being late means losing a life. Move now, even if just a little. 🙏🏻😭🙏🏻 My pregnancy is very weak 💔 Help save Farah’s life. Kidney failure ends her life🥀. Asking for help is not easy, but the situation in Gaza is tragic 😭🙏 I thank every kind soul who contributed to overcoming this ordeal 🦋 🌿 Thank you for your humanity 🫂🇵🇸 https://chuffed.org/project/153965-urgent-appeal-kidney-failure-and-autism-threatens-farah
Hi guys, please donate to save Farah or just reblog if you can't, i checked the link, it's legit <3 she deserved a second chance at life
