Help a Mother Fight to Save Her Leg While Her Son Battles a Serious Immune Disorder
I never imagined I would be asking strangers to help my family.
My name is Corin. I’m 46, a wife, a mother, a grandmother, and someone who has worked hard for years to care for the people I love. Today, I’m facing the possibility of losing my left leg because of severe circulation problems. At the same time, my 17-year-old son, Ethan, depends on weekly treatment for a serious immune disorder.
I’m scared. I’m exhausted. And I’m embarrassed to ask for financial help. But my family’s needs have become bigger than my pride. We haven’t stopped trying. We’ve been trying so hard for so long that we’re running out of ways to manage this alone.
How a Purple Toe Changed My Life
In 2023, my left pinky toe turned purple. I thought I’d bruised it. Soon I couldn’t walk more than about 30 feet without stopping from pain. A podiatrist couldn’t detect a pulse in my foot and sent me to a vascular surgeon. That began years of hospitalizations, procedures, and fear.
Since then, I’ve had nine stents placed and multiple procedures to restore blood flow to my leg. In March 2026, I underwent a femoral-to-femoral bypass. I hoped it would give me my life back. Two months later, the bypass developed a clot, and I needed emergency treatment. I was also diagnosed with congenital Protein C deficiency, which increases my risk of blood clots.
In October, I was hospitalized again. Imaging showed multiple blocked arteries and an occluded bypass. My surgeon is now considering a much larger bypass to restore circulation. He has warned that if blood flow cannot be restored, I could eventually lose my leg.
I cannot describe how terrifying that is. I want to walk without pain, climb my own stairs, take trips with my family, and play with my grandchildren. I want ordinary days when I don’t have to think about whether my leg is getting enough blood.
The fear follows me home. When my leg feels different, I wonder whether another clot is forming. At night, I think about how many more procedures I might face, and whether I’ll be here for the milestones my children haven’t reached yet.
I’m afraid of dying before I’ve finished living. I want to watch my children grow up, see Ethan graduate, make memories with my grandchildren, and grow old with my husband.
I don’t want my children to have to remember their mother. I want them to have their mother.
I am not giving up. I want to live, and I’m fighting for the future I still want with my family.
My Son Ethan’s Medical Battle
Ethan is 17 and a senior in high school. Instead of simply enjoying these years, he’s faced medical appointments, tests, treatments, and frightening uncertainty.
In 2023, he was diagnosed with chronic immune thrombocytopenia (ITP), which causes his immune system to attack his platelets. Later, enlarged lymph nodes and other findings led doctors to investigate lymphoma. Thankfully, testing did not establish lymphoma, but in April 2026 he was diagnosed with Common Variable Immunodeficiency (CVID).
His immune system doesn’t make enough protective antibodies. He now receives weekly immunoglobulin replacement treatments at home. Those treatments are billed at approximately $21,000 a month before insurance. Our health insurance makes this essential care accessible.
So while I face surgery, I keep asking myself: What happens to Ethan if I can’t work? What if we can’t afford to keep our insurance?
I cannot simply stop being a mother because I’m sick. And I cannot stop being sick because my family needs me.
We Work Hard, but Our Savings Are Gone
I’ve worked consistently for years, including 10 years with my previous employer. When I had several job opportunities, I chose one offering better pay, stronger health insurance, and values I respected. I believed I was building a more secure future for my family.
But when I needed bypass surgery in March, I hadn’t yet met the length-of-employment requirement for short-term disability at my new job. I spent about a month recovering without a paycheck. We used every penny of the savings we’d worked to build just to keep our household running. We kept the bills paid, but we haven’t been able to rebuild that safety net.
Now I’m facing a bigger operation, possibly a longer recovery, and another loss of income.
This time, we have no savings to fall back on.
I still work full-time in auto insurance claims, even though sitting at my desk can make my leg pain worse. I keep going because my family needs my income and our insurance.
My husband, Dwayne, works hard too. He has no separate paid sick leave and just two weeks of vacation a year; one week is reserved for an unpaid workplace shutdown. If he misses work to care for me, we could lose income from both of us at once.
We are still paying our essential bills, but rent, utilities, groceries, prescriptions, medical expenses, and about $1,000 a month for family health insurance leave very little room for anything unexpected.
I’m not afraid because I want things we can’t afford. I’m afraid because I don’t know how we’ll keep paying for the things we cannot afford to lose: our home, food, medication, insurance, and Ethan’s care.
A Smaller Support System
We’ve also suffered heartbreaking losses. I’ve lost my mother and sister, and Dwayne has lost his mother. Our extended family support system is small.
The loved ones in our lives have their own families, jobs, and responsibilities. They aren’t in a position to help financially or miss extended work to care for me. Much of that responsibility will fall on Dwayne, putting more pressure on our income.
Why Asking Is So Hard
I’m embarrassed to be here asking for help. I worry people will judge us or think we haven’t worked hard enough. We’ve tried to be the ones who help others, including opening our home to children who needed love and stability.
I wish we could handle this ourselves.
But I cannot work my way out of an arterial blockage.
I cannot make my son’s immune disorder disappear.
I cannot force my body to recover faster because our bills are due.
I’m setting aside my pride because my family’s needs have become bigger than my embarrassment.
How Donations Will Help
Our goal is $35,000, intended to provide approximately six months of breathing room during surgery and recovery.
Donations would help cover rent, utilities, groceries, prescriptions, medical bills and copays, transportation to appointments, health insurance premiums, and income lost while I recover or Dwayne takes unpaid time to care for me.
We don’t yet know exactly how long recovery will take.
We’re not trying to get ahead. We’re trying not to fall so far behind that we can’t recover.
I want to live. I want to keep my leg. I want to see Ethan graduate and my daughter enjoy her teenage years without constant worry. I want my grandchildren to know me, not just hear stories about me. I want my husband and me to have ordinary evenings together, when the biggest question is what’s for dinner.
I’m frightened of what comes next, but I’m not giving up. I’m asking for help so I can keep fighting without losing everything my family needs along the way.
If you can donate, thank you from the bottom of our hearts. If you can’t, sharing our story means so much. And if you pray, please keep our family in your prayers.
With love, gratitude, and hope,
Corin, Dwayne, Ethan, and Delainey
