STT. Latest Update: Will Roberts Rushed to ER After Sudden Bleeding as Condition Worsens

Yesterday, Will finally showed a little sign of improvement.

But today is a completely different challenge.

The boy’s body ached all over, a deep, internal pain that made every movement feel heavy.

After the terrible headache he had last night, even just moving his eyes made him wince in pain.

Jason took Will to the clinic early in the morning so that his mother could grab a few hours to work.

Before going to work, she sat down and completed a series of patient files.

Those files are not just papers; they represent hope.

She began sending out letters everywhere, seeking more expert opinions on clinical trials across the country.

Their family didn’t miss any opportunity.

It’s not because they’re pessimistic about the current treatment methods.

Because they don’t have time to wait in uncertainty.

If one approach doesn’t work, they must immediately find another.

At home, Charlie stayed with his grandmother.

The little girl has an ear infection and a bothersome stuffy nose.

The family had to use up the last remaining doses of antibiotics they had saved, just to avoid another trip to the hospital.

At this time, Will and Charlie were forced to isolate themselves from each other.

Will’s immune system has been severely weakened.

His white blood cell count dropped to dangerously low levels, causing him to develop neutropenia.

Even a minor infection can become a major threat.

At the clinic, Will needed both blood and platelet transfusions.

Those were the days when reality weighed heavily on everyone.

There is no room for illusions anymore.

There is no more room to hide.

The only chilling truth is that this tiny body is fighting every hour.

The family will be back on Thursday.

They hope Will’s vital signs will begin to recover.

Hope, however faint, is what they cling to.

At home, Will had already made a reservation.

He insisted that his mother sleep with him on the small chair he bought from Temu.

The mother smiled faintly, even though her back was aching from the spasms.

She promised to come up to her room a little later.

Will waited patiently.

He lay there, scrolling through his phone, his eyes still fixed on the stairs.

I’m just waiting for my mom to come up with me.

That was the childhood of a child with cancer.

A childhood replaced by hospitals, medicine, and long, sleepless nights.

In the morning, the mother left home hoping to find work for a few hours.

Grandma – a strong support system – smiled and said, “Go ahead, Mom and Will will be fine.”

The car started moving.

A rare, peaceful trip.

The phone didn’t ring.

No bad news.

It was just a rare moment of quiet amidst the chaos.

But that peace didn’t last.

As I parked my car and was about to get my laptop, a colleague approached me.

He pointed to her car.

She immediately thought of tires.

That was always her constant worry.

She always checks her tire pressure, fearing she might get a flat tire in the middle of the road one day.

But no.

He said there was liquid leaking.

A puddle under the car.

It looks like oil.

And it is indeed oil.

Attempts were made to get the car to a nearby repair shop, just two blocks away.

Fortunately, the engine wasn’t completely damaged.

In the parking lot, she bent down, crawled under a car, and took a picture to send to Jason.

At that moment, the phone rang.

She is her mother.

His voice was panicked.

Will is having a severe nosebleed.

Incontinence.

She’s taking him to the pediatric emergency room.

Everyone knows that Grandma is a worrier.

But the mother understood Will’s nosebleeds well.

She knew how terrifying they were.

And she could imagine that ride.

Panic.

The traffic is heavy.

A frightened child thought, “The sky is falling.”

Just like her.

And she just stood there.

In the middle of the parking lot.

Look at the broken car.

I heard the news that my son is in the emergency room.

She turned to her colleague, half-jokingly, half-seriously:

“Can you just end this for me now? Any way will do, as long as it hurts as little as possible.”

That’s a seemingly humorous remark.

But it concealed utter exhaustion.

Honestly, things like this seem impossible.

But that’s their family life.

Any day.

It was all chaos.

Jason was on his way to Birmingham for a cardiology checkup at the time.

He immediately changed direction.

Go straight to the emergency room.

He met his mother and Will there.

Complete the hospital admission procedures for your child.

Then I still had to go to my appointment.

Then we went back to the hospital.

Will is receiving platelet and blood transfusions.

Jason received another heart checkup appointment.

Grandma tried to stay calm.

Each person has their own burden.

The mother’s official vehicle will be out of service until next week.

Charlie had a volleyball practice session.

The family had to ask friends for help with transportation.

Fortunately, someone was willing to help.

The mother had to hitch a ride home.

When she walked through the door, she saw it all.

That’s their “new normal.”

Blood.

Traces of blood.

It reminded her of what the medication was doing to her son’s body.

These drugs are likened to “poisons”.

It was placed inside that tiny body.

Just to gain a chance of survival.

One percent.

Only one percent.

But they still chose it.

They will continue to move forward.

Don’t stop.

Don’t give up.

The mother will never stop speaking up.

The struggle continues.

No matter how this story ends.

She will still know one thing.

That their family went through hell every day.

And they did everything they could.

But then a big question arose.

Why do children with cancer – children who are predicted to have fevers, will need blood transfusions, will need platelets – have to go to the emergency room for treatment?

While our clinic is open from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m.

The cost difference is too great.

$35 versus $350.

That’s not true.

That’s not fair.

Families with children who have cancer should not be financially punished for symptoms that are part of the disease.

In just one year, they spent over $100,000 of their own money.

Gasoline.

Eat and drink.

Accommodation.

Travel.

Treatment.

And that doesn’t even count the flights to MD Anderson that were assisted by others.

No family can endure this for long.

That needs to change.

But before things get too serious.

The mother stopped.

She focuses on the positive aspects of today.

The car’s engine is not damaged.

Will did not need to be hospitalized overnight.

Jason’s heart is still beating.

Although they are still searching for the answer.

Charlie’s earache is gone.

She knew things could be much worse.

And she didn’t want to try that.