LDL. “We Can’t Risk ‘Just This or Just That’”: Will’s Pain Worsens Overnight, Family Heads to Children’s ER for Scans

Some mornings carry hope in their hands.

And some mornings take that hope and break it before you can even stand up.

In this fictional-style family update, today was supposed to be a day of faith and celebration — a day the family had been looking forward to for weeks. Both Will and Charlie had planned to be baptized. The family had arranged to be together in church, to watch, to worship, to celebrate a moment that felt bigger than the sickness and bigger than the fear.

But last night, Will’s pain worsened. And by morning, it had become clear that the family could not proceed as planned.

“Thank you all so much,” Will’s mom shared, beginning with gratitude for the prayers and support that have carried them through so many hard days. “Both Will and Charlie planned on getting baptized today but Will’s pain has gotten worse since last night.”

When you’re living inside a cancer fight, pain is never a small thing. Pain is information. Pain is warning. Pain is something you take seriously — especially when the diagnosis is aggressive and the disease has already spread.

And that reality is what forced the family into a heartbreaking decision: they couldn’t treat this like a simple setback.

A parent’s impossible choice

Will, like so many children who have endured long medical battles, tried to minimize what was happening.

His mom shared that he kept saying things like:
“It’s probably just this… or just that.”

Anyone who has walked beside a child through serious illness recognizes that instinct. Children often try to protect their parents. They try to be brave. They try to explain away pain because they don’t want to see fear on the faces of the people they love most.

But for Will’s family, “probably” is not a word they can afford right now.

“With his type of cancer,” she explained, “and how much it’s already spread, we can’t risk ‘just this or just that.’”

That sentence carries the weight of every parent who has learned that hesitation can cost too much.

So the decision was made: not later, not after waiting to see if it gets better — but now.

Heading to Children’s ER

To make sure this isn’t a worst-case scenario, Jason is heading to Children’s ER so scans can be done and doctors can evaluate what’s causing the increase in pain.

For families in these situations, the ER is not a place of comfort. It’s a place of urgency, fluorescent lights, and long waits. It’s where you go when you’re too afraid to stay home, even if you’re exhausted.

It’s also where hope and fear collide:

• Hope that the scans show nothing new.
• Hope that a plan can be put in place to bring relief.
• Fear that the pain is signaling progression.
• Fear that today will deliver another piece of news the heart can barely hold.

Even when you trust the medical team, the ER can feel like a doorway into the unknown.

A service still happening — and a baptism still being held

The family’s update also reveals how deeply they are trying to hold onto faith in the middle of disruption.

Will’s mom planned to attend church service first so she can be present with Charlie, and then she will head to the hospital to be with Will.

This is not a “perfect day.” It’s a day split in two — a day where the family is torn between what they hoped would happen and what must happen.

Yet even in that split, they are trying to keep a piece of what mattered about today: faith, community, and being there for their child.

The heartbreak Will feels

Perhaps the most painful part of the update is the emotional detail behind it.

Will’s mom shared that Will’s heart is broken, because he knew family was coming to church today to watch him.

He was looking forward to it.

In a long illness journey, you learn to cherish the moments that make you feel like a normal family again — moments where you can be in the same room with people who love you, not as “patients” and “caregivers,” but simply as family.

This was supposed to be one of those moments. A day where Will could look out and see faces he loves and feel held by something bigger than the hospital world.

Instead, he is headed toward more testing and more uncertainty — and the disappointment adds another layer of pain to a day already heavy.

“Please pray”

The family’s ask is simple, and it comes from a place of deep exhaustion:

Please pray.

Pray that scans bring clarity.
Pray that the pain can be controlled quickly.
Pray that what they are fearing is not what is happening.
Pray for Jason as he makes urgent decisions and carries his son into yet another medical evaluation.
Pray for Will’s mom as she tries to be present in church while her heart is already racing toward the hospital.

And pray for Will — for comfort, for relief, and for the strength to keep going.

“Cancer is hell on Earth”

The update ends with a line that is hard to read because it is so brutally honest:

“Cancer is hell on Earth.”

It’s a sentence that doesn’t need editing. It doesn’t need polish. It is the raw truth of a family that has had hope interrupted again and again by pain and fear.

Today was supposed to be a celebration. Instead, it has become another emergency chapter.

But even now, the family is holding onto faith — not the easy kind, but the kind that keeps walking forward even when the road is dark.

They are asking for prayers because that is what they can cling to while they wait for answers.

And right now, that’s what their community can do: surround them in love, in prayer, and in support — until the next update comes and the next step is clear.