LDL. A Sudden Turn: Will’s Right Leg Pain Escalates Overnight, Family Admitted to Children’s as Doctors Work to Control the Crisis

There are weeks that feel hard.

And then there are weeks that hit so suddenly and so deeply that you can’t even recognize your own life from one day to the next.

In this fictional-style family update, that is exactly where Will’s loved ones found themselves—again—after a shocking and painful turn that unfolded in less than 24 hours.

It began yesterday, without warning.

Will developed pain in his right leg that seemed to come out of nowhere. At first, it was alarming. By last night, it became something far more frightening: debilitating pain that made it impossible for him to function normally.

And by today, the situation had worsened to the point where Will couldn’t even stand to use the restroom.

For a family already carrying the weight of a long treatment journey, that kind of sudden escalation doesn’t just cause worry—it causes a kind of panic that lives in the chest. Because when pain changes overnight, it raises questions no parent wants to ask.

Is it a flare?
Is it a complication?
Is it progression?
Is it something new?

When you’re living inside a cancer fight, pain is never “just pain.” It’s a message, and families learn to fear what it might be saying.

The call no parent wants to make—again

As the pain intensified, Will’s family did what experienced parents in a medical crisis learn to do: they called oncology immediately.

They didn’t wait for it to pass. They didn’t assume it was temporary. They didn’t gamble with time.

And after contacting oncology, the next step came quickly:

They were admitted to Children’s Hospital, where the team began working to establish an effective pain management plan.

That phrase—pain management plan—sounds clinical. But for families watching a child suffer, it means something much more personal. It means the urgent need for relief. It means trying to restore even a small measure of comfort. It means hoping for a plan that actually works, when the pain feels like it’s winning.

A new worry: “Nothing lit up” in early December

One detail in this update hits especially hard.

Will’s family notes that nothing in his right leg lit up on his PET scan in early December. For families navigating cancer, that kind of scan becomes a marker—something you cling to, something that can briefly reassure you, something that helps you breathe.

So when severe pain suddenly erupts in the same area that showed no signal just weeks earlier, it naturally raises concern:

Could this be something new?

That question is terrifying—not because it confirms anything, but because it opens the door to uncertainty again.

Cancer families often live between two worlds:

• the world of what the last scan said
• and the world of what today’s symptoms are doing

Sometimes those worlds match. Sometimes they don’t. And when they don’t, it’s like losing the ground beneath your feet.

Tests underway, waiting for answers

At the hospital, the medical steps began right away. X-rays have been completed, and the family is waiting to speak with the doctor.

That waiting—the space between tests and answers—can be its own kind of torture.

It’s the moment where the mind races, replaying every detail from the past weeks: the scans, the symptoms, the medications, the good days, the bad days, the quiet moments when you dared to hope the worst was behind you.

Waiting for a doctor isn’t just waiting for information. It’s waiting to find out what your next few weeks—or months—might look like.

And yet, in the middle of it all, there is one small relief in the update:

Will is finally resting peacefully.

When pain is uncontrolled, restful sleep can feel like a miracle on its own. It’s a pause. A brief exhale. A moment where the body gets a break, even if answers still aren’t here yet.

The emotional toll: “This past week has tested us”

The family’s message isn’t only about symptoms. It’s also about the emotional reality behind them.

They ask for prayers—not just for Will, but for themselves:

“Please pray for Jason and me that we remain steadfast in our faith and continue trusting God’s plan, even as this past week has tested us in ways we never expected.”

That sentence is an honest window into what many families feel but don’t always say out loud.

Faith isn’t always a steady, glowing light. Sometimes it’s a decision you make while trembling. Sometimes it’s choosing to trust when your heart is exhausted and your mind is full of fear.

Weeks like this don’t just test the body. They test the spirit.

They test the marriage, the endurance, the ability to keep showing up when you’re running out of strength. They test the kind of hope you can hold in your hands without it slipping away.

The hidden heartbreak of sudden pain

People often understand cancer as “a long battle,” but they don’t always understand the way it can change hour by hour.

A sudden pain crisis can:

• steal sleep
• steal appetite
• steal confidence in recent “good news”
• steal the small routines that make life feel normal

And it can also steal peace, because it forces the family back into emergency mode—the mode where your world becomes hospital rooms, test results, and waiting.

This is where Will’s family is now. Not because they chose it. Because the pain demanded it.

What supporters can do right now

When families share updates like this, they aren’t just informing people—they’re asking their community to stand with them.

Here are the simplest ways people can show up:

• Pray for Will’s pain to be controlled quickly
• Pray for clear answers and wise medical decisions
• Pray for Jason and Will’s mom to stay strong
• Leave encouraging messages that don’t try to “solve” the situation, but offer love and presence

In moments like this, families don’t need perfect words. They need reminders that they aren’t alone.

Holding onto the only thing they can

Right now, the family is doing what families do in hospital rooms: holding onto what they can.

Holding onto the hope that the pain plan will work.
Holding onto the belief that answers will come.
Holding onto faith, even when fear is loud.
Holding onto each other, because there’s no other way to survive it.

And for a moment—at least right now—Will is resting peacefully.

Tonight, that is enough.

👇 Full update in the comments below.