There is a specific kind of heartbreak that resides in the silence of a hospital room—a silence broken only by the hum of machines and the soft sigh of a child who has given everything he has, only to be told it wasn’t enough. Last night, that silence felt heavier than ever.
As we navigate Will’s latest hurdle, we are reminded that cancer is not just a biological war; it is a psychological one. And right now, the most critical battlefield isn’t his kidneys—it’s his heart.
1. The Cruelty of “Doing Everything Right”
Yesterday was a testament to Will’s grit. We often talk about the strength of “warriors,” but we rarely describe the grueling, minute-by-minute labor that strength requires. Will spent his day pushing through waves of constant, rolling nausea. He followed the instructions to the letter, forcing himself to drink water when every fiber of his being wanted to refuse it. He did it with a goal in mind: flush the kidneys, lower the creatinine, and earn the right to go home.
But the human spirit is fragile when it meets the cold, hard math of medical data.
To wake up this morning and find that the numbers had not only failed to improve but had actually worsened, was a devastating blow. When you are a child—or even an adult—there is an unspoken contract we believe in: If I work hard, I will see results. When that contract is broken by a disease that doesn’t follow the rules, the mental dive is steep and painful. Will didn’t just wake up to bad lab results; he woke up to the feeling that his effort didn’t matter. And that is a dangerous place for a patient to be.
2. The Weight of the Longest Stay
We are now looking at at least two more days in the hospital, making this our longest stay to date. In the world of childhood illness, the hospital is a “non-place.” It is a world of fluorescent lights, interrupted sleep, and the loss of all autonomy.
For Will, exhaustion has moved past the physical. It has settled into his bones and his psyche. Chronic illness is a marathon where the finish line keeps moving further away just as you think you’re about to cross it. This uncertainty creates an emotional fatigue that is harder to treat than any infection. You can’t “rest” your way out of the anxiety of a long hospital stay. You have to fight your way through it, but how do you fight when you are spent?
3. The Digital Lifeline: Why “Just a Game” Matters
As a mother, my job right now is “Spirit Maintenance.” The doctors are handling the creatinine; I have to handle the Will.
One of the few things that still makes Will feel like Will—and not just “the patient in Room 412″—is playing Fortnite. To the outside world, it’s just a video game. But to a child trapped in a hospital bed, it is a portal. It is the only place where he isn’t defined by his diagnosis. In the world of Fortnite, he is a teammate, a strategist, and a friend. He is equal to his peers. He is mobile, he is fast, and he is in control.
When the hospital internet lags or the hotspot fails, it’s not just an inconvenience; it’s a severed lifeline. It’s the closing of the only window he has to his “normal” life. Seeing him frustrated by technology on top of his physical pain is gut-wrenching. We are currently searching for a solution—a portable hotspot, a high-speed router, or a tech “miracle”—to ensure he can stay connected to his friends. In this environment, high-speed bandwidth is just as much a part of his “treatment plan” as his IV fluids. It is the medicine for his morale.
4. The Burden of Stepping Away
Today, the battle feels even more fragmented because I have to step away briefly to handle work-related issues. The guilt of leaving the bedside, even for a moment, is a constant companion for any medical parent. We want to be the shield, the advocate, and the constant presence.
I am so grateful for my mother, who is stepping in to be with him. It takes a village to hold up a child, but it also takes a village to hold up the mother. As I handle the demands of the “outside world,” my mind remains in that room, worrying about his mental state, praying for a shift in his numbers, and hoping he finds the strength to keep fighting.
5. A Call to the Prayer Warriors
We have reached a point in this journey where we are acutely aware of our own limitations. We cannot force the kidneys to work. We cannot make the internet faster by sheer will. We cannot take away the disappointment from our son’s eyes.
But we can ask for help.
We are asking for two things today. First, if anyone in our community has expertise in mobile data solutions or high-performance hotspots that can bypass the thick walls of a hospital, please reach out. We want to get Will back in the game—literally.
Second, we need you to lift Will up in prayer. Pray specifically for his mental resilience. Pray that he doesn’t lose heart. Pray that he feels the collective strength of everyone who is rooting for him. The body is being treated by the best medical minds, but his heart and spirit need the touch of the Divine.
The weight is heavy, but we know we don’t carry it alone. Thank you for checking in, for the messages we haven’t had the breath to reply to, and for the unwavering support that keeps us upright.
Will Roberts is a fighter, but even the best fighters need to rest their shields and let others stand guard for a while. Today, we are standing guard over his spirit.
#WillStrong #KidneyHealth #ChildhoodCancer #MentalHealthMatters #FortniteWarrior #HospitalLife #PrayerWarriors #FaithOverFear
