STT. Recovery Complicated by New Pain as 14-Year-Old Continues Critical Treatment After Major Surgery

Yesterday, in what seemed like a very small moment, something extraordinary happened.

Will, a 14-year-old boy battling a life-threatening illness, walked without crutches for the first time since his last surgery.

There were no cheers, no spotlights, and no one called it a victory.

But for Will and his family, it was a milestone filled with tears, pain, and a glimmer of hope.

Because each step was not just the movement of the feet, but the result of months of endurance, of life-or-death decisions, and of a childhood forced to mature too soon.

Right now, Will is neither feeling well nor relieved.

The pain is excruciating in both of my right forearms and elbows.

It wasn’t the usual fatigue after exercise; it was the kind of pain that would make even adults collapse.

The family and medical team are praying that the pain is simply due to muscle overload, a combination of a long weekend of hunting and inflammatory side effects from the medication Cabo that Will is taking.

Cabo – a drug once considered a lifeline – is also a double-edged sword, causing the young child’s body to suffer severe adverse reactions.

Each dose of medicine is a gamble.

Every day Will takes his medication, he has to accept that his body may ache more, feel weaker, but he still has to continue.

Will’s mobility has become particularly difficult since his most recent surgery.

Initially, the doctors anticipated that only a small portion of the pelvis would need to be removed.

But when it came time for surgery, they were forced to make a different decision.

A larger portion of the pelvis was removed to give the child a chance to live.

That decision not only changed Will’s physical structure, but also completely altered how he walked, stood, and balanced.

The recovery process therefore becomes much slower.

While Cabo is doing its job in the fight against disease, it also slows down the healing process.

Everything became a problem with no perfect answer.

If the priority is given to restoring mobility, Will may miss a chance at survival.

If medication is the preferred treatment, you must accept prolonged pain and the risk of losing normal mobility.

It’s a burden that even adults would find hard to bear.

But it’s now being placed on the shoulders of a 14-year-old boy.

Each day is a delicate balance between living and suffering.

Between hope and fear.

Caught between the desire to return to being a normal child and the harsh reality that normalcy may never return.

Will’s family knew they needed to return to New York soon.

There, Will is being monitored and given gait training to prevent the development of incorrect movement habits that could have lifelong effects.

If not corrected in time, every wrong step today can become a permanent disability tomorrow.

But before returning, Will made a bold decision.

I chose to try walking without crutches.

Not to prove anything to anyone.

Just to see if that would help relieve the pain in my forearm.

And then something nobody could have been sure of happened.

Will has made it.

No crutches.

Don’t give up.

Don’t turn back.

It wasn’t a long distance.

But for Will, it was a life-or-death journey.

That moment brought tears to the eyes of those who witnessed it.

Because they knew full well that behind those few steps lay hundreds of days of pain, thousands of hours struggling with fear, and countless sleepless nights due to suffering.

However, physical victory does not equate to peace of mind.

Will is tired.

I’m disappointed.

And most importantly, I’m exhausted.

A 14-year-old boy should be worrying about homework, friends, sports, and teenage dreams.

But Will is worried about the side effects of the medication.

Regarding the pain, I don’t know when it will stop.

Regarding whether she can return to school as a normal student.

Regarding whether life will ever return to feeling “normal” again.

This week, Will’s family will meet with the school administration to discuss his return to school.

It wasn’t a simple meeting.

It is a dialogue between hope and reality.

Caught between a desire to fit in and the harsh limitations of health.

Will was worried.

I’m afraid the pain will prevent me from keeping up.

I’m afraid of other people’s stares.

I dread those endless, exhausting days.

But at the same time, I also understood a painful truth.

The medication you’re taking, despite all its side effects, is the best chance of survival you have right now.

No one can say for sure.

No one can promise anything about the future.

Only the present moment holds the weight of each difficult decision.

Will’s family is not asking for pity.

They asked for prayers.

They asked for strength for the boy who was battling not only his illness, but also his own limitations.

They prayed for peace so that Will could regain his faith, even if only little by little.

Because the scariest thing isn’t just the physical pain.

Rather, it is weariness of the soul.

It’s the feeling of being trapped in a body that no longer obeys your will.

It’s the fear that all efforts might not be enough.

But amidst all of that, Will kept moving forward.

Not fast.

Uncertain.

But it’s a step-by-step process.

My family calls it “marching forth”.

Move forward.

One step at a time.

No one knows what tomorrow will bring.

No one can promise that the road ahead will be any less painful.

But yesterday, Will walked without crutches.

And today, she is still standing strong.

This is proof that no matter how harsh this war is, the will to live can still be kindled from the smallest things.

One step.

Another day.

There is still hope.

And a 14-year-old boy is teaching adults what true resilience is.

If you believe in the power of prayer, please pray for Will.

Let me ease your pain.

Let my mind be at ease.

Keep moving forward, however slowly, without stopping.

Because sometimes, miracles don’t come in the form of magic.

But it came in the form of a walking boy, without crutches, amidst pain and hope.