The latest update on Will Roberts has left the community speechless: scans revealed four new “small spots” (three in his healthy legs, one in his pelvis)… but the “lightest” news, and the thing everyone feared most, didn’t happen.
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There are moments in the battle against illness when time is no longer measured in days and months. It’s measured by phone calls, by scans, by reports, by the rhythm of waiting… and sometimes, even by the suffocating silence outside the doctor’s office.
And today, the Will Roberts family just went through one such day.
Will was asleep. Sleeping peacefully. But what made everyone laugh and choke up at the same time was that just one leg almost took up the entire bed. Honestly, nobody understood what kind of “physics” that was. 
But then everyone understood: in that hospital room, a child was sleeping, while the whole family was bearing the heaviest burden of the battle – the invisible part.
That was the constant phone calls.
The thick stacks of reports.
The conversations with the doctors.
And the long, drawn-out wait… a silent weariness that crushed the spirit more than anything else.
Today, the family met with Will’s oncologist after the doctor reviewed all the scans and carefully revised reports. Then, an update was announced—not dramatic, not flashy—but enough to make anyone hold their breath.
The results showed four new small spots.
Three on the healthy leg.
One in the pelvic area.
Just a few short lines. But anyone following Will understood: each “new spot” was more than just medical information. It was a heart-stopping sign, bringing with it a host of questions no one wanted to think about.
However, amidst all that heaviness, there was something considered “lighter”—something to cling to like a glimmer of hope: there were no immediate threatening signs like those in dangerous spinal locations—the worst thing any family fears.
It was news that helped to ease the despair.
A piece of news that doesn’t make things any better…
but allows people to breathe a sigh of relief.
And then comes the most important part—the part many people don’t understand if they only look at the results.
The timing factor.
These scans were taken about a week before Will started chemotherapy. Given the aggressive progression of the disease, it’s entirely possible that some of these spots formed, or became more prominent… precisely during that short period, right before the main treatment began.
What does that mean?
It means the results don’t fully reflect the effectiveness of the medication. It’s like a photograph taken at a transitional moment—when the battle is about to enter a new phase, but traces of the old phase are still visible on the scan.
Therefore, the waiting period until the next scan is extremely important.
This time, Will will continue taking his medication throughout the entire period between scans. This gives the doctors a clearer basis for assessing whether Will’s body is responding positively or if the disease is still silently progressing.
Not everyone understands that feeling: waiting for a new scan isn’t simply “waiting for the appointment.” It’s a journey lived in a state of half-hope, half-fear, a daily struggle to stay calm, nights spent wondering if you’re on the right track, if the medication is working, if those tiny spots will stop or continue to grow.
And in all of that, the most touching thing is a simple truth:
The doctors are doing everything they can to give Will the best chance of recovery.
No one is giving up.
No one is neglecting their duties.
Every step is carefully calculated.
And every decision is weighed against love, science, and hope.
And what about Will’s family?
They did the only thing they could do on days like these: keep going.
Keep going while Will slept.
Keep going when everything was exhausting.
Keep going through dozens of calls and hundreds of thoughts.
Keep going because there was no other choice but to move forward.
And they moved forward by clinging to seemingly small things that saved them through the long night: Will’s steady breathing, a handshake, a “everything will be alright,” a silent prayer.
This battle isn’t over. But Will is still here. Still sleeping peacefully. Still fighting in his own way.
And perhaps, in the darkest days, that alone…is enough to give hope.
If you are reading this, please continue to offer a prayer for Will. Not because Will is weak—but because he is strong in a way no one else deserves to be at his age.
