RM EMERGENCY UPDATE: Will Roberts Hospitalized Following Sudden Severe Leg Pain

The pain did not arrive with warning. One moment, everything felt normal, and the next, Will felt an ache in his right leg that made no sense. At first, it seemed small—just soreness, something easy to dismiss as fatigue or strain from a body that had already endured so much. But pain has a way of revealing the truth when it refuses to be ignored. As the hours passed, the ache grew deeper and more intense. By evening, it tightened its grip, and by nightfall, it had become overwhelming. Will could no longer hide it, no longer push through, no longer stand.

Jason watched helplessly as every attempt to move caused his son’s face to tense with pain. Will tried to be brave, tried to apologize for needing help, whispering “I’m sorry” as if this were somehow his fault. By the next morning, the pain had taken away even the most basic independence. Will could not stand long enough to use the restroom, and what remained was a child curled inward, facing a battle he never asked to fight.

Jason and his wife moved with quiet urgency, following a rhythm they knew all too well. They called oncology, carefully explained the symptoms, and listened closely on the other end of the line. The pause that followed said everything. They were told to come in immediately. Children’s Hospital rose before them once again—a place of comfort and fear, of hope and heartbreak, where healing and uncertainty exist side by side.

Will was admitted quickly. Experienced hands guided him, gentle voices spoke his name, and machines hummed softly in the background. The doctors focused first on one thing: controlling the pain. Not answers yet, not explanations—just relief. When pain reaches this level, it becomes its own emergency. The timing felt cruel. Only weeks earlier, in early December, Will’s PET scan had shown nothing concerning in his right leg. Nothing suspicious, nothing that suggested danger. They had allowed themselves a brief moment of peace, and now that peace felt fragile, shattered by questions no one could yet answer.

X-rays were ordered, images captured, screens studied, and then came the waiting—the unbearable space between uncertainty and explanation. Eventually, Will slept, not the restless sleep of suffering but a fragile calm brought on by medication. Jason watched his chest rise and fall, counting breaths, listening for any change, memorizing the moment as if memory itself could offer protection. Nearby, Will’s mother sat quietly, hands clasped, eyes closed, lips moving in prayer no one else could hear.

The past week had tested them deeply—their patience, their endurance, their faith. They had prayed before and believed before, but belief feels different when fear presses this close and silence fills the room. Jason thought about the long road that led them here: the early appointments, the long drives, the medical terms no parent ever expects to learn. Cancer had changed their understanding of time—days stretching endlessly, nights collapsing into exhaustion, hope becoming something chosen minute by minute.

He thought about how often Will had smiled through pain, how often he had reassured the adults around him, how strong he had been beyond his years. Watching his son sleep beneath the hospital lights, Jason felt the weight of helplessness settle heavily in his chest. Parents are meant to protect, to fix, to carry the burden so their children don’t have to—but some battles cannot be fought for them, only alongside them.

And so they prayed. Not for certainty or guarantees, but for strength. For wisdom for the doctors, clarity in the images, and for the pain to remain under control. They prayed for peace, and for the courage to face whatever came next without breaking. In the quiet hospital room, faith did not look dramatic. It looked like exhaustion, hands held tightly together, and tears wiped away before they could fall onto a sleeping child’s pillow. It sounded like whispered prayers spoken into uncertainty.

They did not yet know what the doctors would say, what the X-rays would reveal, or what this pain truly meant. But they knew this: they would not walk this path alone. They would keep trusting, keep believing, and keep standing in faith—even when their knees trembled. For now, that was enough.