715 Days of Courage: Adley’s Battle With Childhood Cancer

715 days.

715 days of torture, anxiety, depression, screaming, crying, and pain.

715 days of childhood cancer.

715 days of Adley’s Adventure.

Her family counted them one by one, not because they wanted to, but because every day was a battle that could not be ignored.

Today was another long day, a twelve-hour journey that included travel, waiting rooms, needles, and the quiet terror of test results.

Adley had her routine labs, tests, a lumbar puncture, chemotherapy, and an IVIg infusion.

She was only three years old, but her days were filled with words that most adults would struggle to endure.

Words like “chemo,” “counts,” “infusion,” and “side effects.”

That evening, her parents tried to settle her in early, hoping she might sleep through the night.

But around midnight, soft whimpers broke the silence.

Adley was crawling down the hallway, trying desperately to reach the bathroom.

She cried about leg pain, belly pain, and the stabbing ache in her back that left her unable to walk.

Her back, she said, felt like it was cracking.

Those spinal taps are no joke, especially for a three-year-old.

So there they were, in the dim light of the living room, cuddled up on the couch, watching TV.

They prayed that the side effects would ease, that she could rest, that the cough and runny nose wouldn’t grow into something worse.

Adley had battled low counts, viral infections, UTIs, and the endless storm of chemo.

Her appetite disappeared.

Her back, neck, and head ached constantly after the procedures.

Adley had battled low counts, viral infections, UTIs, and the endless storm of chemo.

Her appetite disappeared.

Her back, neck, and head ached constantly after the procedures.

Her family loaded her up once more, driving again for tests, scans, and swabs.

They learned she had rhinovirus, but that wasn’t the cause of her deep, spreading pain.

The doctors explained: sometimes after IVIg infusion, the body reacts as if it has meningitis

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It can last days.

They watched, they waited, they measured every breath and movement, ready to rush back if things grew worse.

Through it all, Adley’s parents whispered love into her ear.

“Hug your babies tight,” they reminded others.

“Tell them you love them, every day, no matter how big they get.”

Because days like this leave scars, not only on bodies but on hearts.

There were moments they felt numb, drained of strength, empty of answers.

All they wanted was for Adley to feel “normal.”

Normal like running in the yard.

Normal like eating ice cream on a summer afternoon.

Normal like sleeping through the night without pain clawing her awake.

715 days had passed, and still they prayed for more days, better days, gentler days.

They prayed for strength to endure, for science to heal, for love to carry them through.

Adley’s Adventure was not just about sickness.

It was about resilience, about the power of family, about the courage of a child who fought with everything she had.

Her story is a reminder to hold close what matters, to treasure each day, and to never stop hoping.

715 days.

715 lessons in courage.

715 reminders that love is stronger than fear.

And the adventure continues, one day, one breath, one prayer at a time.