Emma’s Leukemia Diagnosis and Treatment
In 2021, three months before turning 2, my daughter Emma was diagnosed with leukemia. As we navigated her journey, I discovered that writing our story could be profoundly healing.
I found myself rewriting our story several times, especially when organizations asked for it. With each version, I noticed the progress more clearly—how far we had come. Writing and reading it back allowed me to process everything we were going through.
This is how it all started…
In July 2021, we knew something was off with Emma. She was clingy, low on energy, and wanted to be held all day. At first, we blamed summer activities, but the night sweats and low-grade fevers without any other sympton made us uneasy. After three pediatric visits with no answers—just “probably a virus”—I knew we had to push harder.
One sleepless night, as I drove her around hoping she’d fall asleep, I noticed odd bruises on her legs. Emma was active, but these bruises seemed different. A quick Google search mentioned leukemia, and my heart sank. When I told my husband, we panicked—her symptoms matched perfectly.
Determined to get answers and trusting our instincts, we made an emergency appointment at the doctor’s clinic. Due to COVID rules, only one parent could go in. I told them, “I need my husband to translate—no hablo inglés muy bien.” (“I don’t speak English very well”), and Emma wouldn’t let go of me.
When they performed the checkup, the nurse practitioner said Emma was fine. But we knew she wasn’t, so we insisted on a blood test, even after she balked. When the nurse took the first sample, Emma’s little finger wouldn’t stop bleeding. Soon after, they returned with abnormal results and needed more blood. Emma’s pediatrician, whom we knew well, appeared unexpectedly during the exam. Her expression couldn’t hide the fear in her voice—Emma’s platelets were dangerously low, she explained it was most likely something like leukemia and we were sent straight to Texas Children’s Hospital.
When it became an emergency
At the ER, my husband had to wait outside due to COVID protocols. I explained Emma’s previous test results to the doctor, and they began to run more tests. The doctor found a lump on Emma’s head and ordered a CT scan.
The doctor asked me to call my husband and have him come in immediately, as she had just sent an authorization for him to enter the emergency room. She needed to speak to both of us. As I dialed his number, my hands shook—I thought we were already facing the worst, but it was clear that something serious was now escalating into an emergency.
We were told that Emma had cancer, but the growth they discover could be internal bleeding, a tumor, or something else. Emma might need emergency neurosurgery, but the Katy campus wasn’t equipped for such a procedure. The situation was critical—she was at risk of bleeding internally. They arranged for her to be life-flighted to the main campus at the Texas Medical Center immediately. As we were speaking, the Life Flight team arrived. I could hardly believe how quickly everything was spiraling.
Because of COVID restrictions, Emma had to travel alone with the EMTs. Watching Emma scream as they strapped her to the stretcher was soul-crushing. An EMT tried to comfort her, asking what her favorite show was so they could play it on the flight. I don’t know if she ever stopped crying, but their kindness gave me a sliver of peace.
The diagnosis: Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia (ALL)
When I arrived at the main campus ER, Emma was awake, crying for me. Relief flooded through me as I held her close. Two kind-hearted women stood by her side, While I can’t recall the exact words they spoke, I will always be deeply grateful for their presence and the sense of calm they brought during that moment and doing their best to comfort her. I thanked them sincerely, and they assured me we would be in their prayers.
They transferred us to a room around 2 a.m., once they confirmed that the bump wasn’t getting bigger and that she was stable. My husband couldn’t join us until Emma’s COVID test came back negative.
Early the next morning, the oncology team arrived with a diagnosis: Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia (ALL). While overwhelming, they reassured us that, although the journey would be long, it was curable.
At that moment, running on no sleep and absorbing this life-changing news, I’m certain I was in shock without even realizing it. I had imagined shock would feel or look different—I thought I was fully present and processing everything they said. But later, I realized I couldn’t remember much of what they explained, let alone understand it.
The Treatment: One Day at a Time
We soon learned that treatment for ALL B-Type would take over two years. The process was overwhelming, with so many medical terms and steps to understand. The doctors provided us with a big-picture overview but only gave us details for the current stage. It was too much to process all at once. For me this was so overwhelming not knowing or being able to plan how our lives would look like in the next two and a half years.
That’s when the phrase “one step at a time” became my mantra. My cousin and his wife, who had relocated from Guatemala to Houston for their son’s lung transplant, often used this phrase. They had navigated their journey with such peace and confidence, and now it was our turn to take things one day at a time.
The Four Big Stages of Treatment
Induction:
This was the most challenging phase of our journey. It began immediately after Emma’s diagnosis, with her receiving a central line in her chest for blood work and receive chemotherapy. She underwent a bone marrow aspiration and spinal tap to confirm she had ALL (Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia) B-Type and to gather crucial information about her specific case. The phase started with a 10-day hospital stay, followed by 20 days of weekly outpatient IV chemo sessions and a rigorous steroid regimen at home.
The steroids were particularly harsh, causing significant physical and emotional changes. Emma became almost unrecognizable, as the steroids made her face and body swell dramatically. Her mood swings were intense and unpredictable—she was often irritable, inconsolable, and out of control. Managing these emotional outbursts, combined with the physical toll of treatment, was incredibly difficult.
She also began to lose her hair in big chunks, which was a visible and heartbreaking reminder of what her little body was enduring.
During this stage, Emma stopped smiling, talking, and even walking. It was thought to see how her vibrant spirit had been dimmed by the relentless effects of treatment.
At the end of this phase, a second bone marrow aspiration confirmed she was in remission, and additional tests classified her as standard risk—the best-case scenario for her type of leukemia. Despite the grueling challenges of this phase, reaching remission marked a critical milestone and a glimmer of hope as we prepared for the next steps in her treatment journey.
Front Line:
This stage, spanning eight months, was marked by countless hours spent in the hospital, which became a regular part of our lives. Hospital stays and frequent visits to the ER were common. Leukemia patients are neutropenic—their immune defenses are dangerously low because the chemotherapy, in its effort to kill leukemia cells, also destroys healthy cells, including white blood cells crucial for fighting infections. This left her incredibly vulnerable, so even a slight fever meant we had to rush to the ER immediately. It was a relentless cycle of uncertainty, worry, vigilance, and shattered plans, with the hardest moment being Christmas Day, spent isolated in the hospital due to a positive COVID test.
This phase began when she entered remission, a milestone that brought a mix of relief and confusion. Unlike some other cancers where remission often signifies a significant reduction or elimination of a localized tumor, leukemia behaves differently because it is a cancer of the blood and bone marrow. Since leukemia cells circulate throughout the body, reaching remission means no detectable cancer cells are found in blood tests or bone marrow samples. However, microscopic leukemia cells can still linger undetected, posing a risk of relapse. This is why continued treatment after remission is crucial to prevent the cancer from returning. As parents, it’s devastating seeing your daughter suffer while being cured (because the chemo is so toxic).
She had weekly visits for IV treatments and spinal taps with harsh doses of chemo. This part of the journey was just as challenging as the early days, both physically and emotionally.
Maintenance: This is the stage where life started to look like normal again although at the beginning we did have a 2-week detour at the Hospital with a mystery infection. Emma returned to school, her hair started to grow back, and her energy levels improved. She received spinal taps and IV chemo every three months, along with oral chemo and steroids. We had bi-weekly blood work and monthly doctor’s appointments to monitor her levels. At the end of maintenance Emma Rang the bell one day before her 4th birthday.
Survivor: After completing treatment, Emma continued to take a weekly antibiotic and had monthly blood tests for the first six months. Now, her checkups are every three months, and they will eventually be spaced out to once a year until she turns 18. While the treatments were effective, they were also toxic, and Emma will need ongoing monitoring for long-term side effects.
Sharing all of this here feels like placing the final piece of the puzzle. But the truth is, Emma is a survivor, and our journey is far from over. It will continue to bring new chapters, unexpected joys—and yes, more challenges too.
Thank you for taking the time to read our story. Whether you’re here because you’re walking a similar path with your child, navigating your own challenges, or simply learning more about Emma’s journey.
Our stories have the power to connect us and create bridges of understanding and resilience. As Joanna Gaines beautifully writes in her book, “Bridges carry us forward; they connect us, first through our stories, then through the stories of others. Bridge by bridge is how we survive.” I hope our journey offers not only connection but also inspiration and strength.
If you find yourself on a similar path, please don’t hesitate to reach out—I’m here to support you. To our family, friends, and those who have supported us along the way—thank you for being part of our story. Your kindness and encouragement have carried us through.
This is the first part of the story and it serves as an overview—a glimpse into the challenges we faced. But this journey is about so much more than the hardships; it’s also about the incredible people we met, the organizations that lifted us up, the love we received, and the invaluable lessons we learned along the way. As Joanna Gaines beautifully writes, “Our lives aren’t just a collection of highs and lows. Instead, they’re a rich tapestry where every moment—every joy, every pain—interweaves to shape who we are. It’s the sum of these experiences, viewed as a whole and reflected upon, that reveals something far greater than any single hardship or victory.” I invite you to explore my next post, “Blessings through Emma’s leukemia journey,” where I’ll share the full picture of what this journey has truly meant to us.
