By Savanna Stone
Mommy to Lyncoln
High Risk B-Cell Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia
Born in May 2020
On Wednesday, June 14, 2023, Lyncoln was running and playing at daycare when she tripped and hit her head on a playhouse. She had a big goose egg and bruise, but no signs of a concussion. Three days later, she fell again—this time on the same side of her head. That afternoon, she took a nap, and when she woke up, she wasn’t acting like herself. By evening she had a fever and threw up, so we took her to the ER, thinking it was a concussion.
While there, I mentioned I’d noticed unusual bruising on her legs, each with a small bump underneath. At first, I brushed it off as clumsiness, but part of me feared it could be something worse. The pediatrician’s reaction shocked me—she suspected abuse and wanted social services involved. We were devastated. Still, they did a CT scan for her head and sent us to Cardinal Glennon for follow-up.
Once we got there, the doctors reacted differently. They ran bloodwork, thinking it might be a bleeding disorder. Hours later, at 4:30 a.m., we got the news: they suspected leukemia. On June 18, 2023, exactly one month after her third birthday, Lyncoln was officially diagnosed with leukemia, and our world changed forever.
She started chemo immediately. Those first few weeks were a blur of bone marrow biopsies, lumbar punctures, central line placements, and endless introductions from hospital staff. I barely slept. Her first month was spent entirely inpatient. Thankfully, she reached remission by the end of that month, but that didn’t mean the battle was over—far from it.
After coming home, we faced setback after setback. Her blood sugar crashed dangerously low, sending her back to the hospital multiple times. She stopped eating, lost four pounds, and became frighteningly thin. Eventually, she had to start IV nutrition for months and, later, received a G-tube to help with feeding and medications. It terrified me at first, but it’s been life-changing—it saved us from constant battles over food and medicine.
By March, Lyncoln entered the maintenance phase of treatment, which will last until September 29, 2025. She still takes daily chemo, undergoes spinal taps, and faces the occasional hospitalization, but today, she’s thriving. She celebrated her 5th birthday this May, started ballet classes she loves, and even returned to daycare. She started kindergarten this year and is doing amazing. She wasn’t nervous at all to start school. I tell people she was made for school simply because she loves learning and being around people. When people ask how she’s doing, I can finally smile and say, “She’s thriving.”
This journey has been brutal. I never imagined hearing my daughter had cancer. Watching her go months without social interaction—when she thrives on being around people—broke my heart. Financially, things haven’t been easy, either. Her dad’s job took a hit, and I’ve battled my own depression through it all, but therapy has helped.
I hope Lyncoln never relapses. I hope she grows up free of lingering effects from chemo and leukemia. I hope for a healthy, happy, carefree life for her. And honestly, I hope for peace—the kind where I don’t live in constant fear every time she bruises, limps, or runs a fever.
Through all of this, one of the few bright spots has been the gift of photos from On Angels’ Wings. We couldn’t have afforded family photos after her diagnosis, but OAW gave us that opportunity. Those photos are priceless to me—a moment frozen in time, capturing our love, our resilience, and our fight. They’re something we’ll cherish forever.
