It’s almost unbelievable how I am sitting in the same room that I am about to write about.

(I’m back in the hospital due to a small fever and low blood counts.)

Room 462.

But you see that’s kind of how life is during treatment for Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia.

Almost unbelievable.

Story of Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia Diagnosis

After my initial few days in my local hospital, I was sent home.

It was a Friday afternoon, the plan was that on Monday I would get a biopsy for the exact type of cancer I had.

Up until this point, I was told it was Hodgskin’s Lymphoma. Definitely bad news, but the treatment plan looked “doable” to my fleshly eyes. I even googled the color of the Lymphoma ribbon!

Purple wasn’t so bad.

I can do this!

Friday evening I got home and gave my girls so much love!

I can’t imagine how they had been feeling.

Their mother was suddenly gone for 5 days. I was still nursing Haven at this point in her life!

Thankful doesn’t begin to describe how good it felt to be home.

To be able to hold them.

Saturday morning rolls around, and my girls and I were snuggled on the couch. Spencer had been coughing, so we decided it would be best for him to be seen at a walk in clinic.

We needed him well for my big day on Monday!

He left, and I was alone with my girls. (and have yet to be since).

About twenty minutes after he left, I got a phone call. It was the doctor.

I could hear the uneasiness in his voice.

The next part of my story pains me to write.

I looked out my dining room window, almost dropping the phone, as the doctor began to tell me my diagnosis.

“It’s Acute Lymphoblastic Leuk—“

“Stop right there! I am home alone with my girls. Don’t tell me anything else!”

“Mrs. Hughes, we need you to get to the hospital immediately. How soon can you be here?”

“I can be there in about two hours… Is this treatable?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

I left my dining room, grabbed my phone and turned on worship music.

I had to compose myself for 10 minutes. I couldn’t fall apart in front of my daughters.

I have never felt so alone.  So afraid.

I walked around my house, singing to Jesus.

Where else could I turn?

My girls were distracted by the sounds and sights of YouTube TV. They didn’t see or sense my fear. I am thankful for that.

I called my husband and asked him to get home immediately. Next, I called my best friend and asked her how soon she could get my girls.

They needed a distraction.

My Dad was on his way over already.

And then I called my in-laws.

Within 10 minutes, my driveway was full with the people I love.

Spencer, my mother in law, and I headed to the hospital.

Silence in a Cancer Diagnosis

It was the worst drive of my entire life.  

If you think you’ve heard what silence sounds like, think again, and imagine this car ride.

We didn’t know if what I had was treatable. We didn’t know if I had 6 months to live.

There were so many unknowns.

We didn’t know why they needed me to rush to the hospital.

We didn’t know anything.

In fact, only I knew what the doctor said over the phone, but they were words so heavy, so breakable, that I didn’t dare utter them.

462.

The room I’m in now.  This same window I am looking out of right now, is the same one that greeted my family on that very dark day.

Almost 8 hours of waiting in 462 had went by.

My family and I sat in silence and awaited our (my) fate.

I was terrified.

And then..

Testimony of God’s Peace During Darkness

And then, the Lord remind me of this beautiful passage of scripture.

 ^“And leaving the crowd, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. And other boats were with him. And a great windstorm arose, and the waves were breaking into the boat, so that the boat was already filling. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion. And they woke him and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” 

And he awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm. He said to them, “Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?”

Luke 8: 35-39

It’s like I could feel Him saying, “Leah, don’t look at the storm. Don’t look at the rough waters and the high waves, but have your gaze upon me. Do you see where I AM? I am sleeping inside the boat. Come join me, and rest. Look at my face, not at the storm.”

And so I did. 

Every second, every breathe.

He wasn’t worried.  He was peaceful. 

So peaceful he was able to sleep!

I too, was going to step inside that boat with my Savior, and allow his peace to rest over me.

“It’s treatable and curable.”

Hours later, the oncologist finally arrived.

Minutes certainly seem like hours when you are waiting for such news.

My husband and I had my family leave the room.   We were going to hear and carry the news first.

And then some of the most beautiful words were ever spoken. Its words I cleave to nearly everyday during this journey.

“Your condition is treatable and curable.”

I collapsed.

In the best way.

Words I so desperately wanted to hear.

Words I had desperately pleaded to God for.

Treatable.

Curable.

Almost unbelievable!

An Encounter With Jesus as a Cancer Patient

Later as we began to learn more about my diagnosis, we learned just how serious and intense the treatment was going to be.

I was told I would be in the hospital about a month, lose all my hair, and be on chemotherapy for years. 

Sigh.

Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia.

I still couldn’t say the words, and it would be weeks later before I could.

A few days into my time at the hospital I was told I was going to have to have a bone marrow biopsy and a lumbar puncture.

They took me down to have the procedure done.

I was so afraid.

I began to fix my eyes on Jesus. Just how he had reminded me to do when a storm came.

Look to Jesus. He is with me. He is not afraid!

Before I could pray a word, my spirit was flooded with bible verses.

Sometimes we hear about supernatural encounters with the Holy Spirit, but then sometimes these supernatural encounters actually happen to us. This was one of those for me.

I had a peace I’ve never known, and was comforted every millisecond with the word of God.

There are parts of my story where I didn’t felt peace, parts where I was afraid, but this part of my story, this is one I can testify about.

Being able to somewhat “sense” and “comprehend” multiple things at once just doesn’t seem like a possibility to my human mind. Buts it’s truly what I experienced! Almost unbelievable.

First Chemotherapy During Induction Process of ALL

I was now ready for my first chemo.

I can still remember my first chemo treatment.  I actually felt quite brave during it.  In fact right after the drip stopped, I remember texting friends saying “first round of chemo, done!”

Little did I know how debilitating the next four weeks would be.

I went from a vibrant, full of energy thirty-two year old, to someone who was barely able to walk and had to push an IV around.

I went from feeling great, to being constantly nauseous, even with medicine.

To be honest, most of my time during my chemo induction of ALL is a blur. I honesty don’t see how I made it through. I know one day I will look back on all of this journey and wonder how I made it.

Except, deep down I know how.

It’s been many things, but mainly the comfort and truth of the gospel, of the Holy Spirit, comfort from his people, the prayers of saints, and love from friends, and family.

When we are Weak, He is Strong

So many people tell me that I am strong.

That I am brave.

When the fact is, I’m really not.

But I show up. I’m here.

I am trusting God. Even when I am confused.

And in all of these moments of weakness, He gets to be strong.

I imagine that God loves the opportunity to be strong for us.

I have spent many years of my life trying to be the strong one. To be the one in control.

A wise cousin recently reminded me that we are never truly in control.

God is. And always has been. And always will be.

And we have to get to that place where, we “let go” of whatever control we thought we had in the first place.

And simply trust him.

God loves us so so much.

It’s almost unbelievable.

To read about my life right before diagnosis, click here.

*donate to our go fund me here