If you saw this photo without context, you’d probably just see a smiling mum and her chubby-cheeked baby girl—both glowing on the couch like nothing could possibly go wrong.
But what you can’t see is what she’s already survived.
Six months ago, Leona gave birth to little Raya after a 37-hour labor. No epidural. No partner in the room. Just her, a midwife she’d only met once, and a strength none of us knew she had.
And just when things finally started settling—when the bottles were timed, the 3 a.m. feeds became manageable, and Raya started recognizing her laugh—Leona got the diagnosis.
A blood clot. Missed in the chaos of recovery. It escalated fast—first swelling, then pain, then a hospital rush where words like “circulation risk” and “possible amputation” were thrown around like they weren’t life-shattering.
And then? A choice.
Try to save the leg and risk losing everything else—including her ability to safely care for her daughter. Or make the impossible call.
She didn’t hesitate.
Now she jokes about her “bubblegum boot” cast and wheels herself to mommy-and-me yoga like it’s no big deal. But behind that smile is a woman who had to relearn how to stand, while soothing a teething infant.
I asked her once how she stayed so calm.
She looked at Raya, kissed her forehead, and said,
“Because she only knows me as whole. And I won’t let her feel like anything’s missing.”
Leona’s story of strength and resilience spread quickly through our circle of friends, and I couldn’t help but admire her more every time I saw her. Here she was, navigating the challenges of new motherhood while adjusting to life without her leg, all with a grace that seemed almost effortless. People admired her “positivity,” but I knew better—what they didn’t see was the raw courage she had to dig deep for every single day.
But there were moments—moments when even the most positive of souls could feel overwhelmed. I saw it during the times she’d wake up in the middle of the night to check on Raya, carefully balancing her crutches as she tiptoed to the crib. Or when she struggled to find clothes that fit her new body, feeling like a stranger in her own skin. There were days when she looked at me, and her eyes would say everything her words didn’t—”This isn’t easy, but I’m doing it.”
And that’s when I realized the true extent of Leona’s bravery. She wasn’t just surviving—she was fighting to thrive in a world that had handed her so much pain and uncertainty.
But it wasn’t just her own strength that got her through the hardest moments. There was a quiet army of friends and family who rallied around her, offering support in whatever way they could. I’ll never forget the time when a group of us chipped in to buy her a custom wheelchair, the kind that could allow her to push Raya along the sidewalk for walks. We knew it wouldn’t replace the feeling of walking on her own two feet, but it would give her a taste of independence she’d lost. Leona’s smile when we surprised her with it was priceless.
Still, no one could have predicted what would happen next.
One day, about three months after the surgery, Leona received a phone call that would change everything again.
Her doctor, Dr. Allen, was calm but direct. He told her that while her recovery had gone well, there was still a significant risk to her health. The blood clotting disorder that had caused her original problems had triggered more complications, and the treatments they’d tried weren’t enough to fully control it.
Leona listened carefully, then asked the question that seemed to hang in the air like a heavy fog: “What’s the next step?”
The answer was a chilling one. Leona would need to start a new, much more aggressive treatment plan to manage her clotting disorder. It would require frequent hospital visits, regular blood tests, and an even stricter routine than the one she had already established.
But there was a twist.
In some rare cases, the treatment itself could cause complications of its own, leaving her with the possibility of not just another surgery, but one that would put her life at risk again.
Leona’s first instinct was to put her baby before everything else. She didn’t want to take any risks that might take her away from Raya or prevent her from being the mother she’d always wanted to be. But after talking to the doctors and running through the different options, Leona had a heartbreaking realization: if she didn’t go through with this treatment, she might not be able to care for Raya properly in the long run.
It was the hardest decision of her life.
She called a family meeting, which included her mom, her sister, and a couple of her closest friends. Sitting around the dining table, I watched as Leona calmly laid out her options. No one could have blamed her if she chose to put everything on hold—to take a step back and just focus on raising Raya. But instead, she decided to face this new battle head-on.
“I know it’s scary,” she said, looking at each of us in turn. “But I want to be here for my daughter. I want her to grow up knowing that even in the hardest times, I kept fighting for her. I won’t let fear dictate my life, and I won’t let it take me away from her.”
There was a pause, and then her mom spoke up. “Leona, you’ve already been through so much. Are you sure this is what you want? You’ve been brave for so long, but you need to think about your health, too.”
Leona nodded slowly. “I’ve thought about it. I’m scared, yes, but I won’t run from this. I owe it to myself and Raya to be here for the long haul, to be strong even when I don’t feel strong.”
And that was the moment when I truly saw the depth of Leona’s strength. It wasn’t in the way she carried herself with her “bubblegum boot” cast or in her ability to show up for mommy-and-me yoga with Raya in tow. It was in the quiet, hard decisions she had to make—the ones that didn’t involve applause or recognition. The ones where she had to choose between comfort and fear.
Weeks passed, and Leona underwent the treatment, enduring its side effects with the same resilience she’d shown throughout her journey. At times, it felt like the world was conspiring against her. There were complications, moments when the pain was unbearable, but through it all, Leona kept going. Each day, she woke up with Raya’s face in her mind, using her love for her daughter as fuel to push through the hardest days.
And then, one day, something miraculous happened. Leona received a call from her doctor. The treatment had worked—her blood clotting disorder was finally under control. The risks were minimal now, and she could move forward without the constant fear that had plagued her for so long.
I saw Leona the next day, and she was beaming. It wasn’t the same old smile; it was one that came from a place of relief, of knowing that the worst was behind her. She was stronger now—physically, emotionally, and mentally.
But life wasn’t done with Leona yet. The twist came, as life always does, when she received a message from an old friend. It turned out that the custom wheelchair we had gotten her—one that she had used so faithfully during her recovery—was now the catalyst for something extraordinary.
It turned out that the company who had made the wheelchair had heard Leona’s story. They were so inspired by her strength and resilience that they decided to feature her in their upcoming ad campaign. The company offered her a generous sum to take part in a series of commercials highlighting individuals who had overcome great odds and were living extraordinary lives.
Leona wasn’t just surviving anymore—she was thriving. And through it all, she had managed to turn her struggle into something that would help others.
By the time the campaign was launched, Leona had become a symbol of perseverance. Her story resonated with millions of people who had faced challenges they didn’t think they could overcome. Her life, which had once been marked by loss and fear, now shone with purpose and strength.
The karmic twist? It wasn’t just the money she received from the ad campaign—it was the ripple effect that her story had. Leona had spent so much time focusing on Raya and their future, but in the end, it was her own strength that brought her more than she ever imagined.
And that’s what Leona taught me—and what I hope you take away from this story. No matter how hard life gets, no matter how many obstacles you face, there’s always a way to turn your pain into power. Sometimes, the greatest rewards come when you least expect them.
So, if you’re facing something difficult, remember Leona’s story. Keep fighting, keep pushing forward, and know that your strength can change the world—even if it starts with just one person.
If you feel inspired, share this post with someone who might need a reminder to never give up.
