Layla M.

Layla Rai Morales is 11 years old and radiates light, laughter, and boundless curiosity. She just finished 5th grade, where she excelled in math, science, and even writing computer code—using technology to bring her ideas to life. She’s a lover of music, from gospel melodies to the entire catalogs of Taylor Swift and Camila Cabello, and recently lived out a dream attending the Era’s Tour in Miami. Whether she’s adventuring outdoors, playing sports (just finished her first sleep-away softball camp sponsored by Nike a week before her diagnosis), reading her favorite books, or just being her creative, fearless self, Layla brings a unique joy and spark to everything she does and everyone she meets. 

The summer of 2025 was meant to be filled with new adventures and memories—a time to grow, explore, and continue building the confidence that makes Layla Rai so special. But on June 15th, our world was shattered. We received the heartbreaking news that Layla has been diagnosed with AML, a form of leukemia. In the face of something so heavy, Layla has already shown incredible courage, resilience, and grace. She continues to inspire us every moment with her quiet strength, and we remain in awe of her heart and spirit even through her most painful moments of treatment. 

As we begin this unexpected journey, Jess and I are holding tightly to love and prayer. We’re asking our community—our village—to surround Layla with all the encouragement, strength, and joy you can offer. Whether it’s a message, a video, a silly joke, or simply holding her in your thoughts, every bit of light helps.

Layla is ready to fight, and we believe with every fiber of our being—she will win.

Update July, 2025:

It’s Day 27 and Layla Rai is nearing the end of her first cycle of treatment.

From Day 11 through Day 20, she worked through severe bouts of nausea/vomiting, fevers, fatigue, and loss of appetite. While all of these are expected as a result of getting chemo, Lay fought through them all with such strength and resilience (even making jokes here and there along the way).

From Day 20 through Day 27, her numbers climbed back to normal ranges to where she built up more energy, spent time with her friends (building legos, making slime, and having movie nights), and even asked for some of her favorite foods.

She is scheduled for a bone marrow biopsy and a lumbar puncture with chemo on 7/14. Once both are done, we will be heading home for a few days before starting the second cycle of treatment. While we love the team here at St Mary’s Children’s Hospital, we will be moving to Arnold Palmer Children’s Hospital in Orlando. This transition comes at a good time and will ensure that all potential needs can be met (e.g. Arnold Palmer has the ability to do Bone Marrow Transplants and also provide Stem Cells - common for kids with AML).

We still have a long road ahead but the support from our friends and family have been a steady source of hope and strength. Jess, Lay, and I are so thankful for the love and support each of you have poured into our family.  We continue to take it a day at a time. Let’s stay connected - she reads every text/post, watches every video message, and looks forward to every visit.

We can’t thank you all enough for rallying together as a community in support of our Laylibug !

With all our love,
Jess & Carlos

#TeamLaylaRai
#SwiftiesNeverFightAlone

Update August 2025:

THE REAL RAW DEAL:

Before AML, her eyes sparkled with mischief and wonder. That little spark is still there, but some days it’s buried under layers of pain, fatigue, and side effects from treatments no child should ever have to endure. A port with 2 lines hangs from her small chest all day, everyday. The lines that go directly into her little body and have been a part of her since day 2 of this hell. I hate those lines. I also know that those lines are saving her life.

Layla wakes up to 7+ pills every morning and as she takes them one by one, some as large as I’ve ever seen, her nurses hook her up to chemo or platelets or a blood transfusion or fluids or nutrition. What will the cocktail be today? Everyday we hold our breath that her counts are good. That maybe she doesn’t need to be hooked to a cold metal pole.

Chemo is brutal. There’s no softer way to put it. It doesn’t just kill cancer—it chips away at pieces of her childhood. Her hair falling out, now her eyebrows and her long beautiful eyelashes. She’s endured mouth sores and throat infections so painful she couldn’t eat. Infections where her lymph nodes on her neck where swollen so large that her neck looked like it belonged on the body of a grown man.  The nausea, bone and leg pain, and exhaustion that kept her sleeping for days. I’ve watched her cry not from fear, but from frustration—because she just wants to be normal. To go to school. To play. To not have to worry about central lines, blood counts, or what her next lab results will say.

There are days she’s so pale and weak but my girl fights…she’s stubborn and boy does she fight it. She pushes so hard and will not allow this to force her to lay around.. she gets up and demands to go downstairs to the little courtyard with a small basketball hoop and just wants to shoot. She shoots with a passion and anger and a drive and force like I’ve never seen. It brings us to tears watching this girl who never asked for any of this shoot this ball with every ounce of fight in her…and shoot again and miss and shoot and score and shoot and score again and yell and shoot and scream and dribble and shoot and score again. Over and over until she’s gotten it all out. The anger, rage, frustration, pain. It will bring you to your knees watching her and this hoop. That hoop means everything right now. And when she’s gotten it all out, she somehow still smiles and says, “Okay let’s go back upstairs now so I can shower and sleep.”

She loves talking and joking with her nurses, they all come visit Layla in the cool “Swifty” room before and after their shifts. She gets a lot of nurse hugs and she loves them. She makes them bracelets and earrings and they love it and even match their scrubs and socks to one of Layla’s new earring creations.

She tells us it’s going to be okay. Us. Her Mom and Dad. That kind of strength in an 11-year-old is humbling beyond words. It redefines your whole life. Perspective.

But this fight isn’t just hers—it’s our whole family’s.

As parents, we carry a silent weight. You do everything you can to be strong, to advocate, to make decisions that could save her life—and still, you lie awake at night wondering if you’re doing enough. The mental and emotional toll is immense. Watching your child suffer and not being able to take the pain away is a kind of helplessness I wouldn’t wish on anyone. The hospital becomes your second home. Your routines vanish. Relationships are strained. Jobs are put on hold. And guilt—so much guilt—creeps in from every direction.

There are also the little things most people don’t see: The smell of antiseptic that lingers in your clothes. The way your heart races every time the phone rings with a hospital number. The 3 a.m. alarms for meds. The tears you hide in the shower. The sounds on the Pediatric Oncology unit at 3 in the morning are rough. The moments you’re afraid to hope because you’ve learned how fragile everything is.

And yet, somehow, through the darkness—there is light. There are good days, and they shine so brightly. A day with no nausea. A small laugh. A good blood count. A quiet night with no fevers. Those are the moments we hold onto. The day passes we get when her counts are well enough for us to go do something fun outside of the hospital for a few hours but of course don’t forget to not be around crowds, no eating indoors, wear masks, lots of hand washing, take all the meds, plenty of fluids, emesis bags just in case…it comes at a price but I’ll take it. It’s a little bit of regular.

This journey is far from over, but I wanted to share this not just to update, but to raise awareness of what pediatric cancer truly looks like. It is raw. It is ugly. It is beautiful. It teaches you about love in its most powerful form. It teaches you that strength isn’t about muscles—it’s about standing back up, even when you’ve been knocked down again and again. That is Layla Rai. She refuses to be knocked down.

To those walking similar paths—you are not alone.

To our family, friends, nurses, and doctors—thank you. Your support and prayers and love and kind words keep us going.

To our daughter: You are our hero. You are everything that is good in this world wrapped into one little body that’s fighting the most vicious enemy and you fight with grace and beauty and you never complain my girl, you just keep taking it with a quiet, beautiful strength something beyond this world walks beside you my love. We will walk every step with you too, no matter how hard, no matter how long.

#TeamLaylaRai
#SwiftiesNeverFightAlone
#ChildhoodCancer
#AML
#Warrior
#OneDayAtATime
#PediatricCancerAwareness

Update September 2025:

It’s Day 98 and Layla Rai is at the tail end of her third cycle of treatment. While each cycle comes with their own unique challenges and obstacles to overcome, this cycle (Intensification) has been the hardest to navigate and manage both physically / mentally.  To give perspective, these cycles on average can last anywhere between 25-35 days. Typically, Layla’s immune system is severely compromised / suppressed by day 8 of the cycle. This sets up a window where she is extremely vulnerable to infections / viruses. As such, we do everything we can to layer in protections throughout her environment to help ensure she continues to stay germ-free. This includes precautions such as wiping down all surfaces, stripping her bed and swapping everything out daily, washing all clothing / linens used that day, several body wipes, antibiotic creams and having to use several disinfectant mouth washes targeting any mouth sores that she develops which is expected for this type of intensive chemo course.

Even with all of these steps to keep her safe, by day 15 of cycle 3 she ended up with an infection and a virus coupled with fevers, mouth sores, mucositis, nose and mouth bleeds, severe fatigue, and loss of appetite.  The one thing that helps with all of these symptoms is sleep but it’s a struggle for her to get good restorative sleep.

We share these details just so we can bring awareness to what this god awful disease brings with it. AML has a way to creep into a parent’s day dreams to where you easily forget what day it is. AML saturates your thoughts at night to where you wish your were planning out tomorrow’s lunch box meal for school but instead you go sleepless running through the nighttime checklist to ensure you didn’t forget to wipe her down with the chlorhexidine wipes (Lay’s perspective - cold CHG wipes suck, warm CHG wipes get a thumbs up) and it has a twisted way of making you hold your breath with anticipation and fear at the next MyChart update with detailed reports of how her counts are- ANC’s, Hemoglobin and Platelets.

Today is 27 of cycle 3 and each day now gets harder mentally to walk through. She wants to go home, she wants her hair back, she wants to hang out with her friends at school, she wants her dogs to cuddle with, she wants to sleep in her loft bed, she wants to shoot hoops outside in the driveway, she wants to go to softball practice, and she wants to permanently silence the all too familiar beeping sound of her IV poll so she can finally get some sleep.

What does Layla Rai do everyday? She sings, she cries- a release of her anger and her frustration and her fear and her pain but also, she cries to build up her strength and her resilience. She does art/play therapy with the child life team, and loves playing games together as a family. She shoots hoops in the courtyard and plays catch, gearing up for the next season of softball. Most importantly, this kid FIGHTS like hell! Like we’ve never seen anyone fight before. Because that’s what warriors and superheroes do, because with God all things are possible, and because cancer should have known better before messing with this queen! 

Please continue to join us in gratitude and prayer for the following:

(1) Her bone marrow continues to strengthen to the point where she can go home for a small break this week sometime.

(2) MRD continues to be 0.00!

(3) God reveals with clarity what he wants us to take away from this journey.

(4) Layla continues to solidify her relationship with God and figures out ways to unlock the super powers he placed within her.

(5) Peace and Strength for everyone on the 4th floor here at the hospital. There are other little superhero’s that we have the privilege to share a space with here that we want to acknowledge - some that are pushing through with good news to share, some that have received awful news and need all the prayer warriors behind them that they can get.

Update October, 2025:

Cycle 4 – Intensification

Just days in, and this cycle is already proving to be the hardest yet. Layla is receiving three times the dose of her main chemotherapy, more than she has ever had before, plus a new chemotherapy with a list of potential side effects too long and terrifying to name. It is hitting her hard. Within minutes of the nurses hanging the bag, she starts to feel sick.
We worry every day about how much her little body can take. We know this treatment is what will ultimately kill the cancer, but it is terrifying knowing how toxic it is. We know this is what will fight the cancer. We know this is the path to healing. But it’s terrifying to watch something so toxic enter our little girl’s body, something so dangerous that the nurses have to gown up and triple glove just to protect themselves.

And yet, this is what she must endure.

As a parent, this is one of the hardest parts…standing by, knowing what’s necessary, but aching with fear over what it costs her.

This journey is a marathon that often feels endless. The days are long, the nights even longer. But in the middle of it all is Layla. Our brave, beautiful girl. Even in her most vulnerable and weakest moments, Layla is our strength. Her grit her grace, her fight…they give us hope when we feel like we’re running on empty.

Please continue to pray for our girl as she pushes through this brutal cycle. Send her all your positive energy, light and healing love.