Meet Aleks
A Young Hero's Journey

On Sunday, 22nd December 2024, something completely ordinary became the beginning of something extraordinary.

We were visiting family in Poland for Christmas. The children were full of excitement and energy, and we had taken them to a local soft play centre to blow off some steam. Just before we left, Aleks—always full of life—asked for one last spin. I lifted him onto my shoulders and did our usual trick: a full 360-degree turn on one leg. It's something he loves. But that day, mid-spin, he let go of my neck and fell to the padded floor below.

It didn't look serious. The floor was soft, and the fall seemed minor. But Aleks cried. He said his head, back, and chest hurt. Out of caution, we drove him to the local hospital in Ostrów Wielkopolski for a check-up. Nothing felt urgent. Just a precaution. Just in case.

At the A&E department, a doctor examined Aleks thoroughly—his vitals, reflexes, balance, coordination. Everything looked fine. We were minutes from being discharged when I asked Aleks one more time, "Does anything still hurt?"

"No," he said, and then added quietly, "Maybe just a bit in my chest when I jump."

It was that quiet maybe that changed everything.

The doctor, to be safe and and to spare us a hospital visit over Christmas, ordered a chest X-ray.

We expected to rule out a small fracture—perhaps a bruised rib. But what the X-ray showed was something none of us were prepared for: a large, unexpected mass behind Aleks' left lung, measuring nearly 7cm in size.

There were no fractures. No injuries from the fall. But now, there was something far more serious to deal with.

Aleks was immediately admitted to the paediatric ward for further investigation. Over the next two days, he underwent multiple scans, ultrasounds of his chest, abdomen and back, and a wide panel of blood tests. Every test came back normal - perfect, in fact. Aleks was his usual energetic self—climbing, jumping, swinging from monkey bars, laughing, playing. There were no symptoms. No signs that anything was wrong.

We were told the mass looked like a tumour, possibly neuroblastoma, but that more detailed scans and a biopsy were urgently needed. We decided to return to the UK to continue investigations and begin treatment immediately.

So we packed up early, left our family behind, and returned home. The festive season had suddenly been rewritten.

The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of appointments, hospital visits, and silent hopes. Aleks remained completely asymptomatic. Even some doctors looked at him with disbelief — he seemed entirely healthy. Despite that, Aleks went through everything: CT and MRI scans, blood tests, urine tests, full skeletal surveys, a bone marrow biopsy, and a surgical biopsy of the tumour itself. At times, he had more tests in a week than most adults have in a year. And yet, through it all, he never complained or stopped smiling.

Finally, we had the answer.

Aleks was diagnosed with Ewing sarcoma—a rare and aggressive bone and soft tissue cancer. Fewer than 30 children in the UK are diagnosed with it each year. It grows fast, often without symptoms. And unless discovered early, it's usually found only once it has already spread or started causing some pain.

In Aleks' case, the tumour was localised, nestled behind his lung and in front of his spinal cord—close to the heart and major blood vessels but without attacking any vital organ, just silently growing in one of the 'empty' spaces within the body. But it had not spread. There was no sign of it in his bones, lungs, or marrow. And despite its size (almost the size of my wrist), it had caused no symptoms whatsoever.

It had been growing silently.

There are moments as a parent when you look back and realise just how fragile life can be. That quiet response, "Maybe just a bit in my chest...", led to a chain of events that will save Aleks's life.

And what haunts us now is how easily it could have been missed.

The doctors told us it was almost unheard of to find a tumour like this incidentally. Normally, Ewing sarcoma is discovered after it has begun to spread—when it causes pain, difficulty walking, breathing problems, or visible swelling. By that time, it's often far more advanced.

But Aleks showed none of those signs. If he hadn't fallen. If we hadn't gone to hospital. If we hadn't asked one more time. We might not have known until it was too late.

Aleks's journey is far from over. He is now undergoing intensive treatment: chemotherapy, followed by surgery, then radiotherapy, and more chemotherapy after that. The road ahead is long, and it will test all of us in ways we can't yet imagine.

But we are hopeful. We have a very strong medical team, and Aleks—our energetic, football-loving, brave little boy—faces each challenge like a true hero. Even when he's afraid of yet another operation and crying, he'll ask surgeons his questions, give us a big cuddle and then cooperate with the doctors. I would be afraid of some of the procedures he goes through, so I cannot imagine how a six-year-old must feel.

We're sharing this story not just to document Aleks' journey, but because we want to help other families.

This type of cancer grows quietly and quickly. Often in hidden places and without early symptoms. We urge parents to ask questions. To trust their instincts. And if possible, to consider a non-invasive ultrasound scan of the chest and abdomen, especially in children aged 6 to 12. It may be the only way to catch something early—before it becomes life-threatening.

This journey has become bigger than just Aleks.

That's why we created TeamAleks—a campaign and platform to support not only Aleks's treatment, but also to fund research, raise awareness, and help other children battling rare cancers like Ewing sarcoma.

We're doing it in a way Aleks loves: through anime-inspired collectible stickers that celebrate courage, energy, and childhood resilience. Every pack sold raises money for the brilliant The Royal Marsden Cancer Charity—supporting life-saving treatment and research for children like Aleks.