At the start of fourth grade in September 2024, my cousin Fox Thornhill was an athletic, fun-loving nine year old, who was looking forward to playing quarterback on his flag football team and trick-or-treating with his friends. All of that changed in the span of a few weeks when he was diagnosed with high-grade osteosarcoma, a life-threatening form of bone cancer.

On October 21, 2024, after a biopsy and several scans, Fox’s parents and a team of oncologists sat down with Fox to tell him that he has osteosarcoma. On the ride home, Fox was quiet and then asked, “So I have cancer?”

Two days later, Fox had a port placed on his chest and he was admitted to the hospital for his first of 18 rounds of MAP chemotherapy.

While Fox arrived home from the hospital in time for Halloween, he had to skip the group trick-or-treating because he was too sick from treatment. Instead, between bouts of nausea, he went in a wheelchair to just a few houses in his neighborhood. It was not the Halloween he had imagined.

The subsequent chemotherapy infusions only got harder. It was so difficult at times that Fox would ask his parents if the doctors could just amputate his leg. They explained to him several times that, regardless of his leg status, he would still have to complete all 18 rounds of chemotherapy, as osteosarcoma is known for micrometastases that can spread throughout the body. There is no way to test for these micrometastases so osteosarcoma patients must endure the full chemotherapy regimen.

Fox had his limb-salvage surgery in January 2025, which required his surgeon, Dr. Robert Henshaw, to remove the lower portion of Fox’s femur and replace it with an adjustable Stanmore prosthetic implant. A week later, pathology showed clear margins and 92 percent tumor necrosis – meaning 92 percent of the tumor cells were dead. Dr. Henshaw delivered the good news to Fox: “Right now, we can say you don’t have cancer.” This was welcome news, but it was also hard for Fox to understand why he must then endure four more months of 12 rounds of chemotherapy, many of which require 5-day inpatient stays.

By the time Fox finishes his treatment in June 2025, he will have spent approximately 80 days in the hospital .

Fox’s parents believe that the support of friends, relatives, and the wider community has made an immense difference in helping their family stay afloat during this time. My mother (a CNRA) came for the week of Fox’s surgery to assist with his early recovery. Fox’s friends rallied with creative gestures like a head-shaving-mohawk party, care packages, arcade trips, and videos to keep him smiling and connected. Families from his school community provided meals, transportation, and emotional support to help sustain the entire household. Meanwhile, his grandparents, aunts, and uncles stepped in whenever an extra set of hands was needed at home.

Fox is eager to finish treatment so that he can keep building back his strength, go fishing, and resume football with his team. He’s also looking forward to his Make-A-Wish trip to meet the Washington Commanders.

Fox still has a journey ahead of him. He will have scans at regular intervals, as osteosarcoma can return in the lungs and the science does not currently exist to predict to whom and why this happens. Fox will spend the summer building his endurance and working to improve his gait.

While he originally hoped to return to flag football in the spring after his surgery – neither his parents nor his doctors had the heart to tell him that was an unrealistic goal – he now hopes to play with his team in the Fall.

This is why I am running the Marine Corps Marathon … to raise money for the Osteosarcoma Institute in order to support its mission to fund research and the development of new treatments so that kids like Fox have an easier time getting back to doing what they love most … and just being kids.