In the spring of 2024, I was preparing to compete in a Half Ironman triathlon and was not surprised when I began experiencing tightness in my groin. I just figured it was the byproduct of specific endurance training I was doing in each discipline, including running, biking, and swimming, to get ready for the race. Then, one afternoon while I was on a 20-mile bike ride, a pedestrian I was passing on the road clipped my handle bar and sent me flying into a river bank tree. I hit the ground hard, injuring my left hip, and within weeks, the pain in my hip and whole pelvic area had become so intense that I worried I had fractured or broken a bone. Cancer never entered my mind.
Although an x-ray didn’t detect any bone breaks, the pain over the ensuing weeks became relentless and now extended down to my left knee. Finally, a magnetic resonance imaging (MRI) scan found the source of my discomfort. I had a large tumor in my left pelvic bone and several smaller tumors in the surrounding bones. My initial diagnosis was non-Hodgkin lymphoma, but a pathology examination of the tumor tissue confirmed that the cancer was actually Ewing sarcoma. I was just 25 years old.
Even now, I credit the discovery of the cancer—and perhaps saving my life—to my grandfather, who had died a month before my collision with the pedestrian. We were very close, and I always say he was instrumental in knocking me off my bike, so I could finally get an accurate diagnosis and treatment.
Living Cancer-Free
I’m not quite sure why, but I’ve always had anxiety around my health, even to the point of seeking professional help to get over my fear. So, hearing that I had an aggressive cancer felt like a full-circle moment. I wasn’t just worried about myself; I was concerned about my family, my then girlfriend, Kelli Peters, who is now my fiancée; and my friends and the emotional life-and- death rollercoaster we were on.
I was fortunate to receive treatment at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute in Boston, where my oncology team recommended the combination chemotherapy regimen of vincristine, doxorubicin, cyclophosphamide, and dactinomycin, followed by a single round of radiation therapy. The treatment has put the cancer in remission. And a recent 3-month follow-up MRI scan continued to find no evidence of disease. I’m cancer-free, but the emotional toll of survivorship lingers on.
Recognizing Cancer as a Family Disease
A year and a half after my diagnosis, I’m still struggling to regain my life purpose, but I’m getting there. Even though I have recovered well physically, I know I won’t be able to compete again in a Half Ironman race for a long time, and I’m okay with that new reality. Although my life has been turned upside down by the diagnosis, the experience has given me some valuable insight into how a life-threatening event like cancer has affected not just me, but everyone in my orbit.
It’s been difficult watching the emotional toll having had cancer has taken on my fiancée, family, and friends. In some cases, it has made my relationships with those closest to me stronger, but I’m sad to say that not all my friendships survived this ordeal.
In addition to the unfailing support I received from my family and friends, I’m most grateful to my oncology team, who took a holistic approach to my care. They became my extended family.— ROBBIE FOX
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Instead of dwelling on what cancer has cost me, I’m choosing to focus on what it has given me: a greater appreciation for life. I don’t take anything for granted, and I’m just happy to be alive.
In addition to the unfailing support I received from my family and friends, I’m most grateful to my oncology team, who took a holistic approach to my care. They became my extended family. My oncologist wasn’t just interested in how best to treat the cancer, although, of course, curing me of the disease was his top priority. He showed real interest in me as a person. He asked about my hobbies, what sports I liked, and most of all, he never let me lose hope. That personalized care extended to the whole medical team. I always felt safe on chemotherapy infusion day and on any clinical visit. Everyone on that team helped get me to the finish line, and I’ll never forget their compassion and kindness.
I know how lucky I am. I wish every patient could have the positive experience I’ve had. It’s what every cancer survivor deserves.
Mr. Fox, 26, lives in Winston Salem, North Carolina.
Editor’s Note: Columns in the Patient’s Corner are based solely on information The ASCO Post received from patients and should be considered anecdotal.
