When Marcelek was born, everything felt perfect. He was healthy, strong, and full of life — the youngest of three boys, the much-loved little brother to Filip and Maciuś. Their home was filled with laughter and the joyful chaos of childhood.
“We thought our family was complete, happy, and safe,” his mother says softly. “But that sense of safety disappeared in an instant.”
When the Worry Began
At first, nothing seemed wrong. But as weeks turned into months, subtle signs began to appear — small things that parents might easily miss if not for instinct.
“We noticed Marcel wasn’t growing like his brothers had,” his father explains. “He wasn’t gaining height or weight, no matter what we tried.”
Doctors initially assured them it was nothing serious. They suggested dietary changes, formula supplements, and regular checkups. The parents followed every instruction faithfully, hoping to see improvement.
But though Marcel started to gain some weight, he still didn’t grow taller. And then, a new, frightening symptom emerged — he stopped sleeping.
“He would nap for ten, maybe fifteen minutes, and then wake up,” his mother says. “Sometimes he didn’t sleep at all. It was heartbreaking to see him so exhausted, and we didn’t know why.”
The Diagnosis That Changed Everything
Blood tests revealed that Marcel’s blood was unusually thick. Doctors told the family to increase his fluids and return for another checkup. But at the next visit, things hadn’t improved. His growth had stalled completely — and his
head circumference wasn’t increasing, a red flag that something deeper was wrong.
His parents took matters into their own hands, arranging hormonal tests privately. When the results came back, their pediatrician immediately ordered an ultrasound.
“I’ll never forget her face,” his mother says. “She looked at the results and said we needed to go to the hospital right away.”
An ultrasound and MRI scan confirmed their worst fear —
a large tumor on Marcel’s right adrenal gland. Within hours, they were in the oncology ward.
“It felt like our whole world collapsed,” his father says quietly. “One day we had a healthy child; the next day, we were fighting for his life.”
A Fragile Heart and a Dangerous Surgery
Further tests revealed that the tumor had already affected Marcel’s heart. His blood pressure was dangerously high, and doctors discovered left ventricular hypertrophy
— an enlarged heart muscle struggling to cope.
“They told us that his heart was the reason he couldn’t sleep,” his mother explains. “He was simply too tired — too weak to rest.”
Because of the cardiac complications, doctors were initially too afraid to operate. “They told us his heart might not survive the surgery,” she says.
But waiting wasn’t an option. The tumor was growing. After weeks of preparation and monitoring, in
November, surgeons finally performed the delicate operation — removing the entire tumor along with Marcel’s right adrenal gland.
“When they told us the surgery was successful, I couldn’t stop crying,” she recalls. “It felt like we had been holding our breath for months.”
Living with Uncertainty
Though the operation was successful, the family’s relief was short-lived. The doctors gave them devastating news — in Marcel’s case, there is a near-100% chance of metastasis
.
There is no chemotherapy plan, no long-term treatment protocol — only constant monitoring, checkups, and the haunting fear of the cancer’s return.
“We live from one hospital visit to the next,” his father says. “Every scan, every test — we hold our breath, praying not to hear the word
‘tumor’ again.”
Today, Marcel is extremely weak. Once able to crawl, he now struggles even to move. “He can sit up on his own, but that’s it,” his mother says. “It’s like the disease stole all his strength.”
The emotional toll has rippled through the family. His older brothers, Filip and Maciuś, struggle to understand why their little brother can’t play anymore. They ask questions no parent knows how to answer.
“They worry constantly,” their mother says. “They’re scared that the tumor will come back — that it will take him away from them.”
A Plea for Help
For the Tomaszewski family, every day is now a mix of gratitude and fear. Gratitude that their son is still with them — fear that they may lose him.
But the cost of keeping Marcel safe is overwhelming. Frequent travel to hospitals, specialist appointments, additional testing, and rehabilitation have left the family financially drained.
“We’ve reached a point where we can’t do it alone,” his father admits. “We’ve sold what we could, but it’s not enough. The costs keep growing.”
They never imagined having to ask strangers for help. But now, it’s their only hope — to give their son a chance to live, to grow, to laugh again with his brothers.
“If you’re reading this,” his mother says, “please — share our story, support us if you can. Even one złoty can make a difference.”
Hope Lives On
Despite everything, Marcel’s parents refuse to give up. “He’s our sunshine,” his father says. “He still smiles at us. That smile gives us the strength to fight another day.”
The family knows the road ahead is long and uncertain, but they cling to hope — that with love, medical care, and the kindness of others, Marcel will one day be strong again.
💛 Help us fight for Marcelek’s future. Every donation, every share, every act of compassion brings this brave little boy one step closer to the life he deserves — a life filled not with hospitals and fear, but with laughter, growth, and love.
The Little Girl No One Could Diagnose: How 10-Year-Old Harper Atkinson Continues to Defy a Mystery Bone Disease
When Harper and Knox Atkinson entered the world in 2015, their parents, Miranda and Nate, felt nothing but gratitude. The twins were born at University of Iowa Health Care Medical Center—chosen deliberately because their pregnancy was considered high-risk—and both spent two weeks in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit before going home. Knox would later be diagnosed with cerebral palsy. Harper, on the other hand, seemed perfectly healthy. No signs of illness, no early warnings, just a smiling baby girl who hit her milestones slowly but still within the range of normal.
But sometimes the beginning of a story offers no hint of the chapters ahead.
Miranda remembers Harper’s early movement quirks clearly. Her daughter could crawl, but not like other babies. Instead of using all four limbs, Harper scooted in a unique way, as if avoiding pressure on her legs. “In hindsight, we now know it was because her legs hurt,” Miranda says. Harper began walking at about 19 months, though only for short distances. Then, at just 2 years old, their world shifted.
It happened at a park—an ordinary day, an ordinary moment—until Harper suddenly dropped to the ground, crying out in pain without any fall, trip, or visible cause. When Miranda placed her hand gently on her daughter’s leg, she felt a deformity. Emergency responders confirmed what no parent ever expects from a simple trip to the playground: Harper’s femur was fractured.
It was spontaneous. It made no sense. And it was only the beginning.
The Atkinsons immediately drove an hour from their home in Wapello to UI Stead Family Children’s Hospital, where imaging revealed something even more alarming. Doctors found what looked like a lesion—or possibly a tumor—at the fracture site. Harper was quickly admitted, and a full-body MRI revealed something unimaginable in someone so young: multiple lesions scattered throughout her arms and legs.
“These lesions are like pockets of very porous, almost spongy bone,” Nate explains. “They make her extremely prone to fractures.”
Tests were ordered to rule out cancer. Specialists searched national and international databases for something—anything—that resembled Harper’s condition. There were similarities, but nothing that truly matched. No label. No name. No answers.
“At this point, she’s considered undiagnosed and the only case in the world,” Miranda says. “The hardest part is not knowing how to ‘fix’ her. When there’s no diagnosis, you’re treating symptoms, but you don’t know what the underlying problem is.”
What they did know was this: the disease was progressive. MRI scans showed that the lesions continued to worsen. And fractures kept coming.
Since that first break at age 2, Harper has endured more than 35 bone fractures. She has undergone 11 surgeries, countless MRIs, admissions, procedures, therapies, and painful recoveries. She has craniosynostosis, where the bones in her skull fuse too early, and Chiari malformation, where brain tissue presses into the spinal canal. She has endured a lifetime of medical care before even reaching middle school.
But she has never endured it alone.
Her care team at Stead Family Children’s Hospital includes geneticists, orthopedic specialists, neurosurgeons, pain management experts, psychologists, and integrative therapists. Acupressure, aromatherapy, medications, coping strategies, and surgeries have all become part of her routine. Telescoping rods implanted in her long bones have helped stabilize them, dramatically reducing the chances of her bones snapping completely.
“Even if we didn’t live an hour away, the children’s hospital is where we would choose to go,” Miranda says. “With a chronic lifelong condition, continuity of care means everything.”
And despite everything she has fought through, Harper’s spirit remains whole.
Now 10 years old and in fourth grade, Harper is a vibrant, joyful girl with a life full of light. She loves school. She plays piano and sings beautifully. She adores kittens. She goes horseback riding, feeling the wind she can’t always chase with her legs. While she can walk, she uses a wheelchair to conserve energy and protect her fragile bones during longer distances.
Once she finishes growing, she will need a hip reconstruction surgery—another major step in her long journey—but her family already knows exactly where they’ll go when that time comes.
This summer, Harper experienced something she will carry with her forever. During the Iowa Hawkeye football team’s annual Kids Day in August 2025, she had the honor of serving as the ninth Kid Captain of the season. She met players, collected autographs, reunited with former Kid Captain Kelby Telander, and walked—proudly, joyfully—out of the Kinnick Stadium tunnel as the team performed “The Swarm,” a powerful tradition symbolizing unity and strength.
For Harper, whose bones have broken more times than most children can imagine, that walk meant more than anyone in the stands could ever know.
It was a symbol of everything she embodies: courage, resilience, hope, and a spirit that refuses to fracture, no matter how fragile her bones may be.
And while the world may not yet know the name of her disease, everyone who meets Harper knows exactly who she is — a fighter, a miracle, and a reminder that even the rarest challenges can reveal the strongest hearts.