At 47 years old, Gwynneth Porter, a health and safety consultant from Hampshire, is a devoted wife, mother, fitness enthusiast and brain tumour survivor.
Gwynneth was diagnosed with an oligodendroglioma in 2016 and endured an awake brain surgery, multiple rounds of chemotherapy, radiotherapy and years of uncertainty. Despite the challenges, Gwynneth remains optimistic and is determined to live life to the fullest.
Gwynneth tells her story…
Before I was diagnosed, I'd always suffered with headaches. My mum had migraines throughout her life, so I assumed headaches were just something I had inherited. Over time, though, they became more frequent and more intense.
I also started experiencing strange sensations that I struggled to explain. The closest comparison I can make is the feeling you get when a car goes over a sudden rise in the road and your stomach seems to jump. These 'body auras' kept happening more often.
At first, doctors thought the symptoms might be related to my heart. Tests came back normal and I was reassured that I was fit and healthy. But deep down I knew something wasn't right.
Eventually, in January 2016, my GP referred me to a neurologist at Basingstoke Hospital who arranged an MRI scan. I remember feeling anxious about the scan itself because I'm claustrophobic, but what happened afterwards worried me even more.
When I came out of the scanner to receive contrast dye, another nurse appeared and started asking if I was okay. Immediately, alarm bells started ringing.
In my experience, medical professionals don't generally show that level of empathy, which confirmed to me that something was wrong.
Within 24 hours I was called back to the hospital.
When I saw the scan, I knew something was wrong. I asked directly if it was cancer. She said that it most likely was but that it could be low grade.
Looking at the large white mass on my brain scan, it was impossible not to fear the worst. My immediate thoughts were of my children and family. I remember thinking, "My children are going to grow up without their mother."
I was referred to renowned neurosurgeon Mr Paul Grundy in Southampton. He explained that I would need surgery to remove as much of the tumour as possible.
The two weeks waiting for surgery were some of the hardest days of my life. Your mind constantly races through every possible scenario.
One of the biggest shocks was learning that I would be awake during surgery.
The operation lasted around six hours. Although I was heavily sedated, I was conscious throughout. When it was finally over, I burst into tears. It was relief, exhaustion and shock all rolled into one.
The tumour turned out to be an oligodendroglioma and was approximately the size of a satsuma. Because it was located in my right frontal lobe, surgeons couldn't safely remove all of it. I was warned that it would probably grow back at some point.
After surgery, I underwent five months of chemotherapy. It was incredibly tough, but eventually my scans stabilised and life began to feel normal again.
In 2018, I received another blow when doctors discovered tumour regrowth. I had to restart chemotherapy.
Somehow, I got through eleven rounds of chemotherapy, most people only manage five to six rounds. It was brutal.
Chemotherapy felt like having the worst sickness bug and hangover imaginable at the same time. I was also taking steroids, which made me feel jittery and restless. It was a horrible combination, but I completed six rounds and thankfully the treatment reduced the tumour's progression.
For the next five years, my scans remained stable. Then, in November 2024, everything changed.
I was watching my son play in a football match, sitting on the sidelines with my daughter, when I suffered a tonic-clonic seizure. It came completely out of the blue.
The experience was terrifying, not just for me but for my family too.
Further scans revealed that the tumour had progressed again. This time, I underwent 33 sessions of radiotherapy over six and a half weeks, travelling to Southampton every weekday for treatment.
Radiotherapy caused me to lose my hair where the treatment was targeted. Rather than watch it happen gradually, I decided to shave my head completely. My children, Lincoln, now 14, and Rhian, 11, helped me do it. It became a moment of acceptance and strength for us as a family.
Following radiotherapy, I started a completely different chemotherapy regime involving three drugs, including one administered intravenously.
The treatment was brutal. At one point, I lost around six kilograms in a single week and became so unwell that I was admitted to hospital for emergency treatment and rehydration.
Despite everything, I kept going.
The whole of 2025 revolved around treatment, hospital appointments and scans. It was one of the hardest years of my life emotionally and physically. Alongside the fear and uncertainty came feelings of anger, sadness and frustration. Like many people facing cancer, I often found myself asking, "Why me?"
Throughout it all, my husband Chris was incredible. He had recently left his job when my tumour progressed again, meaning he was able to devote himself completely to supporting me, our children and our home. While everyone naturally focuses on the patient, I know the impact on him was enormous.
I honestly don't know how we would have managed without him.
Thankfully, after completing treatment in December 2025, my scans showed everything was stable.
Today, I continue to have MRI scans every three months, but I'm back doing the things I love. I teach spin classes, walk our dog every day, travel with my family and enjoy life as normally as possible.
I still experience some memory and concentration difficulties, but overall, I feel incredibly fortunate. I'm living proof that there can be life after a brain tumour diagnosis.
If there's one thing I'd say to someone receiving a diagnosis today, is trust the people who know what they're doing. Trust your doctors. Stay positive. Focus on getting through treatment and getting better.
I've never been someone who sits in self-pity. That mindset wouldn't change anything. Instead, I've always focused on what I can control and kept moving forward.
I'm proud to be a success story.
I know my tumour may return one day. The reality of living with a brain tumour is that uncertainty never completely disappears. But there's no point worrying about something that hasn't happened yet.
If it comes back, I'll deal with it then. For now, I'm living my life, making memories with my family and appreciating every day.
That's why I'm supporting Brain Tumour Research.
Brain tumours don't discriminate by age, gender or background. More research is desperately needed so that future generations have access to better treatments and better outcomes.
If sharing my story helps even one person seek medical advice sooner or gives hope to someone facing a diagnosis, then it's worth it.
Gwynneth Porter
July 2026
One in three people in the UK knows someone affected by a brain tumour. This disease is indiscriminate; it can affect anyone at any age. What’s more, brain tumours continue to kill more children and adults under the age of 40 than any other cancer yet, to date, just 1% of the national spend on cancer research has been allocated to this devastating disease since records began in 2002.
Brain Tumour Research is determined to change this.
If you have been inspired by Gwynneth’s story or leave a gift in your will via www.braintumourresearch.org/donate or leave a gift in your will via www.braintumourresearch.org/legacy
Together we will find a cure.
