Ian McQuattie, 44, from Leeds, first began experiencing what were later identified as a seizures in 2013 but was initially told these were symptoms of social anxiety. In October 2015, after months of worsening symptoms including severe headaches, visual disturbances and vomiting, he was taken to Leeds General Infirmary where a CT scan revealed a large brain tumour in his frontal lobe. Ian underwent surgery on 23rd October 2015, followed by radiotherapy and chemotherapy. More than 10 years on, he is back working full-time as a process engineer and continues to have regular scans, but his partner Lorna says the experience has completely changed the family’s outlook on life.
Here is Ian’s story, as told by his wife, Lorna...
Ian is the kind of person who would do anything for anyone. He is friendly, outgoing and calm under pressure, and his work as a process engineer has always involved a lot of responsibility and health and safety. As a family, we have always loved doing things together. We have a dog and do lots of dog walking, we all have mountain bikes, and Ian in particular loves mountain biking and hiking. We also love holidays, eating out, and spending time with extended family. We have two daughters, Jessica, who is now 14, and Betsy, who is 10.
In 2013, out of the blue, Ian started having episodes that mainly happened at work in meetings, especially when he knew he was about to speak. He described them as facial seizures. His face would freeze and he would lose the ability to speak for about a minute. It made him feel embarrassed and uncomfortable, and other people noticed it too. Then one day it happened at home while we were sitting together at the dining table. He suddenly couldn’t speak to me, and his face felt frozen. I told him he needed to go to the doctor.
The GP said it sounded like social anxiety in stressful situations and prescribed antidepressants and beta blockers.
It never felt right to me because Ian was confident and well respected at work, and it did not make sense that he would suddenly develop social anxiety, especially not when it happened at home with me. The symptoms didn’t stop, although they may have eased slightly.
In August 2015, just as our youngest daughter Betsy was born, Ian began experiencing visual disturbances while driving to work. We live in Leeds and at the time he was working in Hull, commuting by car. He described seeing arcs of light, almost like lightning, twisting around his vision, sometimes multicoloured, and he had to pull over because it was so intense. Not long after, he began being sick, which was very unusual because he’s never ill. The sickness became worse and then he developed extreme headaches. The GP thought it sounded like migraines and sent him to an optician, but nothing was wrong with his eyes. He was told to keep a diary of when the migraines happened and was given painkillers. Everything escalated within a couple of months.
At one point Ian told me the pain in his head was so intense, he felt like he would do anything to make it stop.
He was upstairs in bed for days with the lights off, getting up only to vomit, and I was watching him become more and more unwell.
Because Ian was contracting, if he didn’t work, he didn’t get paid, and he had already been off for weeks. He tried to go back to work, but he vomited in a meeting and was sent home. On the drive back the visual disturbances were so severe he had to pull over multiple times. That was when I said I was going with him to the GP and we were not leaving until somebody did something.
A doctor saw us that day and actually listened. I was crying because at that point Jessica was three and Betsy was only two months old, and I felt like I couldn’t cope with my partner being that ill while we were being told to just write his symptoms down. The doctor wrote a letter and told us to go straight to Leeds General Infirmary.
We arrived in the early evening and waited for hours. Eventually, in the early hours of the morning, Ian had a CT scan. Later, a member of staff came over and asked to take us to a private room, and my heart sank because you don’t get taken to a private room for good news.
We were in total shock when they told us a large mass had been found on Ian’s brain and that, from the CT scan, they believed it was cancer.
They said it needed further investigation and urgent surgery, and that Ian would not be leaving hospital.
The next day Ian was on a ward having more scans. We were told surgery would be the following morning because they were concerned it was fast growing. Someone said to me to prepare for the fact he might not live beyond Christmas, and this was October. Ian begged for one last night at home with the children. The hospital agreed, and that night was one of the hardest of my life, sitting with our girls and our family, trying to be normal while feeling completely terrified. The next morning, we took Ian back in early and we were allowed to walk with him right to the theatre doors.
The operation took several hours. The first call I got afterwards was from Ian himself. He was very confused from the medication, but he was awake, speaking, and alive. When we saw him later, he was sitting up in bed and talking, and he asked me to get him a sausage roll because he was starving. I had expected intensive care and machines, but he was there, present, and himself, which was an enormous relief. Doctors later explained it was not glioblastoma, which they had feared from the scans, but it was still serious. Ian was diagnosed with a grade 3 anaplastic oligodendroglioma. They told us they had removed everything they could see, but there could still be cancer cells left in his brain.
Recovery at home was tough. Ian was on steroids which caused rapid weight gain and his face ballooned, and he struggled at first with motivation and fatigue.
Radiotherapy started in December 2015 at St James’s Hospital in Leeds, five days a week through Christmas and New Year, finishing in January 2016. After a short recovery period, Ian began chemotherapy around March 2016, completing six rounds of PCV treatment. It was tough, causing fatigue, food restrictions and occasional reactions that led to hospital visits, but he managed to finish all six cycles.
Alongside the medical fear came financial worries. I wasn’t working at the time and Ian was self-employed, so his income stopped overnight while we still had two young children and a mortgage. He also was no longer allowed to drive. Luckily, only three months before his diagnosis, we had taken out critical illness cover, which eventually paid off our mortgage.
The girls were very young, so we kept things simple. Jessica was four and could see her dad wasn’t well, especially when radiotherapy caused his hair to fall out in patches and he decided to shave it off. At the same time, being at home more meant Ian became very involved in family life, doing the school run, helping at school and volunteering for trips.
As hard as that period was, Ian had time with the girls that he would never have had if life had stayed the same.
Two years after Ian’s diagnosis, we were also able to celebrate a very special milestone when we got married on 10th June 2017, with Jessica and Betsy proudly acting as our flower girls.
Ian eventually got his driving licence back after about two and a half years and returned to work, first on a phased basis and then back full-time as a process engineer. He continues to have regular scans and, although yearly scans have been mentioned, Ian prefers to keep them at six-monthly because he wants anything picked up as early as possible. One scan about two years ago showed something small around the original tumour site, which caused a lot of worry, but doctors believe it may be a cavernoma, a small bleed on the brain, and they continue to monitor it.
In October, it marked 10 years since the tumour was found. Ian is fit and active again, back on his bike and hiking, and there is nothing he cannot do. But what happened has completely changed our lives and our priorities. We do not care about fancy cars or upgrading the house anymore. What matters to us now is spending time with our children, our family and our friends, and making memories. We have travelled as much as we can, including trips like Thailand and Vietnam, because we know that at any point a scan could change everything. People sometimes say we are always away or always doing something, but they don’t see the reason why. We are putting our energy into experiences, because those are what our children will remember.
We first heard about Brain Tumour Research through hospital social workers, and we’re determined to help the charity and cause in any way we can.
Ian’s parents have also supported the charity by organising a fundraising golf event, with the proceeds going to Brain Tumour Research, and as a family we would absolutely support fundraising again in the future if we can.
What stays with me is how little information there was when we were desperate for answers, and how terrifying that uncertainty was. Even the hospital couldn’t give clear timelines, and I spent the first few years absolutely frightened because I did not know what was coming. Knowing brain tumours are so underfunded makes me sad for every family in that position, searching for information and facing the unknown.
If I could share one message with another family, it would be this. Every case is unique, and you cannot assume the worst information you read online will be your story. You have to keep living, and make life as enjoyable as possible. For us, making memories became the most important thing, so that whatever happens, our children will remember the holidays, the laughter, and the time with their dad.
Lorna McQuattie
March 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 Ian’s story, you may like to make a donation via www.braintumourresearch.org/donate or leave a gift in your will via www.braintumourresearch.org/legacy
Together we will find a cure.
