Jimmy Glendinning, 68, from Flint in Wales, was a healthy and active retiree who loved music, nature and spending time with his family when he began experiencing worrying symptoms in April 2024. For months, his family feared he may be developing Alzheimer's disease as he became increasingly forgetful, confused and struggled to find the right words. It wasn't until his condition rapidly deteriorated, and he was rushed to hospital that doctors discovered he had a glioblastoma, an aggressive and incurable brain tumour.
Despite undergoing surgery and treatment, Jimmy's journey has been complicated by a serious infection, a seven-week hospital stay and ongoing health challenges.
Here is Jimmy's story, as told by his daughter Naomi…
My dad has always been someone who puts others before himself. After spending most of his working life in factories and later working as a hygiene operative, he retired as the same kind, generous and dependable person he had always been. He has a wicked sense of humour, loves music, nature and spending time with his family, and while he isn't naturally a people person, he would do absolutely anything for those he cares about. Over the years, he has become a father figure to many friends of mine and my sister, especially those who didn't have dads around growing up. Despite never being particularly sporty, he was surprisingly healthy, walking everywhere, cycling regularly and rarely getting ill, which is why everything that followed came as such a shock.
The first sign that something wasn't right came on 29th April 2024. Dad was shopping in Sainsbury's when he rang my mum, Mandy, sounding confused. He couldn't remember why he was there or what he had gone in to buy and, for a few moments, struggled to form a sentence. Mum immediately worried he might be having a stroke, but the episode passed and he carried on with his day. At the time, we hoped it had simply been a strange one-off incident.
Over the following weeks, however, little things started to change. Dad became increasingly forgetful and began struggling to find the right words during conversations.
Because his own mum had Alzheimer's disease, my sister Helga was one of the first to suggest Dad's symptoms might be dementia and, for months, that's genuinely what our family believed we were dealing with.
While forgetting the odd word wasn't unusual for Dad, this felt different, and Mum became increasingly concerned as the incidents became more frequent.
By June, she was worried enough to arrange a doctor's appointment, but Dad cancelled it without telling anyone. Looking back, I think part of him knew something wasn't right but didn't want to face whatever the answer might be. Like many men of his generation, he preferred to believe things would improve on their own, but unfortunately his symptoms continued to worsen throughout the summer.
As well as becoming more forgetful, Dad's personality began to change. He became increasingly irritable and withdrawn, which led to arguments between him and Mum that were completely out of character for them. Mum could see something was wrong and desperately wanted him to seek help, while Dad seemed determined to convince himself that everything would be fine. It was an incredibly stressful period because we knew something wasn't right but had absolutely no idea what we were dealing with.
For a brief period in September, things seemed to improve. Mum and Dad went away together on a caravan holiday in Wales and had a wonderful time. Dad seemed more like himself, they weren't arguing and the confusion appeared to ease. Looking back now, it feels bittersweet because none of us realised it would be the last holiday they would enjoy together before his diagnosis. By October, however, the signs were becoming impossible to ignore. Dad had started suffering severe headaches, although he kept much of the pain to himself.
We later discovered he had secretly been taking increasing amounts of painkillers, including co-codamol, just to cope. Around the same time, he began experiencing physical symptoms. On one occasion, his arm suddenly went numb and he dropped a piece of toast. On another, he became so confused that he tried to make soup in a plastic jug on the hob, insisting there was nothing wrong with what he was doing.
That was one of the moments when we realised something was seriously wrong – he could have seriously hurt himself or even burnt the house down.
Throughout all of this, Mum was carrying an enormous burden. She was barely sleeping because she was constantly listening out for Dad during the night and watching for signs that his condition was worsening. She was making notes of incidents, monitoring his behaviour and desperately trying to persuade him to seek medical help. Mum was on high alert all the time.
Eventually, after encouragement from his sister Jane, who is a nurse, Dad finally agreed to see his GP. Blood tests were arranged and several referrals were made, including memory and stroke assessments, and for the first time it felt as though we might finally be moving towards an explanation. Unfortunately, before any of those appointments could happen, his condition deteriorated dramatically.
By November, the confusion had become much more severe. Dad was struggling to walk properly, often veering to one side, and there were times when it felt as though he wasn't fully present. Mum had effectively become his carer, guiding him through everyday tasks and worrying about leaving him alone. Then, in the early hours of 20th November 2024, everything changed when he got out of bed and suddenly lost feeling in his legs. An ambulance was called and he was rushed to Glan Clwyd Hospital where scans revealed a brain tumour.
I was sitting in my home office when Mum rang me. At first, she wouldn't tell me what was wrong and simply asked me to come to the hospital, but I knew from the way she was speaking that something was terribly serious.
When she eventually told me Dad had a brain tumour, I completely broke down because it was the worst possible news.
Further investigations revealed Dad had a glioblastoma, an aggressive and incurable brain tumour. We were referred to Professor Michael Jenkinson at The Walton Centre in Liverpool, who explained that the tumour was large, aggressive and fast-growing. He told us that without intervention Dad might not even make it to Christmas. Faced with the options available to him, Dad didn't hesitate. More than anything, he wanted as much time as possible with his family, so he chose to undergo surgery.
On 10th December 2024, between Mum's birthday and Dad's birthday, he underwent brain surgery. Surgeons were able to remove around 80% of the tumour, exceeding expectations, although because of the nature of glioblastoma it was impossible to remove everything. Professor Jenkinson later explained that the tumour had grown significantly even in the short period between scans.
It was a long day waiting for news, but when Dad eventually returned to the ward he was sitting up, talking and asking for food. Seeing him after everything he had been through felt remarkable. We were then able to spend Christmas together as a family, something we had feared might not happen.
Just as Dad was preparing to begin radiotherapy and chemotherapy, disaster struck. In January 2025, Mum woke up to find blood on his pillow. His surgical wound had become infected and he was rushed back to hospital. What initially appeared manageable quickly became much more serious as he deteriorated rapidly with severe infection symptoms.
Dad underwent emergency surgery and, because the infection had spread to the bone flap, surgeons were forced to remove part of his skull, and at that point we genuinely thought we might lose him.
What followed was seven weeks in hospital. Dad spent much of that time confined to bed receiving powerful antibiotics while doctors worked to bring the infection under control. During his stay, he suffered a fall, which affected his mobility, and later developed two pulmonary embolisms.
While Mum spent most weekdays by his bedside, Helga and I travelled to visit him every weekend so she could take some time at home. It was incredibly difficult for Mum to leave him, but we all knew she needed a break after everything she had been carrying for months. By the time Dad was discharged, he had been through far more than anyone could have anticipated.
Eventually, he was strong enough to begin treatment. Doctors adjusted the original plan because of everything he had endured, delaying radiotherapy to allow him time to recover. He began chemotherapy in March 2025, followed by radiotherapy in May, alongside further chemotherapy. Since then, he has continued receiving treatment and regular monitoring.
Today, life looks very different for Dad. He relies on a walker to get around and has never fully regained the strength he once had. The effects of the tumour, surgery and treatment have changed many aspects of his daily life, but he remains determined and stubbornly independent. Despite everything, he still finds ways to laugh and still has the same dry sense of humour that has always defined him.
Mum and Helga share much of his day-to-day care and support, ensuring he is never left alone for long. Helga has also played a huge role in helping him regain some of his independence, working alongside Mum to introduce adaptations around the home and support his rehabilitation.
Dad is also a proud grandad to Nicola and James, who have both been a huge source of motivation throughout his diagnosis. Nicola's experience working as a carer has helped the family navigate some of the challenges we've faced, while James started high school while Dad was undergoing treatment. Spending time with them gives Dad something positive to focus on and helps keep him determined to keep fighting.
One of the hardest things to come to terms with has been how little funding research into brain tumours receives compared with other cancers.
Before Dad's diagnosis, I had no idea how underfunded this disease was or how limited the treatment options remain for people diagnosed with glioblastoma. It feels impossible to accept that so many families are facing the same devastating reality while progress is restricted by a lack of investment in research.
That's why we've been determined to do something positive.
In November, my best friend and I organised a 24-hour Readathon at my home, streaming the event online and bringing together readers, authors and supporters from across the book community. Through raffles, auctions and donations, we raised £2,000 for Brain Tumour Research. Then, in March, my cousin Rachel and her husband James organised a fundraising basketball match, raising more than £1,000 with support from local businesses and the Mold Magic basketball community. Together, our fundraising efforts have raised more than £3,000, enough to fund a day’s research at the Brain Tumour Research Centres of Excellence.
Dad has always spent his life helping other people, so supporting Brain Tumour Research feels like the right way to honour him and help future families facing a diagnosis like ours. While we can't change what's happened to Dad, we hope that by sharing his story and raising awareness, we can help drive the research that one day leads to better treatments and, ultimately, a cure.
Naomi Glendinning
June 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 Jimmy’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.