Joe Eamer, a 37-year-old paramedic from Cirencester, Gloucestershire, has built his life around caring for others within the NHS. Originally from Gloucester, where his family still lives and works, Joe’s journey into healthcare reflects both dedication and resilience. However, long before his professional career was fully established, Joe faced a life-altering diagnosis that would test not only his physical strength but also his perspective on the healthcare system he now serves.
Joe tells his story…
I was born and grew up in Gloucester, and my family still lives and works there today. I later attended Worcester University, where I trained to become a paramedic, and I now work for an NHS Trust. My wife Emma is a teacher, and we’ve been together since 2008, marrying in 2017. We have two young children, a six-year-old boy and a four-year-old girl who keep us very busy.
Outside of work, I enjoy cooking, although I tend to make more mess than I intend to! I do enjoy making American style BBQ and so I am looking forward to the return of sunnier times. My work means that I miss many social occasions, and so I treasure the time I do have with my family more.
In August 2006, I started experiencing severe headaches and episodes of sickness that left me sleeping for most of the day.
I was diagnosed with migraines, and when things didn’t improve, it was suggested that stress might be the cause. I do remember laughing at the doctor when I was told this. After all, at 17, I had little to worry about.
Over time, I began to lose function on my left-hand side. It started with small things, like struggling to fasten buttons on my shirt, but I ignored it. I convinced myself I was overreacting. As the symptoms worsened, I was eventually referred for an emergency scan, but the earliest appointment was 12 weeks away.
My mum wasn’t happy with the wait and kept pushing the GP. Eventually, she took me to the Emergency Department at Gloucestershire Royal Hospital, cutting short a family holiday in Somerset. I was assessed by the ED team and I was given a CT scan.
I remember asking a junior doctor about the results. He became visibly nervous and wouldn’t tell me anything. He struggled to cannulate me, and blood ended up on the bed sheets before a senior nurse stepped in and took over. I remember the nurse shouting at the doctor for making a mess!
After a few hours, a consultant told me the scan had revealed a brain tumour. I was to be transferred immediately by ambulance for urgent surgery.
My mum wasn’t in the room when I was told, which upset her deeply, especially when I later told her she’d been “out of the loop,” something she still reminds me of.
The tumour was a 7.5 cm mass. Initially, the swelling on my brain was too severe for surgery, so I was given high doses of steroids to reduce inflammation. While this stabilised me, it caused significant weight gain, and I was reliant on a wheelchair due to paralysis on my left side.
I was transferred to a specialist team in Frenchay Hospital in Bristol. The hospital was an old World War 2 hospital which was falling apart. On days that it rained, the ward staff had to move beds and put out buckets. Even so, I have never been so confident in the team that was treating me. Every staff member was lovely and ensured that I was as comfortable as I could be throughout my treatment.
Back in 2006, staying connected wasn’t as easy as it is today. Hospital internet access was slow and expensive, and even watching TV cost money. Despite this, my family and friends regularly bought me £25 gift cards when they visited, which gave me 24hours of TV and internet access.
My mum came to see me every single day and made sure I was never alone for long. She organised other visitors in the evenings so she could rest.
The emotional support from everyone meant a great deal to me and made a difficult time far less isolating.
After two weeks, the swelling reduced enough for surgery to go ahead. My surgeon, Dr Nitin Patel, was incredibly kind and reassuring. I remember he always wore a suit when he came to speak to me, and my mum said if his surgery was as precise as his appearance, I’d be in safe hands. I had a craniotomy on 16th August 2006, where the vast majority of the tumour was removed, leaving approximately a millimetre where it meshed with brain tissue. The surgery lasted about five and a half hours before I was taken to recovery.
I spent a couple of days in hospital following my operation and was keen to get home as soon as possible. My follow-up appointments were positive, and I was relieved to learn that no further treatment was needed. Over the following 12 years, I was invited to regular MRI scans which provided my family and I with the confidence that nothing untoward was happening.
Throughout the years that followed, I researched what had happened to me, understanding, learning and coincidentally becoming less squeamish. In 2012, after several years of considering my options and balancing returning to university as a mature student, I decided that I wanted to join the ambulance service.
Working within the NHS now, I have a deep appreciation for the dedication of staff across all departments. From my experience, the biggest challenge wasn’t treatment, it was gaining access and being diagnosed.
Primary care and emergency services are under immense pressure and getting more than a brief GP consultation can be difficult. Looking back, earlier access to a more thorough assessment might have led to my diagnosis up to six months sooner.
However, once I was in the system, the care I received was exceptional. I owe my life to Dr Patel and the teams at Frenchay hospital whose professionalism and expertise undoubtedly saved my life.
But today, 20 years on, barriers to treating people with brain tumours still exist; particularly around funding, access to clinical trials and workforce pressures that impact the whole NHS. Addressing these issues would allow patients to benefit from innovation more quickly and fairly.
I was very lucky. Despite severe headaches and temporary paralysis, I have no lasting effects. I’m incredibly grateful for the care I received. Unfortunately, not everyone is as fortunate. Many patients I met during my time in hospital faced far more challenging outcomes and I met several patients during my time in Frenchay who were unable to go home to their families.
My brother Harry is running the TCS London Marathon for Brain Tumour Research to raise awareness and vital funds to help find a cure for brain tumours. We support Brain Tumour Research because it’s the only national charity focused on finding a cure for all types of brain tumours.
This is my story, and it continues to shape both how I see healthcare and how I care for my own patients today.
Joe Eamer
April 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 Joe’s story, or leave a gift in your will via www.braintumourresearch.org/legacy www.braintumourresearch.org/donate or leave a gift in your will via www.braintumourresearch.org/legacy
Together we will find a cure.
