Lauren, 29, a cardiac physiologist from Cardiff, was diagnosed with an oligodendroglioma in September 2025 after years of unexplained symptoms that were repeatedly attributed to other health conditions. Lauren is now sharing her experience to raise awareness of brain tumours and the urgent need for better treatment options and research.
Lauren tells her story…
In hindsight, I can see the symptoms, but they didn’t seem like brain tumour symptoms at the time. I didn’t have seizures. For me, it was emotional dysregulation. I was constantly up and down.
I went to the GP crying because I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t explain it.
In 2023, I went to Paris with friends. We were in a bar when I blacked out for about two minutes. My friends said it looked like I’d had a seizure. I went to hospital in Paris and was told it was a seizure. We were flying home that day, so I returned to the UK.
When I got back, doctors diagnosed me with Wolff-Parkinson-White syndrome, a congenital heart condition. From that point on, everything focused on my heart. I was admitted to a cardiac ward and my brain was completely bypassed.
I’d also suffered from severe gut issues for six years, with extreme sickness. I had an intolerance test just a month before my diagnosis, which came back negative. I felt completely disheartened because I knew something was wrong, but neither I nor my doctor could work it out.
Because there isn’t enough consistent data to spot brain tumours early, symptoms like mine seem to be easily dismissed.
My health kept getting worse and nothing was making sense. I kept going back to the doctor, but there were no answers.
Then one day, my now-fiancé Zac and I were travelling home from London. A suitcase fell on my head and I passed out. I had to be taken off the train.
We managed to get back to Cardiff, where I had a CT scan that came back as “okay”. Two days later, I received a call from Swindon Hospital. A consultant had reviewed the scan again and said they’d found a shadow.
Because I work in a hospital, I knew instantly. I was in shock. I called Zac and completely broke down.
Suddenly, everything made sense. All the gut problems, the emotional changes, the unexplained symptoms: I knew I had a brain tumour. Had that accident never happened, I don’t know when it would have been found.
Luckily, because I work in healthcare, I was able to get an MRI within a week, and the results came back the following week showing a mass. At first, I thought it was benign. I can’t imagine what it’s like for people waiting months for appointments and results. Two weeks later, I had another MRI with contrast.
It was overwhelming, so I took time off work. I still didn’t think it was brain cancer.
During a consultation with a neurosurgeon, I was told that I had an infiltrative and incurable brain tumour, and I could be looking at as little as two years to live, depending on the tumour grade. I was told that if it were grade 2, I might have five to 10 years to live.
I was horrified. At 29, I was facing the reality that I might not live beyond my early thirties.
I couldn’t process it. It was devastating for my fiancé too families are impacted just as deeply, and they feel completely helpless.
I was also told I had a large cyst on my brain. I was scared and shocked. Then I was told I’d have to wait four months for surgery, despite the risks of losing my sight, mobility, hearing, speech, or even my life.
After being told I might only have two to three years to live, the idea of waiting four months was unbearable. Luckily, my partner had private healthcare and added me to it, and my stepdad encouraged us to seek a private consultation. Within a week, we met a specialist consultant in London, and it felt like a weight had been lifted. Before that appointment, I wasn’t eating and was extremely ill with worry.
We decided to go private, and on 31st October 2025, I had a six-hour awake craniotomy at a private clinic in London. Surgeons were able to remove 80% of the tumour.
Before surgery, I wasn’t scared. I just wanted the tumour out and to focus on recovery.
Afterwards, I couldn’t remember much. I couldn’t speak and didn’t even know how to unlock my phone. Slowly, my memory and speech returned. I still can’t read or write properly and I’m undergoing rehabilitation. I still search for words during conversation and get headaches, but things are improving.
I feel deeply for people who can’t access quicker treatment or advanced options. More funding is desperately needed. We assume the NHS will always be there, but when it comes to brain tumours, the system is under huge strain, and support and knowledge are limited.
I now have MRI scans every three months to monitor the tumour. Zac and I are getting married soon and hope to start a family at 29, I’m having to think about how my brain tumour treatment could impact my fertility. The treatment could affect my ability to have children, and pregnancy itself could stimulate tumour growth. Chemotherapy and radiotherapy also carry long-term fertility risks. It’s another source of anguish for people like me.
To anyone newly diagnosed, I would say, don’t give up hope. Treatments are improving, and with more research and funding, they will become available to everyone.
I’m doing my part by taking on the 10,000 Steps a Day in February challenge to raise vital funds for Brain Tumour Research. Brain tumours don’t discriminate; they can affect anyone, at any age.
Lauren Macpherson
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 Lauren’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
