Steve Taylor, a graphic designer from Somerset, was 57 when what began as an ordinary day turned into a life-changing medical emergency. After suffering a tonic-clonic seizure in July 2024, Steve was diagnosed with a glioblastoma brain tumour. Following a nine-hour craniotomy, radiotherapy and chemotherapy, Steve is now sharing his story to offer hope to others facing a brain tumour diagnosis and to raise awareness of the urgent need for more research funding.
Steve tells his story…
I remember the day perfectly because it was the day of the General Election in July 2024.
My wife Helen, who was 60 at the time, and I had walked down to the village hall near where we live in Somerset, close to Glastonbury, to cast our votes. Afterwards we decided to pop into the pub for lunch, just something standard and relaxed.
I started feeling strange while we were there. Helen said she didn’t feel comfortable with me walking home, so she went to get the car. While she was gone, I apparently stood up and said to somebody that I wasn’t feeling well.
The next thing I knew, I had completely collapsed face-first onto the floor and suffered a full tonic-clonic seizure.
I hit my head as I went down. It was terrifying for everyone around me.
Fortunately, there was a family nearby in the pub and their daughter had previously worked as a nurse. They immediately stepped in to help and have since become friends of ours. Somebody ran across the road to get the defibrillator because they thought I might have had a cardiac arrest.
The paramedics arrived very quickly and even the air ambulance attended. Meanwhile my wife came back to the pub and saw complete chaos unfolding. She genuinely thought I was dying.
I was stabilised and blue-lighted to Weston General Hospital. At first, they thought it might be viral meningitis or something neurological. I had lumbar punctures, blood tests and scans and then they carried out a CT scan which showed a mass on my brain.
You go from having lunch with your wife to suddenly being told there’s something on your brain. In a million years I never thought I’d hear those words.
With hindsight, there were probably symptoms earlier that year. Around February 2024, I’d been having dizzy spells and strange sensations, but I put it down to low blood sugar because I’d been dieting and not eating properly. It didn’t seem serious.
I’d still been driving, travelling and going on holiday without any issues, so it never crossed my mind that something major was happening.
The doctors initially thought it looked like a low-grade tumour, but after further MRI scans they realised there were more concerning features and I was referred to the specialist neurosurgery team at Southmead Hospital in Bristol.
The surgeon sat me down and said: “I’m afraid I think this is cancer.”
I’m quite a pragmatic person, so I’d prepared myself mentally for that possibility, but hearing it was still a huge shock.
They explained that glioblastoma is incurable and gave me options. Monitoring it or having surgery.
I said immediately that I wanted it out. At the time, I was 57 and I just wanted to give myself the best possible chance.
I underwent a craniotomy at Southmead Hospital on 20th September 2024. It was a nine-hour operation.
Before surgery they explained all the risks. Death, sight loss, hearing issues and neurological damage. Because the tumour was in my right temporal lobe, they said it was operable, which gave me some comfort.
I wrote Helen a letter before the surgery and left it in my hospital bag in case the worst happened.
We had all those difficult conversations no family ever wants to have. Finances, paperwork, practical arrangements. You suddenly realise how fragile life is.
I kissed my wife goodbye before surgery not knowing what would happen. When I woke up afterwards, they told me it had gone well. During the operation they removed a large section of tumour, then carried out another MRI while I was still in theatre before going back in to remove more.
I spent a couple of days in intensive care and around a week in hospital altogether.
Apart from some strange hallucinations afterwards, seeing shadows and figures in corners of rooms, I recovered remarkably well physically.
Then the histology results came back and confirmed it was a grade 4 glioblastoma.
That was another huge moment because suddenly it became very real.
After surgery I underwent six weeks of radiotherapy alongside daily chemotherapy at a private cancer clinic. I had radiotherapy five days a week and chemotherapy seven days a week.
The radiotherapy was gruelling. They clamp you into a mask attached to the table to keep your head perfectly still while they target the tumour area. It looks like something from a horror film.
But the staff were incredible. Seeing the same people every day made a huge difference and they became like friends.
After Christmas 2024, I started 12 cycles of chemotherapy tablets over 15 months. The fatigue was probably the hardest part. I was exhausted a lot of the time. Helen has been absolutely amazing throughout everything. The moment we were told it was incurable, she went into research mode.
She started looking into integrated therapies, nutrition, supplements and treatment protocols from around the world.
We even had tumour samples sent to specialists in San Diego for genetic analysis so we could look at personalised treatment approaches that aren’t available in the UK.
I now follow a strict health regime alongside conventional treatment. I take around 70 to 80 supplements and capsules a day, I’ve completely changed my diet and I’ve lost around four stone. I have also cut out refined sugar, processed foods and alcohol and focused on nutrition, sleep and exercise.
I can’t say for certain what helps and what doesn’t, but my attitude is: if something seems to be working, keep going.
One of the biggest changes has been losing my driving licence because of the seizure. That impacts my independence massively.
I also lost confidence for a while. I stopped playing golf because I worried about collapsing on the course and burdening other people. But eventually I realised I had to start living again and trust my medication.
I’m now back playing golf and trying to enjoy life as normally as possible. I have MRI scans every three months and, of course, scan anxiety is very real. You live from scan to scan.
But I consider myself fortunate in many ways. I’m not dealing with major neurological symptoms, speech problems or cognitive issues and I’m incredibly grateful for that.
When people hear ‘brain tumour’ they often think it’s immediately the end, but many people are living good, fulfilling lives with brain tumours.
That’s one of the reasons I wanted to share my story – because when I was diagnosed, I desperately searched for positive stories and hopeful experiences.
I want people receiving a diagnosis today to know there is still hope. Stay as positive as you can. Hope is incredibly powerful.
Yes, brain tumours are devastating and frightening, but mindset matters too. I truly believe trying to stay positive helps your body cope with trauma and treatment.
I’ve had a happy life, a career I enjoyed and wonderful family support around me, and I focus on gratitude every single day.
My niece’s husband Nathan recently took on the AJ Bell half marathon in Bristol to raise awareness and funds for Brain Tumour Research.
Nathan is an amazing man. He works incredibly hard, he’s a wonderful father and despite everything else going on in life, he still found the time to train and run a half marathon to raise awareness of this awful disease. That means the world to me.
Research into brain tumours remains desperately underfunded and awareness is so important. Anything that helps people understand the reality of this disease and supports better treatments in the future matters enormously.
Steve Taylor
May 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 Steve’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.
