Steve Turnbull, 63, from Letham near Forfar, was diagnosed with glioblastoma in summer 2024 after months of unusual symptoms, including strange smells and taste sensations, were misdiagnosed as migraines. It wasn’t until he experienced imbalance and slurred speech at his daughter’s wedding that a scan revealed a tennis ball-sized tumour. Steve went on to have surgery, radiotherapy and chemotherapy, supported throughout by his wife, Heather. Now, just over a year later, they are taking on the Dundee Kiltwalk to raise funds for Brain Tumour Research.
Steve tells his story, with support from his wife Heather…
Before my diagnosis, I lived an active and fulfilling life. I played football until I was 45, became a referee, and later took up walking football, which I hope to return to. I also performed as an amateur magician in care homes, something I loved but have had to pause. What I miss most is travel. Heather and I enjoyed exploring places like Egypt and Turkey, drawn to their history and culture. We had five holidays planned when I was diagnosed, all of which had to be cancelled. One day, we hope to pick that back up.
This all started just after New Year’s Day 2024 when we cooked dinner for Heather’s family. I was feeling fine until I tasted the gravy. Within moments, I was violently sick. That was the first time Heather had ever seen me unwell like that, and I remember it because it felt so out of character.
A few days later, I blew out a candle in the living room and was hit by a strange smell. Heather asked if I was okay, and I thought I was. But moments later, I was sick again.
That became the pattern: odd smells and tastes, often like candy floss, followed by vomiting or confusion.
The GP thought I was suffering from migraines and prescribed amitriptyline. It didn’t help. I also began having issues with my vision. Around this time, I was referred to gastroenterology, but they dismissed the referral. We just didn’t know what to make of it.
Things worsened during a very busy summer. I’d been having more headaches, and during a Foo Fighters concert at Hampden Park, I fell while rushing along the road. A few days later, at my daughter’s wedding on 18 June, I walked her down the aisle and gave a speech. But by the evening, I couldn’t keep my balance. My speech slurred, and the right side of my mouth started to droop. I don’t drink alcohol, so those who knew me understood immediately that something was very wrong.
We came home early and went to Ninewells Hospital in Dundee. Initial tests suggested I may have had a mini stroke, but everything kept coming back clear. I was sent home more than once, despite having severe headaches and worsening mobility.
Eventually, I had an MRI toward the end of June.
A staff member broke the news: there was a large mass, the size of a tennis ball, on my brain.
It was a complete shock.
Heather phoned her son and his fiancée, who is a nurse, and they came straight to the hospital. I stayed in overnight. By this point, I couldn’t walk unaided. Physios provided me with walking sticks and a Zimmer frame. The neurosurgery team booked us in for an appointment on 1 July.
We met a senior registrar who explained everything clearly and compassionately. I was given two options: do nothing and focus on comfort or go in for a craniotomy to remove as much of the tumour as possible and get a definitive diagnosis.
To me, it was a no-brainer.
I was started on steroids to reduce swelling, and they helped with my mobility. On 12 July, I underwent surgery. The tumour was too deep to remove completely, but they took a sample about the size of a table tennis ball. They were honest from the beginning. The goal wasn’t to cure me, it was to reduce the tumour, manage symptoms, and prolong stability.
The pathology confirmed I had a glioblastoma, the most aggressive type of brain tumour.
I was lucky to have no significant complications from the operation. My surgeon, Mo, was brilliant. He was from Sudan, and I remember surprising him with a thank-you in Arabic. It meant a lot to me to connect like that.
After the surgery, I underwent 30 sessions of radiotherapy alongside concurrent chemotherapy with temozolomide. It helped, but not as much as hoped. I then started a second-line chemotherapy (PCV), which I completed on 1 July 2025. At the time of writing, I’ve just had another MRI and will meet with my oncologist again to discuss next steps.
I’ve been fortunate. Apart from early headaches, I haven’t had the pain or sickness many others face. Fatigue has crept in more recently, and I’ve developed cataracts in both eyes, likely from the steroids.
Heather and I met in 2010 and married in 2016. She’s been my constant support, and I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her.
This summer marks one year since my surgery and a major milestone: I no longer need a Zimmerframe or walking sticks. So, Heather and I took on the Dundee Kiltwalk, a 4.5-mile route we chose because it’s achievable and meaningful.
We originally set a fundraising target of £1,000, but we’ve already raised more than £2,200 for Brain Tumour Research. Local businesses like Angus Optix and even my old cooking school have donated. Our GP did too. It’s been humbling.
Perhaps the most touching gesture came from my niece and nephew, Erin, 22, and Rhys, 18. They surprised us by signing up for the Edinburgh Marathon next year, raising funds for the charity in my name.
It means everything to know that others want to help. Brain tumours are so underfunded. Just 1% of national cancer research spending goes toward brain tumours, even though they’re the biggest cancer killer of children and adults under 40.
That needs to change.
If my story helps raise awareness, or encourages someone else to push for a scan when something doesn’t feel right, then it’s worth telling.
Even those early symptoms, like strange smells and sudden sickness, might make sense to someone else now.
I know this tumour isn’t going away. But we’re not giving up. I’ve told my oncologist I’d be willing to take part in clinical trials, travel for treatment, do whatever it takes. I just want to help. Not just myself, but others in the future.
Steve and Heather Turnbull
August 2025
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, donate 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.
