In May 2023, father of four Andy Hampton, 55, from Dorest, thought he was having a breakdown. Plagued by brain fog and an overwhelming sense of depression, he struggled to make sense of what was happening. Just weeks later, a sudden and severe headache sent him to A&E, where a scan revealed he had a glioblastoma. Andy underwent surgery, followed by radiotherapy and chemotherapy. He initially responded well to treatment, but in December 2024 Andy’s health began to deteriorate when two additional tumours were found.
Andy died on 6 May 2025 almost two years after his initial diagnosis. His wife and children are now raising funds in his memory through events such as Walk of Hope to support vital research into brain tumours.
Gemma, Andy’s wife, tells his story…
Andy and I had been married for nearly nine years, and he was dad to Finn, 26, Alisha, 23, from his previous marriage and our children Isabelle, five, and Henley, three. He was strong, active, and deeply devoted to our family. He was the type of person who couldn’t sit still, he was always cycling, swimming, or training for his next marathon. For over 20 years, he worked as a land agent, always driven and mentally sharp. That’s why what happened to him seemed so unthinkable.
Life seemed normal up until 2022, when our youngest, Henley, was born. I thought maybe we were just overwhelmed, having two young kids, the stress of going through IVF, starting a new job. I assumed it was all taking a toll but looking back, Andy was already showing signs.
He kept falling asleep during my labour with Henley. At the time, it felt like neglect or disinterest, but I now know it was more than depression and exhaustion. Andy began to forget things and started acting out of character. He put baby clothes on the wrong way, struggled to dress the children properly, and became noticeably slow and clumsy when driving.
At first, I thought it was male postnatal depression. But over time, the incidents increased and became harder to ignore.
Andy would do things that made no sense, such as forgetting birthdays, falling asleep constantly, and being disengaged from our family. On Isabelle’s birthday, he slept on and off the entire day. I kept telling myself it was stress, or mental health, or maybe even us drifting apart. I couldn’t make sense of it.
Andy’s brain fog wasn’t something I immediately recognised as medical. He began to struggle with basic tasks like changing nappies or unlocking doors.
Andy had been to the GP a couple of times who put it down to exhaustion and an infection. He was forgetful, confused, and inappropriately funny. Friends visiting during the King’s coronation weekend in May 2023 thought he was having a breakdown. We were grasping for answers.
We decided enough was enough and headed back to the GP. On the way, Andy got a crushing headache in the car and was physically sick. That was when we knew something was seriously wrong. His GP referred him to A&E at Dorset County Hospital. He spent eight hours there, disoriented, confused, and weak on his left side. I watched as he deteriorated before my eyes. Andy was admitted to the hospital and had a CT scan; while Andy was lying in bed, we overheard a doctor say that he thought it could be a brain tumour. Strangely, it was a relief because it was a possible explanation. Andy had started accusing me of drugging him and having an affair, which was the only way he could rationalise his delusions and confusion. He wasn't paranoid for no reason; his brain was under attack.
The doctors said they wanted to transfer Andy to Southampton General Hospital. It was scary, we had two young children and were unsure what was next or what the future held for us.
On 30 May 2023, Andy arrived at Southampton General where an MRI scan revealed the worst news. Andy was diagnosed with a grade 4 glioblastoma which was 7.5cm by 8.1cm. The initial prognosis of just three months to live was devastating. But because Andy was still functioning better than expected, despite everything, they decided to operate.
I was in shock, we were both speechless, they gave us leaflets but Andy didn't want to read them, he shut down.
Andy had debulking surgery on 31 May at Southampton General Hospital. The surgery was successful, and they removed 95% of the tumour. We were so pleased, feeling the worst was over and we could somehow get back to normal.
It was naïve of us to think that, because they had managed to remove so much of the tumour, Andy would be ok and live. We were dreadfully wrong.
For a short while after surgery, especially with the help of steroids, we saw glimpses of the old Andy. He was clear-headed and more present. We thought, naively, that maybe we had turned a corner.
But there were complications. He had facial seizures which led to a four-day readmission to Dorset County Hospital, and ultimately the loss of his driving licence which was heart-breaking for someone who loved his independence. Andy completed six weeks of radiotherapy and began chemotherapy. The radiotherapy staff became friends, and we clung to every bit of routine, treating each stage like a checklist to get through.
Then Andy developed a kidney infection during chemotherapy and had to be hospitalised at Dorset County Hospital again. Despite the fatigue and the emotional toll, he never gave up. But the treatment was brutal, and it wore him down. Eventually, by the six-month mark, we made the decision to stop treatment, not because we gave up, but because doctors said there was no evidence of any benefit to continue, and we wanted quality of life.
Andy’s decline was slow and painful. He lost words and he lost time. He became trapped in a body that functioned but a mind that didn’t.
Then Andy experienced silent seizures, where he looked like he was asleep when he wasn’t. Luckily a nurse was present when the first one happened but all they could do was monitor him.
When we got back home Andy had changed. He wasn’t the man I married, not because he didn’t love us anymore, but because his brain no longer allowed him to show it. We had gone through so much to have our kids via IVF. We were meant to be enjoying this stage of life, not watching him slip away.
Andy once woke the kids up at three in the morning thinking it was time for school. His awareness of time and place just disappeared.
We did the Walk of Hope in September 2023 and raised £650 for Brain Tumour Research. I also grew vegetables, cucumbers, onions and beans, and sold them to raise donations. It was a small act of purpose in the middle of so much pain.
Everything was ok for a while until Christmas 2024 when Andy started acting out of character again. Every day was different, and we couldn't work out what was wrong. His routine MRI at Dorset County Hospital in January 2025 showed his tumour was stable, but we knew something was wrong. Surgeons at Southampton General Hospital reviewed the scan and said Andy had fluid on his brain and he needed a shunt. They also said there were possible signs of damage from the radiotherapy.
It wasn't the news we had hoped for but knew that the surgery would help and we were thankful the tumour was stable.
Andy went into surgery again on 13 February 2025. After, he was able to talk and walk with a walking aid but he was very confused and had visions of a big red bus. He then went really quiet, and lost strength on the left side of his body, he just seemed to shut down. Andy was then transferred back to Dorset County Hospital with no paperwork or scans so the doctors there gave him a CT scan which showed a bleed on his brain which explained the weakness to the left side of his body.
Andy’s breathing became laboured. When tested, the doctors found blood clots in his lungs. This created a dilemma for the doctors, because of the bleed on Andy’s brain they had to be careful how they treated the blood clots.
Andy went on to have seizures, with one lasting three hours. He came around but was delusional and confused. Doctors increased Andy’s steroids to help with the seizures, and this seemed to bring the old Andy back.
When the doctor came to see me, I knew it wasn't good. By this point I was on high alert, suffering with anxiety and I was petrified. The doctor said that the damage they thought was from the radiotherapy was possibly two new tumours and told me Andy had two weeks to live. They wanted to do another MRI to be sure.
That is when my whole world crashed, I didn't know what to say or do, I just felt helpless.
Andy had another MRI and that is when they confirmed there were two new glioblastoma tumours on Andy’s brain. One on the front temporal and on the hypothalamus.
At this point for me it was about quality of life, I didn't want to subject Andy to chemotherapy again, it would have been unfair.
By this time, I was holding it together the best I could to be there for Andy, but I knew I was losing him.
Andy had another seizure, and it was then the doctors told me to tell everyone to say their goodbyes, it was the most dreadful time of my life, but surprisingly Andy seemed to pull through, for a short while.
Andy had one wish, and that was to see the younger two children, Isabelle and Henley ride their bikes.
Andy died on 6 May 2025, almost exactly two years after we noticed the first signs.
He leaves behind me, Gemma, and four children Finn, Alisha, Isabelle, and Henley.
If I could go back, I would have pushed harder, sooner. The signs were there: the headaches, the forgetfulness, the paranoia, the behavioural changes. All the signs led us to think it was depression and stress.
But brain tumours don’t always announce themselves loudly. They can disguise themselves as everyday struggles. They can mimic mental illness, grief, or burnout.
Andy was up and down, and that inconsistency made it harder to diagnose. Some days he seemed completely fine.
Glioblastoma is cruel, it gives and takes, flickering moments of hope before stealing more.
To anyone reading this: trust your gut and push for answers. Don't dismiss symptoms, and don’t let others dismiss them either. Glioblastomas hide and they're sometimes hard to detect. But early intervention could save months, maybe more.
Andy wasn’t just a patient. He was a husband, a father, a marathon runner, and a man who should still be here.
This story is for him, for our children., and for every family living through the shadow of a brain tumour.
This year I am doing the Walk of Hope again, because Andy can’t.
Gemma Hampton
July 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 touched by Andy’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.
