Rob Stillman

Rob Stillman, 39, was a devoted husband, loving father and a natural people person who made everyone around him feel valued. He lived in Dorset with his wife Vicki, a teacher, and their two young children, John, aged four, and Imogen, aged seven, at the time of his diagnosis. 

In November 2022, Rob began experiencing subtle symptoms, initially a lack of sensation in his right hand, believing it to be related to a trapped nerve or a previous shoulder injury. What followed was a devastating and rapid journey that changed his families lives forever.

In early November 2022, Rob began to mention that something didn’t feel right. He said he felt like there was an elastic band around his wrist, an odd sensation in his hand. At first, we both assumed it was something minor, maybe a trapped nerve or related to a previous shoulder injury he’d had. 

I arranged for Rob to see our family friend Dave, who is an osteopath. Dave is not only an excellent osteopath but had previously experienced a significant brain haemorrhage himself and is very aware of neurological symptoms. After examining Rob, he couldn’t find a physical reason for what Rob was experiencing and advised us to book a GP appointment immediately, just to be safe. 

The GP sent Rob to Poole Hospital for further checks. At the time, it felt like they were simply being thorough. Rob was sent for a CT scan, and I went over to meet him, fully expecting us to be told everything was fine.  

When we were called into a room and saw both a doctor and a nurse waiting for us, I knew something was wrong. 

They told us Rob had a lesion on his brain. I remember trying to rationalise it. A lesion doesn’t necessarily mean a tumour, I thought. Maybe it was a knock to the head or a stroke. My mind didn’t go straight to cancer. They explained the lesion was place near the brain stem and the nurse explained to Rob that he couldn’t drive. They recommended an MRI and said he would be transferred to Southampton. 

That evening, we had plans to take our children, John, and Imogen, to a friend's house for a fireworks display. Rob decided to go to his mum’s, and I took the children as planned, we didn't want to disappoint them and we didn’t tell them anything at that point because we still didn’t understand the seriousness of what we were facing. 

At Southampton, the MRI confirmed it was a brain tumour. Even then, I clung to hope. My mindset was that we don’t jump to the worst.  

I told myself it could be benign, something Rob had lived with for years that had shifted. I wanted to stay optimistic for Rob and for our children. 

Because of the location of the tumour, it was considered inoperable, even surgery to do a biopsy was considered extremely high risk. In the time between the diagnosis and the biopsy, Rob deteriorated rapidly. What started as mild symptoms, turned into severe physical decline.  

He went from being able to function normally to struggling to get up from the sofa. His vision worsened, his mobility declined, and he couldn't cope with more than a few sentences before becoming confused or tired. 

Because of the location of the tumour, it was considered inoperable, even surgery to do a biopsy was considered extremely high risk. In the time between the diagnosis and the biopsy, Rob deteriorated rapidly. What started as mild symptoms, turned into severe physical decline.  

He went from being able to function normally to struggling to get up from the sofa. His vision worsened, his mobility declined, and he couldn't cope with more than a few sentences before becoming confused or tired. 

Due to some of the remaining, I wasn’t allowed to stay with Rob in the hospital. Leaving him there was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I burst into tears as I left. I was fortunate that Rob’s mum Linda had come to the hospital with me. She was so supportive and also incredibly upset herself. This was so hard for her too, she had lost her husband, Rob’s dad, to skin cancer in 1998, so she understood more than anyone.   

The biopsy took seven hours, the longest wait of my life. I wandered around, Christmas shopping just to distract myself. When I returned to the hospital, the doctors told me the biopsy itself had been successful, but Rob had developed hydrocephalus. Fluid had blocked the main cerebral fluid pathway, and it was the pressure from the fluid, not the tumour itself, causing many of his symptoms. 

I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. 

When Rob woke up, he couldn’t speak properly. The only words he could manage were, “I love you.” He stayed in the hospital overnight and I went home to the children. The next day, he went back into surgery to have a shunt fitted.  

When he came round, it felt like a miracle. He could talk again, his vision had improved, and he was eating. I felt like I had my husband back. 

Rob was sent home, and we waited for the biopsy results. We stayed positive. We tried to go out for walks and went on small family day trips to the beach, and I carried on working.  

When we eventually received the biopsy results, we were told Rob had a glioma. They predicted it was grade 4, but were not certain. The doctors kept stressing that the location was not good. We were referred to oncology in Poole. I remember standing outside the hospital afterwards in a complete haze, unable to even find the car. 

Oncology recommended chemotherapy and radiotherapy. They explained how harsh treatment could be, but we never asked how long Rob had. I didn’t want us living to a countdown. I just wanted us to live, to move forward with hope rather than fear. 

For a while, Rob improved. The chemotherapy seemed to be working. His vision remained the biggest challenge, and he could no longer go to the gym, play tennis l, which he loved. Noise and busy environments became overwhelming. Even car journeys could be too much. 

Rob had always been known in the family as ‘Rob Rob’, like the old TomTom sat-navs, because he had an incredible sense of direction. He could plan routes effortlessly and was always on an adventure. He loved trips to the Lake District and Cornwall. Losing that part of himself was devastating. 

The hardest moments were the ones involving the children. Rob struggled to attend John’s birthday because of the noise, and doing small things like going to watch their tennis lessons, and it was the small things that were most upsetting. He coped by sleeping, chatting quietly to his mum, his visits from his brothers and close friends and listening to me try to stay positive. 

Steroids caused Rob to gain weight, and although there were times when he improved and the dose reduced, he had to up the does again. 

By June doctors felt the chemotherapy treatment was working, although radiotherapy made Rob extremely tired. Later in the year, his condition began to worsen again. Scans showed changes, but it wasn’t clear whether it was tumour growth or swelling from the radiation treatment. By September and October, Rob deteriorated significantly. 

I reached a point where I knew we couldn’t do it alone anymore. We employed Sue, a former Macmillan nurse, to help care for Rob at home. Eventually, doctors referred us to the palliative care team and provided some equipment to support us in keeping him comfortable. 

As his condition declined, I knew hospice care was the kindest option, and I knew Rob wouldn't have wanted the children to manage this at home. On 9th October, Rob was moved to Forest Home Hospice, where he was cared for by the incredible palliative care team. Rob sadly passed away on 13th November, aged 39, surrounded by family. 

Rob was all about family. He was a true people person. If you were on his team, you felt like the most important person in the world. He always inspired people to be their best.