Scott Fielding, a 42-year-old truck driver from Cornwall, was diagnosed with a glioblastoma in 2015 after months of unexplained headaches, vision problems, and difficulty finding words. Despite two surgeries, chemotherapy, and radiotherapy, Scott sadly died on 2nd September 2016, just 18 months after his diagnosis.
Here is Scott’s story, as told by his mother and father, Diane and Nigel...
Diane says: Scott was always full of life, funny, kind, and hardworking. He loved music, cars, and gaming. In 2015, Scott was working long hours as a long-distance lorry driver. He’d call me every day, we were very close and always kept in touch.
It began with Scott saying he felt a bit “muzzy” in his head . I thought maybe it was just tiredness or perhaps a sinus issue from sitting in the truck all day. I told him to take more breaks, get some fresh air, and stretch his legs. But then he said, “Mum, I can’t always remember the word I want.” Even then, we never imagined it could be something more serious.
Nigel and I had just come back from holiday when we found out that Scott had been off work sick for two weeks. He didn’t want to worry us. He’d been feeling sick, his eyes were hurting, and his balance was off. These were all symptoms you could easily put down to eye strain, long-distance driving, or a cold.
Scott went to the GP three times, but they sent him home each time, thinking it was just a viral infection. By the Wednesday of that week, Scott went back again complaining of severe eye pain.
The doctor darkened the room, put drops in Scott’s eyes, and looked at them closely before saying, “You need to go to hospital right now.”
Scott phoned and said, “Mum, can you pick me up? They want me to go to hospital.” By the time we got to the Royal Cornwall Hospital, he was so poorly I had to put him in a wheelchair. Thankfully, the GP had called ahead, so they were expecting us. They did a CT scan and admitted him straight away.
When the registrar came in, he said there was a mass on Scott’s brain but they weren’t yet sure what it was. My heart sank.
Nigel and I tried to stay calm, but deep down, we both feared the worst. The doctor mentioned it could be a cyst or possibly fluid. I’ll never forget his face when Nigel said, “But it could be a tumour, couldn’t it?” The doctor paused and nodded gently. In that moment, everything changed.
The next day, I went with Scott’s now wife, Rebecca, and our daughter Jody to check in on him at the hospital. He’d just had an MRI scan and was waiting to be discharged when a doctor came by and, quite bluntly, said he’d looked at the scan and it was probably inoperable.
We were stunned. I remember feeling like we were floating in a bubble, unable to process it. I told Scott that it’s not written in stone, these things can change, because I didn’t want him to lose hope.
In June 2015, Scott was referred to Derriford Hospital to meet the neurosurgeon. That’s when they confirmed it, a glioblastoma, one of the most aggressive types of brain tumour. We were horrified and stunned.
The consultant said that without surgery, Scott might have only months to live, but with surgery, perhaps three or four years. We clung to that hope, even knowing the tumour would likely return. Scott had always been active, so it was difficult seeing him tired and unsteady, but he still tried to live life as normally as possible. Then one night, Rebecca called. Scott was acting strangely, smiling oddly and not making sense. We rushed over, and as soon as I saw him I immediately knew that something was seriously wrong.
We called the paramedics who suspected a stroke, but when Nigel helped Scott into the ambulance, Scott suddenly collapsed and had a full-blown tonic-clonic seizure. Scott was rushed back to the Royal Cornwall Hospital instead of Derriford because it was closer. But his behaviour changed. He became agitated, confused, and restless, sending constant messages to Rebecca. This was very out of character for Scott.
Nigel refused to leave his side, fearing Scott might discharge himself. Eventually, the hospital promised to keep someone with him overnight. The next day, they adjusted his medication, and he was calmer. Two days later, they transferred him by ambulance to Derriford for surgery.
The surgeons warned us of the risks of surgery. Paralysis, loss of speech, even death. But there were no real options, we had to try.
As Scott was being taken in for his pre-op, we all said goodbye, then Scott called me back for another hug. That moment broke me.
The surgery took seven agonising hours. We didn’t realise it would take so long and feared the worst. But when we saw him afterwards, he was sitting up, talking and even asking for food. Apart from the bandages, you wouldn’t have known he’d had brain surgery. The surgeons couldn’t remove all of the tumour because it was wrapped around a major blood vessel, but the relief we felt that he’d come through was enormous.
At Scott’s follow-up appointment, Rebecca asked the oncologist how long Scott had to live. The doctor said possibly 12 to 18 months. We were all numb with shock.
From then on we made every moment count. We took Scott on short breaks, to places he’d loved as a child. In October 2015, he married Rebecca in a beautiful ceremony surrounded by family. For a while, things felt almost normal again.
During that time Scott was undergoing chemotherapy and radiotherapy treatment, which he handled incredibly well. But the steroids caused weight gain, and fatigue set in. It was tough watching someone so young and strong decline. Financially, things were difficult, Scott couldn’t work. Scott’s disability benefits were repeatedly denied because there was no biopsy confirming his diagnosis, even though medical records clearly showed a terminal brain tumour. It was exhausting fighting the bureaucracy on top of everything else. But we pulled together as a family and supported them as much as we could.
Eventually, after writing to our MP, his disability benefits were approved, but it came far too late to ease their stress. Families need urgent financial support when illness strikes, there’s no time for bureaucracy when someone is dying.
By May 2016, Scott’s health had declined again. After another turn Scott went back to Cornwall and scan showed that he had a seizure but no new growth, so he was sent home.
Determined to give him joy, we all went on a short break to Cardiff. But Scott became agitated and confused. He refused to return home, and we had to call an ambulance. It took four paramedics and a doctor to sedate him safely before taking him to the University Hospital of Wales.
Scott was heavily sedated for three days, then transferred back to Cornwall by ambulance, where he seemed stable for a time. But the tumour had returned, and this time, it was more aggressive. Scott started a new round of chemo and radiotherapy, but scans revealed that a second tumour had developed. And then the doctors told us what no family wants to hear there was nothing more they could do.
By August 2016, Scott was very weak. Carers came twice daily, and a hospital bed was placed in the bedroom. I stayed with Rebecca to help care for Scott through the latter stages.
Scott was aware of what was happening, one day he said, “Mum, you shouldn’t have to do this.” I smiled and said, “When I’m older, you’ll do this for me.” We both laughed. Humour helped us survive the unbearable.
On 2nd September 2016, we had noticed that Scott’s mattress had gone down and we were awaiting someone from the palliative care team to pop in to fix it so Rebecca gave Scott a paracetamol which he took and we waited. A short time later his carer arrived and said to call the family and prepare for the worst.
I called my mum, sister and Nigel and told them to come immediately. Nigel had to collect our daughter Jody and her son and sadly they didn't make it in time.
Scott died on 22 September peacefully at home, surrounded by love.
Rebecca, Scott’s daughter Alex, and I were with him. Later, Nigel, Jody, and our grandsons came to say goodbye. We played his favourite music and sat with him for hours. That quiet moment meant everything.
Scott had been a passionate musician, inspired by Jimi Hendrix and his dad’s love of rock. He played guitar in local bands and had a deep love of cars, something he and Nigel shared.
Nigel said: We both loved online racing. When I bought a PlayStation, Scott got me into online racing. He was already part of the Grumpy British Racing Club, and he asked me to join I agreed under one condition, that no one knew I was his dad because I didn’t want to embarrass him if I was rubbish!
My online username was Cokebloke, a nod to my Coca-Cola collection, while Scott went by Rokemoke. For months, we raced together without anyone realising we were father and son, until one day, I won a race and Scott slipped up, shouting, “Well done, Dad!” The group paused in confusion, and Scott quickly corrected himself with, “Well done, Dadio!” Everyone was none the wiser.
When Scott became ill, I eventually revealed to the club that we were father and son. The gaming community became my saviour. They supported me when things were very dark.
After Scott’s death, Jason, the club’s founder, contacted me and asked if I would help design a new racing tournament. I chose the tracks and the Mazda MX-5, Scott’s favourite car and named it the Mazda MX-5 Trophy. Jason said that it wasn’t a fitting name and it should be called the Rokemoke Memorial Trophy Series in memory of Scott. The online tournament has now become an annual event running for four weeks, held in Scott’s memory.
This year, one player donated £150 to the tournament for charity, and we chose Brain Tumour Research. The club has since raised £600 in total, and I proudly placed third in this year’s tournament. We plan to expand the event next year in partnership with Brain Tumour Research.
Scott inspired all of this. We want to keep his memory alive and help fund vital research so that other families don’t have to go through what we did.
Brain tumours are indiscriminate. They don’t care who you are, and they tear families apart. There are more than 100 different types, and no two people experience them the same way. We need more research, more understanding, and more support for families, both medically and financially.
Even when things looked bleak, we never gave up hope. We lived in hope that a new treatment or trial would come along. Scott’s courage and humour got us through.
We’re proud of the legacy that Scott has left, through his wife Rebecca, his stepson Tyler and daughter Alex, both in our hearts and through the online racing community that now drives in his name.
Diane and Nigel Fielding
December 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 Scott’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.
