Tyrone, from Essex, was diagnosed with a glioblastoma in March 2024 after forgetting his way to work. He underwent an operation, radiotherapy and chemotherapy as part of the NHS standard of care before travelling to Germany for immunotherapy. Despite treatment, Tyrone’s cancer was too aggressive, and he died aged 44, leaving behind his wife Maria and their two young daughters.
Here is Tyrone’s story, as told by his wife, Maria…
The first major sign of anything wrong with Tyrone was in February 2024. He called me having forgot his way to the train station during his commute to work. It was a journey he took daily and so on the call I thought he was being silly and having a joke with me.
When I realised he was serious, I tried to direct him as he described what he could see around him. In the end, he loaded maps on his phone and made it into Canary Wharf in London where he worked at an investment bank. On his commute home, he had a similar problem, this time he struggled in recognising our house.
I encouraged him to book a GP appointment for the next day, right at the end of February. Once again, he became confused and couldn’t find the GP surgery in London. He made it to the appointment late and explained to the doctor the reason why he was late was the reason for the appointment – his vanishing geographical memory.
They referred him for an MRI scan for the beginning of March, with the earliest available date being on the 7th, but he felt like he couldn’t wait that long. He searched online and found a neurologist who could see him earlier and had an online video consultation. The neurologist thought Tyrone could have viral meningitis and that may have caused his episodes of confusion. As Tyrone was given what we thought was terrible news, he called me to the room so I could listen to the information in case he forgot anything that was said.
We were advised to go to A&E at The Royal London Hospital in Whitechapel. They gave Tyrone a head CT, followed by a full body scan. The results came back, there was a single large mass on his brain.
We never expected to get the news that he had a brain tumour.
Tyrone remained calm at the news of his mass. I thought about a family friend who had been through this exact diagnosis, attempting to reassure him that we were in the right place for medicine, he wasn’t alone and whatever it was we would deal with it.
The next day, the neurosurgeon came to see us and told us the tumour looked like a glioblastoma. They recommended skipping a biopsy and that the best course of action was a craniotomy so they could see what was going on and what the next steps should be.
It felt like we were on a rollercoaster. We were having interactions with so many different people at the hospital, it felt like a lot. I didn’t have time to react or do my own research into the disease, but the surgeon explained the procedure was straight forward and both Tyrone and I felt at ease.
Surgery took place on 12th March and around half of Tyrone’s large tumour was debulked. A week later, it was confirmed Tyrone’s brain tumour was a glioblastoma with an average survival time of 12-18 months. There were a lot of tears along with the feeling of being on a conveyor belt of appointment after appointment, being passed from person to person.
My sister-in-law, Nicole Walsh, was brilliant. She did a lot of research looking into other treatments, therapies and clinical trials outside of the NHS.
Immediately we made lifestyle changes and worked with a nutritionist to get Tyrone onto a keto diet, and we took a holistic approach to the disease with the support of a homeopath. Between implementing these changes, helping to manage the dozens of pills Tyrone needed to take daily, and being a mum to our two girls who were seven and nine, I had no time for anything else.
In early-April, Tyrone had combined radiotherapy and chemotherapy as part of the NHS treatment pathway. He managed to get through it ok – still fighting, still remaining strong, until a week later he was admitted back into hospital because he was leaking brain fluid and he had to have a second operation to relieve the pressure in his head. A week later he had his first seizure, and this set him back.
In the meantime, we’d found a clinic in Germany called Immune-Oncological Centre Cologne (IOZK). Alongside his NHS chemo, once a month, for six sessions, we travelled to the clinic where he had sessions of electro-hyperthermia, virotherapy and micronutrient and vitamin optimisation.
I had a lot of anxiety travelling to a new country with Tyrone. We weren’t travelling to go on holiday; the places we were going to weren’t the tourist hotspots you hear about.
We were going to try and prolong my husband’s life, and I had to deal with the emotion and logistics that came with that.
We faced challenges as Tyrone became sensitive to light and noise. After first booking flights, we never managed to take them and had to hire a car to drive from our home in Essex, 385 miles to Germany. We had to be careful that Tyrone didn’t become overstimulated for fear he would have a seizure and that would delay treatment. All the while, our children were at home with their Yiayia, my mum. It was hard to be away from them.
Despite our attempts at overseas treatment, Tyrone’s condition deteriorated. He kept having seizures and was suffering with neuro fatigue. He had lost some vision and was still often confused and forgot conversations not long after we’d had them.
In early November, he started getting migraines. A routine scan showed he had two new tumours, three in total. We were gutted. We’d been doing everything we were supposed to. We’d followed the NHS standard of care and tried holistic therapies and even travelled to a new country for innovative brain tumour treatment, but the cancer had progressed.
The oncologist said Tyrone could try another type of chemo, Lomustine but the side effects would be worse, the prognosis would remain the same and it would decrease his quality of life. What kind of option was that?
I kept coming back to the feeling of being passed from pillar to post and at the same time, having to advocate for Tyrone. When you’re going through something like this, you want one person to talk to about all the options, instead there were multiple people and teams in different locations.
It seems UK healthcare professionals are bound to the information they have available which isn’t enough. That comes down to the lack of investment in research into brain tumours, which is preventing pioneering treatments being made available where we live.
We were already in the system with the IOZK clinic and knew that Tyrone had the option of an immunotherapy called IO-VAC®. It’s a personalised vaccine which activates the patient’s own immune system to fight cancer cells.
Tyrone had his first and only vaccine at the beginning of December. When we came home, Tyrone was doing well, all things considered, until three days after Christmas Day. He got out of bed to use the bathroom and on his way back had a fall. What we hadn’t realised is that Tyrone had developed inattentional blindness of the right side of his body. He couldn’t see body parts on this side and forgot they were there, and he ended up twisting his ankle.
Tyrone went back to A&E at the Royal London and an MRI scan showed the tumour in his brain had grown and progressed to his spine. We were told there was nothing more that doctors could do for Tyrone. They gave him four weeks to live and told us he needed to decide where he wanted to die.
I was upset and felt cheated. The average prognosis for someone with the same type of tumour as Tyrone was more than a year and we weren’t yet at that timeframe. It was hard to accept because Tyrone was so optimistic throughout his diagnosis and because he had that mindset, I did too.
He never made it home from hospital and the girls visited him on the ward with my mum.
He had a seizure one night and never regained consciousness. Tyrone died on 24th January 2025.
I followed a lot of groups and accounts on social media, sometimes seeing stories about medical breakthroughs and the latest research which left me feeling frustrated because it was too late for Tyrone. Glioblastoma patients don’t have the luxury of time.
Novel and kinder treatments for brain tumour patients need to be prioritised. Currently, it feels like a postcode lottery which means you aren’t given a choice: if you meet strict criteria, it then depends on geography and how much money you have.
I wanted to encourage the girls to remember their dad, and their school is going to be fundraising for Brain Tumour Research when they go back in September. At the end of September, the three of us are taking part in the London Walk of Hope. As well as being something we can do as a family, it’s a way to create awareness of brain tumours and be part of a community trying to find a solution to keep families together.
Maria Lobban
September 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 Tyrone’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.
