David Webber
Loving father David Webber was diagnosed with a diffused astrocytoma in 2019 after suffering from dizzy spells and headaches. Over his three-year battle with the disease David endured severe seizures whilst his personality changed drastically. He underwent surgery and chemotherapy before passing away in 2022, two months before his 50th birthday.
Here is David’s story, as told by his daughter Abigail...
My dad was smart, kind, funny, everything you could possibly wish for in a dad. He was so hardworking his whole life and was always so proud of everything he had accomplished. Dad grew up in Croydon, London, and moved to Torbay when he was 14. He was a fully trained carpenter and ran many of his own businesses, a carpentry business, double glazing company with trade counter and a scaffold firm.
He was very well thought of man in Brixham. His personality was larger than life, and he always had to be the loudest person in the room, but everyone loved him. He was a huge character at Brixham Rugby Club, where we spent a lot of time. We have and always will be a very rugby-oriented family.
Our father-daughter relationship was inseparable, we did everything together. If ever I needed a lift, he would be there, he drove me to Exeter for my college rugby trials and was always the most supportive.
“There are no better words to describe him other than the best. He gave us the best childhood imaginable, and I could never have wished for anyone better.”
The first symptoms before his diagnosis were headaches and dizzy spells that he described as outer body experiences. He went to see the doctor and was told he had to stop driving.
Getting a diagnosis was a long process. He went to the doctors in March 2019, and was diagnosed in early June 2019, however they couldn’t tell us the extent of the brain tumour. All we knew was that it was a diffused astrocytoma, which was over a quarter of his brain, meaning it was classed as extensive. In July, he began to have tonic-clonic seizures, where his arms and legs could jerk violently. He then went for surgery in November 2019.
“He recovered well from the surgery but, unfortunately, he was never the same. He was a very clever, hands-on man, but the surgery took that away from him.”
The first year after the surgery Dad was still working for his scaffold firm, doing as much as he could. Things were looking hopeful; he made a couple of mistakes but doesn’t everyone?
There were big personality changes, he became aggressive towards us sometimes, he had a very short temper and could never be reasoned with, no matter how bizarre the situation was. His tastebuds changed, and he started eating the most random food combinations, for example, pasta with mint sauce and scrambled egg on top! Before he had always been very well dressed, clean shaven and looked after himself, but it was a fight just to get him to have a shave, or a haircut, he had lost all his self-sufficiency.
He began chemotherapy in January 2021 and did 10 months of it. He had no symptoms from the chemo and responded well. We believed some of the mood changes were caused by the steroids he was taking with the chemo.
We took every day as it came as we could never predict what he would do next. He was suffering with focal seizures, which affects only one side of your brain and body. He could have more than 100 a day, ranging from 30 seconds to 10 minutes at a time. It was scary but we got through it.
“At the beginning of 2022, we could see things had changed. He wasn’t coping with his business, he was confused about almost everything, his mobility and coordination declined, and even the ability to hold a stable conversation was out of the picture.”
The only way to describe it is severe dementia or toddler-like behaviour.
In February, he had a check-up scan, we knew something was wrong, but they told us everything was fine. As the months went on, the motor skills continued to decline even to the point where we had to almost force him to eat or drink anything. He went from eating everything and forgetting he had eaten, to not eating at all and trying to tell us he had eaten already. By this point there was one of us with him 24/7 as he couldn’t be left unsupervised. Unfortunately he could not even shower himself as his brain just couldn’t comprehend what to do.
In June 2022, we had another check-up scan, and the results showed a new area of tumour; a growing grade 4 on the hypothalamus. The hypothalamus regulates the body temperature, controls when you are hungry and thirsty, and everything else really. By this point the motor skills had gone, he couldn’t synchronise his body with his brain so he couldn’t walk unaided and needed constant assistance.
“After this he was given a prognosis for the first time, of just 18 months.”
By this point, we noticed further decline almost every day, to the point of using a wheelchair, mobility aids in the bathroom, and continence issues.
By September, the amount we had seen Dad decline was heartbreaking as there was no way we could see him like this for 18 months. He wouldn’t drink or eat, it was like trying to get blood from a stone.
So, Mum requested another scan.
He had the scan within days, early September 2022, to find that the new area of grade 4 tumour had doubled since June. It also showed necrotic cells developing from the inside spreading out. We knew this meant he didn’t have long. We had no idea how long we had left, but we knew he wouldn’t make it to Christmas.
September was a difficult month, he always needed full care and every day was worse than the one before. Mum and Dad’s bedroom was upstairs, and while he had been managing the stairs okay, there was one day where he just couldn’t remember or comprehend why he had to go down the stairs. He was frightened, and we had to get him to sit and bum shuffle down them which took hours. From this point Rowcroft Hospice in Torquay were already heavily involved and had a hospital bed delivered and assembled that same day.
On 1 October, he took a massive turn for the worst, he was sick all day, and couldn’t mobilise himself anymore. He spent that night in the recliner chair as he was a dead weight, and we couldn’t move him. Luckily, we had a hospital bed delivered the week before, so we were prepared for the worst. Me, Mum, and another member of the family had to physically lift him into a wheelchair, and then over to his bed in the lounge.
Whilst all of this was going on, Dad was still awake and talking to us, making jokes like he usually would, completely oblivious to the situation.
We were lucky in that sense, although we were going through hell, he was always positive and clueless about it all, as I believe if he had his marbles and knew, it would have been a much worse situation for us to cope with.
“He didn’t even know he was poorly, even in the last week.”
Once we got him into the hospital bed, that’s where he stayed. We had people from the hospice there whenever we needed them, and they let me lead his care, which was a huge honour. I’m a healthcare assistant and take pride in my work, and I had always said if the time ever came, I wouldn’t be able to care for my dad, it would be too difficult, but when the time came, I wouldn’t have had anyone else do it, it had to be me.
We had a night sitter every night and they were all amazing. He had a syringe driver fitted on the 3 October; because I knew what that meant I was very reluctant, but it was what was best for him as he wouldn’t take medication. The following day he had a second syringe driver fitted as he kept needing top-ups, the nurses couldn’t believe how much he needed, he had a very strong heart and would not stop the fight, even if he didn’t know he was fighting.
We stuck by him all the way through, just dreading leaving the room for more than a minute. Tuesday morning was the last time I saw his eyes open, and felt him squeeze my hand back, he was awake and smiling but he wasn’t able to communicate verbally. From then on, he was asleep, and we sat with him, petrified of leaving the room even more so now. He had horrific secretions, and it was heartbreaking hearing him suffer like that, we sat with him and played all his favourite music, because we knew he would be singing away in his head.
“In the early hours of 7 October, his breathing changed. He passed away peacefully and pain free, with all his most loved family members there around his bed.”
I will be taking part in the Brain Tumour Research Walk of Hope in Torpoint on 28 Se ptember because, although it is too late to help us, it is not too late to help any other family going through the same problem. More money means more research, which means potentially better treatment options.
The fact that only 1% of cancer research funds go to brain tumour research is unbelievable, because the brain is so complex and difficult to understand, surely that requires a huge amount of research.
Although brain tumours are not as common as other cancers, they are just as lethal.
Abigail Webber
August 2024
Brain tumours are indiscriminate; they can affect anyone at any age. What’s more, they kill more children and adults under the age of 40 than any other cancer... yet 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 David’s story, you may like to make a donation via or leave a gift in your will via www.braintumourresearch.org/legacy .Together we will find a cure.