So if I was to be told at 18 that in a year you’ll be fighting cancer and your life will be at serious risk of losing your life, I would’ve laughed at you openly but how much of a dark reality this would soon become.

Following a few months of symptoms like headaches, vomiting, drowsiness and weakness in my legs I would eventually be brought to my local A and E, here I was told I’d need a ct scan. This scan would reveal that there was an apparent mass at the back of my brain, a ct scan isn’t thorough enough to diagnose a mass as anything so an ambulance transfer to hospital was the next step.

Here I would have an mri scan, these are longer scans and would also give a more detailed look at the mass. The night after the scan (it was revealed it was in fact a brain tumour and I would undergo surgery on Monday as the matter was extremely urgent.

I was left with a massive feeling of shell shock and not being able to comprehend the severity of what had been said. Surgery day came and I was still not coming to terms with what was happening, it wasn’t until the doors to theatre opened and I had to say goodbye to my distraught parents that it hit me how big of a deal this operation was, it was life or death.

What was supposed to be a three hour procedure lasted seven plus hours! Complications caused much caution and delay to the surgery but I would wake with my family around me.

I’d been hit with initial issues to my eyesight (my left eye had just about rolled in on itself), my eating capacity was damaged and working borderline crippled, all these side effects would continue to be worsened by resulting surgeries  and have had a lasting effect on me still to this day.

Due to results of a MRI scan, showing residual tumour, I’d have to have more surgery the Friday of that week. 

The tumour they’d originally removed had to be sent off and examined to see if it was as malignant or not (cancerous). Unfortunately, after a long week my neurosurgeon came to deliver the heartbreaking news that it was in fact malignant and I have cancer.

Terrified by the thought of more surgery, I tried my best to remain positive; this was something I was constantly praised for during my fight. The second surgery would was a success and such rest in hospital could happen.

All was good, given the extreme circumstances I was in but several symptoms I started having meant I’d be checked and it was clear I had an infection around the site of my first two surgeries. This tragically meant a third surgery on the brain, to assess this issue.

Because of where the tumour was, it was blocking the flow of brain fluid down my spine to be drained out in the stomach. This was a problem that still needed attention. It would mean I’d have a fourth surgery for a VP Shunt to control the flow of brain fluid to the spine. This is inside my body now and runs down to my stomach. Following this, I was able to return home but this was only restbite.

A couple of weeks at home and a sudden change in my condition meant I was rushed back into hospital and I would then need a fourth surgery to readjust the shunt, this would be the final surgery of my fight and the next stage would begin.

During my hospital stay I was introduced to my oncologist and she, like my neurosurgeon, was great at explaining in as nice a way as possible what was going to happen next. For me having a tumour that is rare in adults they don’t know exactly how to treat it so they would go the same path as how a child with this tumour would be treated: intensive 30 day radiotherapy and then potential intensive 4 type chemotherapy.

Radiotherapy was quite the experience, similar to scans I’d had just with the added element of harsh radiation to chip away at what was left of this tumour. I was greeted to many great side effects such as nausea, tiredness, hair loss and loss of taste.

This treatment would last over the Christmas period of 2019 ending on the 30th December. Despite swelling up like a balloon, from the steroids I was on, a following mri scan would show that the radiotherapy did its job but the lingering remains of tumour would leave me with my own decision of whether to take up the option of having chemotherapy or not, which I would choose to have despite being warned how powerful this would be on my body, I was just ready to do anything to beat this.

March 2020 would come around and still reeling from what radiotherapy had done, I’d begin my chemotherapy. The first couple of weeks were hard and very challenging for me both mentally and physically. The relief to this was I always had a parent here to comfort me.

Due to the restrictions that had to be put in place to do with the Coronavirus outbreak, I was left without anyone on the ward of me. This was terrifying on me mentally as well as my physical state declining I was fearing the worst at times. Luckily for me, my saving grace came in the form of amazing on ward staff and also my social worker from Clic Sargent and youth support coordinator from the Teenage Cancer Trust, two charities that I still hold so close to my heart. These people helped as a physical and mental crutch, almost, when I needed it most. They made what was an incredibly daunting time so much more streamlined and calmer.

Following a checkup scan, it was shown I was making great progress, which would give me to the needed confidence to push on with treatment. My side effects worsened and I was losing large amounts of weight and my lack of mobility left me being pushed around in a wheelchair a lot of the time.

But, as ever my glowing positivity would have me ploughing through this chemotherapy, something which others were in awe at. I never felt like I was acting a certain way but it was great that people were able to see that, even if I couldn’t.

I was supposed to have a fourth cycle but a discussion with my oncologist led to an agreement that, depending on the result of my scan, I would stop receiving treatment as chemotherapy was starting to beat loafs out of me.

A nervous wait ensued following the scan and on the 11th of September (a date I’d not forget) I would receive a call from my oncologist, my mother burst in the room saying son it’s Emma on the phone, I desperately snatched the phone and got to chatting and in no simpler terms she’d confirm that the chemotherapy had gotten rid of the tumour and I was TUMOUR FREE and I would require no further treatment. I erupted in tears, the emotions I’d kept in for months were let out like a New Year Eve’s display of fireworks! I really had gone through all that and still kept my smile, just not a lot of hair.

So now recovery, this is from September 2020 to the point of writing this in 2021. Now after getting through treatment, a new battle would emerge, the fight to get back to normal but what is ‘normal’? I was still under the ever changing Covid-19 restrictions but for me it was something I was used to and I was fully focused on regaining my identity back, being able to walk without thinking about it, eating a meal without feeling the need to grab my bucket, seeing things clearly without my glasses, going to the gym and work, just living my everyday life! 

I know changes will take years but I always want to do as much as I can to push the progress as fast as possible. I currently work part time at Sainsbury’s, a job I had pre cancer and also I am back at the gym but with a slightly different focus as recently I have decided to start training for the Great North Run 2022 where despite my poor mobility I will be running 13 miles for the Teenage Cancer Trust.

I’m so happy with and where I am now and incredibly grateful and humbled when I look back on my fight with cancer. I hope people can read my story and get the smallest of joy from it that means the world to me, thanks to everyone I’ve had around me during this without you then who knows the man I’d be now