The 8th of December 2020 is a day that I will never forget. It started off the same as any other normal day, but just one phone call turned our world upside down…

I’d received a phone call from a lady at Sheffield Children’s Hospital. When she informed me, it was about my son Jake and asked me if I could go somewhere quiet to talk, my heart stopped.

Only a few days previously, Jake was undergoing several tests and an MRI scan at Sheffield Children’s hospital after Jake's Mum, Katie, witnessed him black-out and collapse to the floor at home.

The lady continued…

“Jake’s Mum has asked me to phone you on her behalf, as she is unable to tell you the news that I am about to give to you herself.” Her tone was worryingly sympathetic, and my mind started racing.

“I am so sorry to tell you this, but your son Jake has a brain tumour.” Those words and that moment will remain with me forever.

As I sat alone in a quiet office room, I became inconsolable, unable to process those unbearable words. I was utterly petrified at the thought of what my 15-year-old boy was about to go through.

From that point things moved very quickly, and the very next day we were back in hospital to do another MRI scan. As Covid-19 was at its peak, we also had to deal with the upsetting fact that only one parent was allowed to be with Jake for the MRI scan. We made our way to the hospital; a million thoughts were swirling through my mind. Jake, at this point, was not aware of the diagnosis. (Myself and his Mum had agreed it was too soon to break this news to him. We decided the best thing to do was to wait until everything was made clear and the Doctors were able to give us a clear plan of action.)

As I sat with him in the waiting room, I pretended everything was fine. Trying to remain my usual jovial self to protect Jake from the situation - it was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. After the scan, I drove Jake back to his mum’s house in Sheffield. I gave him the same big hug that I always do; resisting the urge to squeeze him even tighter was unbelievably tough, but I didn’t want him to sense that anything was wrong. Letting go of him and saying goodbye was the last thing I wanted to do but stopped myself from crying until I reached my car and set off back to Ramsbottom, Bury. Tears were streaming down my face all the way home, as all the angst and sadness that I had managed to barricade inside all afternoon, came flooding out.

With the fantastic support of Jake’s Stepdad Chris, Jake’s mum found the strength to tell him once everything had been confirmed.

Jake called me immediately… “Dad, can you believe it, I have a brain tumour, how rubbish is that!” I couldn’t believe it, there wasn’t an ounce of fear in his voice. The positiveness and strength he demonstrated was unreal.

Two weeks before Christmas, Jake, his Mum, and I were called to see the Consultant Neurosurgeon. This was where we were shown the images of the tumour and they discussed with us how they were going to remove it. They told Jake all the risks involved in the surgery - which devastatingly included a risk to his life. They needed to act fast and they informed us that there was an opportunity to carry out the extensive, 7-hour operation on the 23rd of December. However, they explained that they thought the best date would be the first week of January instead so that Jake could enjoy Christmas first. It was at that point Jake, bravely interrupted the consultant and said, “No, I want the operation on the 23^rd. Christmas can wait! Let’s get this out!”

Silence descended on the room, as the consultant was astonished by the sheer determination and unbelievable courage of this teenage boy - a boy we are so lucky and proud to call our son.

The consultant smiled as he shook his head in disbelief, “Right then Jake, let’s do this!” I sat by my son’s side in complete awe and admiration. The strength Jake was showing was just staggering and truly inspirational.

The 23rd December 2020 will go down as the longest day in my life. Only his Mum was allowed at the hospital due to the Pandemic. I had to remain at home in Manchester, supported by my wife and Jake's Step mum Liz.

Jake phoned me at 7am on his way to the hospital. His operation was at 9am. Once again, he was so positive and cracking jokes. Naturally, like every parent would be, I was terrified, but I was not going to let Jake hear or know that!

Jake's operation lasted just under 7 hours, it felt like 7 years. As the hours went on, we sat desperately willing the phone to ring with news that all had gone well, and that Jake was out of theater. We finally got the phone call at 4pm, and to our relief they informed me that he was now recovering in the high dependency unit and was coming around and responding well. By 6pm he was sat up and on face-time talking to me, albeit high on medication, but still managing to smile.

Jake's mum spent the first night of his recovery by his hospital bedside. We swapped on Christmas Eve, and I stayed by his side and stayed there until Christmas Day morning. His Mum joined us later that morning (An exception to the Covid rule because it was Christmas Day) and he managed to open a few presents, whilst Santa Claus made his way around the ward visiting all the other young poorly children.

The doctors were amazed by his recovery and by some miracle they allowed him home to be in his own bed on Christmas Day (prior to his surgery they said he would be in hospital for at least 5 days) The neurosurgeon said he was extremely confident that he managed to remove all of the tumour and stated the operation was a complete success!

12 weeks after the op came the all-important MRI scan to see if everything has heeled as we had all hoped, and to check that nothing had grown back. To say we were relieved that he’d been given the all clear was an understatement. He could now continue with his life and just needs to undergo scans every 12 months to monitor.

Sadly, not everyone is or has been as lucky as our son Jake…

My colleague Mark Stanney (Stan to all that know him) is only in his forties, married with four children and early 2020, he was diagnosed with four brain tumours and more recently a fifth has appeared. During this time, he has undergone the trauma of a full course of chemotherapy followed by multiple sessions of radiotherapy, along with numerous lengthy stays at the hospital. These treatments, whilst they may have stabilized his tumours, have undoubtedly taken their toll of his strength.

Throughout his ordeal, he continues to put his family first and not on one occasion has anyone heard him ever complain. Whenever you speak with him, he remains positive and cheerful and the first thing he will ask is ‘How are you keeping?’.

Stan is determined to come through this and his strength of character that he possesses is a shining example to us all, and it certainly makes me feel humble in his presence.

I am planning to run a 10k; followed by a Half Marathon then finally London Marathon in 2022 to play a small part in showing my support to Stan, his family, my inspirational son Jake, and to all those suffering with this terrible disease, to raise much needed funds for Brain Tumour Research UK.

Please donate as much or as little as possible. Your support will be truly appreciated at helping others. Thank you in advance!