Callum's Dad's Story

Carl Davison was diagnosed with a low-grade meningioma after suffering a seizure in December 2020. The Sunderland born 64-year-old, who lives in Bromley, Kent, eventually underwent a craniotomy and returned home two days later. He is now being monitored with annual scans and prescribed medication to prevent further seizures.

Prior to being told I had a brain tumour I was leading a reasonably busy and active life. I am a 64-year-old male and had been working five days per week as a school caretaker having previously retired after serving over 30 years in the Metropolitan Police.

I was playing 2 rounds of golf most weekends and my wife and I are also foster carers.

I had not been suffering from any illnesses and had no symptoms that I had taken any notice of, but looking back afterwards I had been feeling tired during some afternoons which I assumed was down to my age and in August 2020 I had fallen from a ladder, about 12 feet to the ground and my head had hit the wooden decking which I landed on.

On 22nd December 2020 I had been to work and after dinner was sitting on the sofa watching television with Tom, one of our foster sons, when I had my first seizure. The first I was aware of it was when I came round on the floor on the other side of the room, fortunately Tom had alerted my wife and an Ambulance crew took me to Princess Royal hospital in Bromley where I had a CT scan and an MRI.

I stayed in hospital over Christmas to ensure anti-seizure medication had kicked in and until a doctor told me that I had a meningioma and that I would be contacted by Kings College Hospital who would ‘most likely take you in and whip it out’.

I guess because he had sounded so blasé about it I was not, initially, very worried as I didn’t know how serious it was and regarded it as just one of those things. Anyway, I didn’t get a chance to dwell on it because within two weeks I had covid and was admitted to hospital again and ended up in intensive care for three months.

I saw a neurology consultant at Kings College Hospital in June 2021, and he showed me my scans and explained the procedure of removing the tumour and the possible side effects. I think it was then that I did begin to worry and at first I asked for some time to speak with my family before deciding whether to go ahead with the surgery.

Of course it was a ‘no brainer’, excuse the pun, as the positives far outweighed the negatives. I had lots of tests to establish whether I had sufficiently recovered from covid, and my body was well enough to cope with surgery. I eventually went into Kings College Hospital the day before my operation in September 2021 and was discharged two days later.

My neurology specialist nurse rang me a couple of weeks later to tell me that a biopsy showed the tumour was a benign grade 1 meningioma which was the best news I could have wished for. I felt an immediate sense of relief like a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

The following 18 months however was really ‘up and down’ for me as I suffered bouts of severe depression and even entertained thoughts of suicide. I couldn’t work due to long covid, I couldn’t drive because I’d had a seizure and was constantly fatigued.

Medical specialists could not deduce whether this was due to brain surgery, long covid, medication or a mixture of the three and I was prescribed anti-depressants.

Since December 2023 I have been feeling considerably better, I’m still on anti-seizure medication and have an MRI every year which have been all clear. I spent time looking on websites of brain tumour charities where I found a lot of useful information and read other survivors’ stories which helped me realise that there are vast numbers of people with similar conditions out there, many of whom are far worse off than me.

Back in the game.

Callum’s Story

What I’d like to achieve by running 100km and finishing the Race to the Stones is, obviously, to raise some money for a great charity and hopefully help some other people who end up in a similar situation to my dad, but also to raise a bit of awareness about the difficulties faced post-surgery by people who have non-cancerous, benign brain tumours.

My Dad was very lucky that his tumour was found to be benign and I’m sure he’s very conscious of that. We all are. But, because he didn’t have cancer, and because his surgery to remove his tumour was successful, it seems to be the view that we should all just be grateful and move on. That we should just remember ‘it could have been a lot worse…’. But unfortunately, it’s not that straightforward.

As my dad has mentioned himself, since having his tumour removed and being given the all clear, he’s been on an everchanging cocktail of medications which have all come with their own interesting list of side effects. Ranging from strange rashes all the way to serious depression, as he described. He had to give up his driving license in case he had another seizure. He couldn’t play golf or have a beer with his mates, so he had no social life. He had to give up his job and sit at home every day (much to my mum’s annoyance). He had to give up all his freedom.

My dad has never been the type to complain. He just gets on with things. In his story he described in one sentence how he caught covid and ended up in intensive care. What he didn’t mention was that he was on a ventilator, in and out of induced comas throughout his three months stay at Kings.

While he was there, I was allowed to visit him on the ward once, in a gap between his comas. At that time, it was the height of the pandemic, so I knew they weren’t letting me in there just to keep him company. I didn’t expect to see him again after that.

My dad was told before each coma that, because of how bad his condition was, he probably wouldn’t wake up. Before the last coma, he was told to call my mum and say goodbye. But he did make it out. Before being told he had to go straight back in and have his tumour removed.

We all put on brave faces and told him it would be ok, and he headed back into Kings without complaining (almost). Two days later I drove to the hospital with my mum to pick him up. When we got there, instead of seeing him being wheeled out in a hospital gown like I expected, he marched out of the hospital like the terminator carrying a duffel bag, slowing down just briefly to ask where we parked the car.

Since having his tumour removed my dad has struggled on through depression but also the occasional, out of the blue seizure that lands him back in hospital. Fortunately, I’ve never been there to see one happen, but my mum always has, and naturally she assumes the worst at the time. Phone calls and messages start flying in to tell us what’s happened, and we all head to the hospital to make sure he’s ok, which each time he has been. But then he has to pick himself up and try to carry on as normal again. While the clock is reset on when he can get his driving license back…

For my family and I, I think part of the problem we’ve faced is that, because we all know how lucky we are that my dad didn’t have cancer, and that he didn’t die (and we really are lucky!), we’re all a bit reluctant to say how difficult it’s really been. We all know other people that have actually lost family and friends to covid or to cancer over the last few years. So we all feel guilty for complaining. Especially my dad.

My point is, that even if you or your family member is lucky enough to have a benign brain tumour, and not have cancer, it will probably still be the hardest thing you ever have to deal with. So you should ask for help if you need it. And you should be proud that you’ve kept moving forward, whatever the outcome.

I’ll be reminding myself of that at kilometre 99…

Brain tumours 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. This is unacceptable!

I am fundraising for Brain Tumour Research as they are the only national charity dedicated to funding long-term, sustainable research in the UK. Please help me fund the fight. Together we will find a cure.