ON THE COVER They said it was the menopause, but it was a brain tumour
Anne Murdy, 56, was worried her symptoms were hiding something more sinister – she was right
Rushing around the supermarket, I threw a few things into my basket, conscious of the time. It was August 2019, and in the usual week-night rush, I only had half an hour to grab something for dinner before I had to pick up my daughter, Star, 16, from her theatre class.
After paying for my shopping, I hurried across the car park with my carrier bags, but as I reached for my keys, I lost my footing and hit the ground with a thud.
‘Are you OK?’ came a voice from beside me. Unsure of what had happened, I put my hand to my face and felt blood pouring from my nose and mouth.
‘I must have tripped,’ I muttered in shock. I looked around, but there was nothing to trip me up, so I couldn’t understand why I’d taken such a bad fall.
Embarrassed, I stumbled to my feet as supermarket staff gathered around and helped clean me up. Back home, I felt silly as I relayed what had happened to my husband John, 62. ‘I really don’t know how I fell,’ I said, still confused.
I’d recently returned to a full-time career in nursing, having worked part-time for over a decade, so I put it down to exhaustion.
I’d forgotten how tiring long shifts could be and, admittedly, I hadn’t been feeling myself recently. I’d noticed that my voice had turned husky. I also kept forgetting words and I’d get emotional over the silliest things.
‘Are you crying?’ Star laughed when she caught me sobbing at the Bisto advert on TV. I knew it was ridiculous, but once the tears started, I just couldn’t stop.
RUSHED TO HOSPITAL
I thought I was just overworked and tired. But as the weeks went on, I was constantly bumping into things, and a week before Christmas, I had another fall. This time, I banged my head badly on the kitchen counter, grazing my scalp. I was rushed to A&E, and as my cut was cleaned up, I started to worry that something wasn’t right. I’d never been a clumsy person, so two bad falls in just a few months wasn’t like me at all. In January 2020, I made an appointment with my GP to discuss my symptoms. I sobbed as I explained how I’d been feeling clumsy, forgetful and fatigued. ‘It’s the menopause,’ the doctor said matter-of-factly. My periods had stopped a year earlier, and I remembered having hot flushes at the time, but it hadn’t occurred to me it could all be connected. I was prescribed antidepressants, and I was thankful when the crying stopped almost straight away. It was a relief to feel
‘INSTINCT TOLD ME IT WAS MORE SERIOUS’
emotionally stable again, but although I tried to accept the diagnosis, my nurse’s instinct told me something more serious was going on.
A few weeks later, I made another appointment, and this time, the doctor noticed my eye was flickering more than it should be. I was referred for an MRI scan, and when I was called in for the results the following week, I took John with me. I just knew it was bad news.
‘You have a brain tumour,’ the neurologist said. I felt stunned as he explained a large, golf-ball sized meningioma tumour had been growing close to my brain stem for years. It had slowly been applying more pressure.
It was terrifying to hear, but part of me was relieved to have a diagnosis.
I was told surgery would be difficult. The tumour wasn’t cancerous, but there was a 10% chance I wouldn’t make it through the op, or I could be left brain damaged. But by doing nothing, the tumour would continue to grow and I would be wheelchairbound within the next few years, before it turned fatal.
‘Just get it out,’ I said, determined not to let this beat me. Breaking the news to Star was difficult, but her strength amazed me. ‘Let’s call your tumour Malcolm,’ she suggested. Humour was our coping mechanism and giving the tumour a name meant that we could discuss my illness without getting too emotional about it. She even wrote him a card welcoming him to the family, which really made me laugh. ‘You won’t be allowed to stay,’ she wrote. Her resilience gave me strength, and on 25 March 2020, I underwent 10 hours of brain surgery to have Malcolm removed.
Due to the coronavirus pandemic, the country had just gone into its first national lockdown, so no visitors were allowed on the ward. But when I awoke in Intensive Care, I was so relieved to find the operation had been a success.
IN RECOVERY
The surgeon explained that although it had been too difficult to remove Malcolm completely, he’d got enough of the tumour to alleviate the risk and ease the pressure.
He told me that the tumour had been pressing on parts of the brain that controlled my balance and things like crying – the reason the antidepressants had worked was because they’d stimulated a chemical reaction.
Recovery was difficult and I had to relearn tasks such as making a cup of tea and climbing the stairs before I could be discharged, but after 10 days, I was allowed home.
John was on furlough from his job with the council, and Star was being homeschooled, so I felt grateful that lockdown had given us precious family time together.
It meant we could sit in the garden or curl up with a film, and I really believe having my family around me helped me feel more like myself again.
Now, although my balance is still slightly affected, my other symptoms have stopped, and while I suffer with a bit of facial numbness and double vision as a side effect of surgery, I feel so lucky to be here.
I need MRI scans every six months to monitor my tumour’s growth, but I’m hopeful we won’t see Malcolm again.
To think that what was put down to the menopause actually turned out to be a golf-ball sized tumour in my brain is terrifying. I’m lucky, though, that my instincts told me otherwise and that I listened. I just hope my story encourages others to listen to their bodies. Don’t be afraid to speak to your doctor or ask for a second opinion. It could save your life. ✽ Anne and her family are participating in the Jog 26 Miles in May Challenge for Brain Tumour Research. For more info, go to braintumourresearch.org