When Lisa Connell, 28, was diagnosed with a brain tumour, she assumed it'd be treated and she'd get better. But it wasn't that simple, and she had to make the biggest decision of her life
'Sitting in the doctor's office waiting for the results of my brain scan, I really hoped they would put my mind at rest, as I'd been having trouble with my eyes for weeks. But the doctor looked grim. "I'm sorry Lisa, it’s bad news, "The MRI scan shows a brain tumour. We don't know how long you have left - it could be years, months, or just weeks."
My world came crashing down. How? Why? The doctor explained the tumour was in such a difficult place, it was inoperable. I burst into tears. I'd come on my own as I wasn't expecting bad news. Sobbing, I stumbled into the toilets and called my dad. He had to try and take my news in and calm me down at the same time. Then I phoned my boyfriend Paul*, 28. Devastated, he rushed to hospital and took me to my mum's house in north London. We'd only been together four months, but he vowed to stick by me. "I'm here for you," he said. "We'll get through this".
A few months earlier, life had been brilliant. I'd just returned home from travelling around Thailand and hoped to continue my career as a property manger. But then I developed a painful ear infection. I began getting dizzy spells and feeling sick. Then, driving down the motorway one day, my eyesight went blurry for a few seconds. When I got home I booked in to see an optician.
Thankfully, I was told I just had double vision an
d was prescribed special glasses. But they didn't help, so I was referred to Moorfields Eye Hospital in London. "It looks like your eye muscles are weakening," the eye doctor said. "We'll do a brain scan to rule anything else out".
The hours following my diagnosis, in August 2006, became a blur. I sat on Mum's sofa, shocked to the core, while she cried next to me.
It was so unfair. I was a confident, happy young woman with everything to live for. The days and weeks that followed were hard. I was bewildered I didn't know what to think or what to do. My mind crept into the darkest places. I couldn't get suicide out of my head. "My life's over," I thought. The only thing that stopped me was thinking how my family would cope. I couldn't do that to them.
My family was determined never to give up hope and Dad paid for a second opinion - then a third, fourth and fifth. One said they could operate, but there was a 50 per cent chance I'd be left with brain damage and paralysis. Doctors explained that if my walnut-sized tumour, called Meningioma, had been anywhere else, it could have been cut off. But its location in the centre of my brain made it too dangerous. I faced a huge dilemma - stay as I was and die, or be treated and risk being left significantly worse off. "Please have the operation," mum begged. "You can live with me afterwards, I'll look after you."
The doctor gave me a few days to think about it. But it seemed to me the risks were too great. Even at my most ill, my quality of was higher than it could be if the operation went wrong. I couldn't think of anything else - die, or try to be saved and take the risk I'd be left in a vegetative state. It was a difficult decision, but in the end I had to think of myself. A few days later I told my parents I'd rather pass away as I was meant to, rather than prolong my life not being able to walk or talk. It was hard. Mum started crying, but my family backed my decision.
Weeks after the diagnosis, I got worse. My coordination was off and I kept collapsing. There was no way I could work, so I stayed around the flat all day. I had to crawl when I wanted the toilet or needed food from the kitchen. I broke the news to friends one y one when they visited, but it was almost like I as recounting a story rather than living it myself.
Paul tr3eid to help my stay upbeat, but cracks in our relationship began to show. He seemed to be struggling to cope, and we split a month after my diagnosis. "I can’t' be here for you as much as you need me to be," he said It was really hard to hear, but I agreed. I needed someone who wouldn’t be scared by my death. But I wondere3d: "If Paul feels like that, how will other guys feel?"
I don't know what I would've done without my family and friends. I was inspired by one of Dad's mates. He had been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumour 10 years before. Despite being given six months to live, he boosted his strength and coordination at the gym and is still alive now. Dad booked me a session with a personal trainer - it was just the focus I needed. Within a month, I was walking properly again - the stronger my body, the lesser the symptoms.
I started running and did the British 10k London Run in July.
Feeling happier and stronger, I've started going out with m
y mates again. But it's still tough getting on with my life with such an uncertain future. Doctors don’t know when my end will be - a few weeks or a few years. I go for regular check-up's so it's just a matter of waiting and watching. But that makes it harder, because I'm watching my every progress to see if I'm getting worse.
But I refuse to wait for my death. So, I've decided to do something positive and raise money for Brain Tumour UK. I've created a MySpace page and I'm auctioning dates on the internet. I've written: "I have an incurable brain tumour and I'm looking for people to make charitable bids to take me out for the evening." It's been good to occupy my mind.
Now, my friends make plans for the future - the same plans I had for marriage and children - but I can't, and some days I can't stop crying. But who knows what will happen? A pioneering new treatment might save the day. Whatever the outcome, for the moment, I feel life's for living'.
To contact Lisa for a charity date visit www.rentadateforcharity.com or for more information about her condition, visit www.braintumouruk.org.uk.
Words: Olivia Holcombe Photos: Anastasia Taylor-Lind & Claire Brand Hair & Make-up: Firyal Arneil Location: www.zownirlocations.com *Name has been changed
