Glioblastoma

I lost a schoolmate, known him since we were in Standard Two together, at the beginning of this year to glioblastoma. Now, I’ve just heard from another friend that he is going through the same ordeal, and he’s undergoing surgery in Taiwan today. News I find hard to fathom. The same rare, aggressive brain cancer striking two people I know in such a short span of time.

Glioblastoma (GBM) is not our garden-variety tumour. It’s the most common type of malignant brain tumour in adults, and also the most aggressive. It begins in those support cells in the brain that normally help keep everything running smoothly. Once they go rogue, they don’t just form a neat lump you can scoop out. GBM sends tendrils deep into healthy brain tissue, thus making the idea of a complete removal more of a wish than a reality.

There are two main types. Primary GBM appears out of nowhere and barrels ahead full-speed, while secondary GBM starts off as a slower, lower-grade tumour before mutating into the full-blown menace. Either way, the result is the same fast growth, sudden symptoms and an uphill battle.

The signs can come quickly. Persistent headaches that refuse to budge, seizures out of the blue, nausea, weakness or numbness on one side of the body, problems speaking or finding the right words, blurred or double vision, changes in mood or personality, memory issues, even balance problems. It all depends on which part of the brain is under siege.

Treatment revolves around surgeons, oncologists and radiologists. The first step is surgery to remove as much of the tumour as possible without causing more harm. But they can never get to all those invasive tendrils. Radiation follows to target the area where the tumour was. Then comes chemotherapy. But even with the best treatment, survival hovers around 15 to 20 months. My friend lasted 10 months after surgery. Some people beat the odds and live several years, but long-term survivors are rare.

There’s plenty of research going on with new drugs, immunotherapies, better surgical methods and genetic profiling to personalise treatments. But for now, the reality is harsh. So today, while my friend is in an operating theatre in Taiwan, I’m thinking about how fragile things are. How one ordinary day can suddenly turn into a fight for your life. And how unfair it feels when lightning strikes twice in your own circle of friends.