Hello, I’m Emma Blake. I was diagnosed with a grade two glioma in 2019. Since then, I’ve had surgery at the The Walton Centre, followed by radiotherapy and chemotherapy. Now I return every few months to the Clatterbridge Cancer Centre in Liverpool for MRI scans to keep track of everything.
Before my diagnosis, I started experiencing some very strange symptoms. I began hearing music in my head. I remember thinking, “Why are they playing this song on this ward?” It felt completely out of place—like something by Kanye West on a geriatric ward. It was a great song, but it wasn’t actually playing. It was just in my head. When people spoke to me, it looked as though they were saying the lyrics of the song. I had to step back and apologize before walking out into the corridor. As soon as I got outside, it stopped. I remember thinking, “What was that?”
You don’t really want to think something is wrong. I think a lot of people assume serious illness happens to someone else. I felt physically fine. I felt mentally fine. But that first night, that moment of realizing something wasn’t right, was the worst moment of my life. Knowing something was there but not knowing what it was or what it meant was terrifying.
The worst thing I did was Google it. That’s not what you should trust. The people to trust are the NHS, your consultants, and your doctors. They understand your individual case. They know what they’re looking at.
The day of my diagnosis was tough. It was one of those moments when you think, “This isn’t what should be happening to me,” but it is. The weeks after brain surgery were also difficult—adjusting to how you look, how you move, and sleeping most of the time. It was a hard period.
When I started radiotherapy at Clatterbridge, something really special happened. Each day, the team would ask me what music I wanted to listen to. At first, I didn’t know what to choose. Then we came up with an idea. Every day, I was given a piece of paper with three songs on it, chosen by a friend or family member. My dad organized it and asked people to send in their song choices. I didn’t look at the songs myself—I handed the paper straight to the team. They loved the idea. Once I was set up for treatment, they would play those songs for me. I knew who they were from, so it felt like I was receiving little messages from the people I love while I was lying there. It made radiotherapy feel almost like listening to the radio. It gave me something to look forward to. The team were so supportive, and they even told me later they’d suggested the idea to other patients.
There have been times when the clinic has been really busy and I’ve said, “I don’t want to take up too much of your time—just tell me my results.” But they always respond, “No, this is your time.” We talk about my results, and then sometimes about other things too. One of the consultants loves Star Wars, and my dog Gobi—who I jokingly call “Gobi-Wan Kenobi.” Spending a few minutes chatting about that makes such a difference. It makes you feel supported, like you’re not just another appointment in the system. They genuinely care about helping you feel well and get well.
If I could say anything to someone going through something similar, it would be this: it does get better. The not knowing at the beginning—what you have and how it will be treated—is terrifying. The first days, weeks, and even months can be very scary. But over time, it becomes part of your life. For me, it’s just there now. It doesn’t define every moment.
The support and treatment I receive from the NHS and the Clatterbridge Cancer Centre are constant, and I know things are going well. There are three words I’ve always loved—happy, healthy, and honest. When I was younger, I even thought about getting them tattooed. It sounds cheesy, but that’s exactly what this experience has given me.
They’ve helped me feel happy because of how supportive they are. They’ve been honest—not just telling me what they think I want to hear, but telling me the truth. And that honesty means when they say my results are good, I believe them. And they’re helping me stay healthy.
In a strange way, it really does come down to that: they’ve helped me feel happy, healthy, and honest.
Emma's story: My brain tumour story
Re: Emma's story: My brain tumour story
Emma, your strength and creativity—turning radiotherapy into shared musical moments—are truly inspiring. The care you’ve received at The Walton Centre and Clatterbridge Cancer Centre shows how compassion transforms treatment. Wishing you continued stability, support, and many more happy, healthy, honest days ahead.
