Latest news with #brainSurgery
Khaleej Times
08-07-2025
- Health
- Khaleej Times
Dubai: 68-year-old expat undergoes complex 9-hour brain surgery for rare tumour
A 68-year-old British expat in Dubai has successfully undergone a rare and complex nine-hour brain surgery to remove a life-threatening tumour that had invaded deep parts of his brain. The patient, who wished to remain anonymous, was diagnosed with a 'butterfly glioma' — a rare and aggressive type of brain tumour that spreads across both hemispheres of the brain through the corpus callosum, the bundle of nerve fibres connecting the two sides. His health concerns began in April 2025, when he noticed weakness in his right leg and had trouble standing up. He also struggled to swallow and experienced involuntary shaking in his left arm, symptoms that worsened over the following weeks. Eventually, he became unable to walk or lift his right arm. Initially, doctors suspected a spinal issue after an X-ray and MRI showed signs of degeneration in his lower back. But as his symptoms progressed, further tests were done, and brain scans revealed a mass deep inside his brain. He was referred to Dr Gopalakrishnan CV, a consultant neurosurgeon at Medcare Orthopaedics & Spine Hospital, who led the high-risk surgical procedure. Using advanced neuronavigation technology, Dr Gopalakrishnan and his team accessed the tumour through a narrow passage in the frontal lobe. The tumour, located about three centimetres below the surface, was grayish and partly soft, but it had spread to critical areas including the right frontal lobe and the septum pellucidum, a delicate membrane near the brain's centre, which also had to be removed. Several damaged blood vessels and areas of dead tissue were also found. The tests also revealed that his pupils were equal and reactive to light, with full and conjugate eye movements. According to the doctor, the cranial nerve examination was normal, although the fundus could not be assessed. Doctors found that the patient had some weakness in his right arm, particularly when bending and straightening the elbow and when lifting the arm sideways. "His leg was more affected, he had very limited strength in bending his right knee and moderate weakness when trying to straighten it," said Dr Gopalkrishnan, adding that his reflexes were normal, his sense of touch was mostly unaffected, and there were no unusual muscle twitches. 'Treating butterfly gliomas is one of the greatest challenges in neurosurgery,' said Dr Gopalakrishnan. 'These tumours grow aggressively in deep parts of the brain and can change a person's personality and behaviour. Our aim is not just to extend life, but to preserve its quality. With precise surgery and cutting-edge treatments like Tumor Treating Fields and proton beam therapy, we're pushing the boundaries of what's possible.' Butterfly gliomas, or glioblastomas, are among the most aggressive brain tumours. They can cause severe symptoms like headaches, personality changes, seizures, and memory or movement problems. Standard treatment usually involves surgery, followed by radiation and chemotherapy. The average survival time after diagnosis is around 10 to 15 months, but outcomes depend on age, overall health, how much of the tumour can be removed, and certain genetic markers. New approaches such as immunotherapy and targeted treatments are offering fresh hope. Reflecting on his journey, the patient shared that getting this diagnosis was overwhelming at first. 'But I have found strength I didn't know I had. With the care and encouragement from my medical team and loved ones, I am staying hopeful and focusing on living each day with purpose and gratitude.'
Yahoo
05-07-2025
- Health
- Yahoo
A Dad Tried To Bully Me Into Giving My Seat To His Kid. Here's What Happened When I Said No.
The concert tickets were a gift to my youngest daughter for her 11th birthday. I wanted to get back to the things we used to do before my brain surgery — despite needing a cane, noise-reducing earplugs and numerous calls to the general admission venue to secure an ADA seating accommodation. The accommodation turned out to be a metal bench attached to the back of a barricade that separated the VIP section from the general admission area. When I was seated, I faced away from the stage, into the VIP section. My head was in line with the standing crowd's elbows. I was four months into recovering and terrified I would get hit on my healing skull. As everyone sang along to teen pop star JVKE, the VIP crowd became denser. It was harder for me to stand up and turn around to watch the concert. But, if I didn't try to stand up, I'd miss the concert and the joy on my daughter's face. It was during one of those moments when I stood that a man told his child to stand on my seat. The man and his family were part of the VIPs. I saw them when they were led into the section by people wearing all black clothing and headsets. The man was about 6 feet tall, wore a tight white T-shirt that accentuated his muscular build and sported a curly-hair-topped mohawk. I was afraid to confront him, but I needed my seat. 'Sorry, he can't stand there.' I said. 'That's my seat.' The man stared me down. 'Oh yeah? That's your seat?' He reeked of beer and a jagged vein bulged from his left temple. 'Why are you so special?' His question triggered an internal response in me that I had been working hard to erase — cowering instead of advocating. It was a residual trauma from more than a decade of not being taken seriously by doctors. Starting in my early 20s, I experienced unexplained dizzy spells, often felt fatigued and had crippling anxiety that prevented me from falling asleep, staying asleep or sleeping at all. One day, three years before I had my stroke, my brain felt so foggy that all I could do was curl up on my couch in the fetal position and cry for hours. I was so frustrated. I couldn't find the words to explain to my husband and daughters what was wrong. All I could do was sob. I bounced around from doctor to doctor for years, and each one blamed my malaise on something different: stress, an autoimmune disorder, being overweight. Not one said, 'We should order an MRI of your brain.' At 37 years old, I still had no answers, except for a therapist's diagnosis of medical-related post-traumatic stress disorder. Then, the stroke snuck up on me. On Tuesday, I felt a pain in my shoulder. On Wednesday, I couldn't grip my phone and my legs felt wobbly. On Thursday, I noticed that my left hand was slow to type, and I felt a sharp pain radiating up my wrist. Friday morning, I struggled to brush my teeth. That's when I, begrudgingly, went to the emergency room. I expected to be given an overpriced Tylenol and orders to avoid heavy lifting and rest. When the tests came back, the ER doctor began to tell me the results in Spanish, my native language. Un derrame cerebral. I translated it into literal English: My brain was spilling? That doesn't make sense. Do I suddenly not understand Spanish? I wondered. 'Can you say that again, in English, please?' I said. He said my brain was spilling, and probably had been bleeding for years. Then he told me to prepare for brain surgery. Two days later, a neurosurgeon, whom I'd met only twice, shaved a 6-inch strip across my head, drilled a hole in my skull and excised a cerebral cavernous malformation from my right frontal lobe. He put my head back together with a snowflake-shaped metal plate, screws and 28 staples. Then I had to spend months relearning how to use my body and my brain. I struggled to walk, read, hold a fork and tie my shoes. Loud noises made my heart rate shoot up, which needed to stay below 110 bpm or there was a risk of increasing blood pressure in my swollen brain. To avoid jarring noises, my husband unplugged the hospital room telephone, told every visitor to whisper and asked the nurses to stay away unless their presence was medically necessary. As much as I struggled, I never felt like I had the right to use the word 'disabled.' If I was truly disabled, I thought, my doctor would have surely slid a packet of papers across my hospital tray table and said, 'Welcome to the Disability Club.' He'd punctuate his statement with a reassuring pat on my hand. Then, I'd diligently study the bylaws of this group I'd unwillingly joined. But that is not what happened. It turns out that when you suddenly become disabled, there is no committee to ask if you qualify to label yourself as such or to ask what accommodations might be available. You have to learn to advocate for yourself. Advocating can be confusing and hard when your disability is invisible. Mine also runs on a spectrum and can be situational. It becomes much harder to manage the effects of having a hole in my brain if I don't sleep well, schedule breaks or avoid overstimulation. Participating in a noisy gathering means I'm tired, slow and useless for a day or two afterward. These nuances make it frustrating when people — sometimes even family members — don't believe that my needs are real. People with disabilities, invisible or not, shouldn't have to explain themselves. Nor should accommodations for them be met at the lowest bar. As much as I hated confrontation, I had already missed out on too much thanks to my illness, and so had my family. I couldn't let this man at the concert bully me into giving up my seat too. 'I had brain surgery.' Jerk. That's why I'm special. When my husband saw the confrontation, he put himself between me and the man and explained my situation. The man backed down, but he was only a few feet away for the rest of the night. His glare made me feel like he was judging whether my behavior aligned with his idea of disability. Was I allowed to dance or smile? Should I just sit there miserably with my back toward the stage to prove that I deserved my seat? He didn't know that I had only recently started showering and getting dressed without help. He didn't notice that I was walking with a cane that night. He didn't see that I was wearing earplugs to mitigate the noise and that the next day, I'd be in bed all day staving off what I now refer to as the 'hangover' — a feeling that my brain no longer fits in my skull and is so heavy that it wants to burst out of my temples. There is nothing I could have done to make that man understand that, even if it didn't look like it, most days I felt like my neurons were moving through quicksand — their messages to other parts of me went awry or were swallowed up entirely. I'd suddenly lose words, balance, the ability to organize my day and make the left side of my body do what I needed it to. He couldn't understand how difficult it is to lose your independence — and identity — from one day to the next, or how something as simple as having a place to sit was the difference between enjoying a concert with my family or having to stay home. However, I don't worry about trying to make people understand anymore. I've realized that my right to advocate for myself isn't contingent on another person's sympathy. I've made peace with the things I can no longer do as well as I used to. I ask for the things I need, like a low table at a restaurant when I am offered a high top. I carry my noise-canceling earplugs everywhere and pop them in as soon as any public space gets too noisy. I sleep in or take naps when my brain tells me it needs a break. I say no to things I don't want to do. I smile, I dance, and I focus on my gratitude for all the things I don't have to miss. Cyntianna C. Ledesma Ortega earned her first byline at 11 years old in the The Miami Herald's YO (Youth Only) section — a features section by and for kids. She holds a B.S. in communication and an Ed.D. in adult education from Florida International University, allowing her to combine her passions for writing and education as a learning experience designer. She lives in Miami — and probably always will — with her husband and two teenage daughters. When they're not driving aimlessly just to sing loudly in the car, she's writing, reading and daydreaming. Follow her at @cyntiannawrites on Instagram. Do you have a compelling personal story you'd like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we're looking for here and send us a pitch at pitch@ I Suddenly Have 4 Severe Dents In My Head And I'm Trying To Accept My New Appearance A Brain Infection Made Me Forget Nearly Everything. Here's How I Became Myself Again. When My Husband Survived Brain Cancer, His Doctor Made 1 Suggestion. It Ended Up Changing My Life Instead.
BBC News
30-06-2025
- BBC News
Tourist from Cwmbran on life support after Thailand attack
The family of a father-of- two who had to have brain surgery while on holiday in Thailand say they are desperate to bring him Jones, 29, from Cwmbran, Torfaen, travelled to Bangkok with two friends on 30 days after arriving, Mr Jones was taken to hospital where he underwent brain surgery. It is believed he was attacked in the Thai capital.A spokesperson for the Foreign Office said it was supporting the family. Speaking to BBC Wales on behalf of Ashton's family, family friend Angela Shepherd said the past few weeks had been "harrowing"."We don't know what happened or how it started, but we think he got separated from his mates. They rang the police who then told him he was in intensive care and on a life support machine," she said."We think he was set upon by one or a number of people in Thailand, who beat him to within an inch of his life." Ms Shepherd, 50, said Ashton had been to four different hospitals and is now at Chonburi Hospital, where he is being treated for serious injuries. His father, Darren, has flown over to be with him."He had a bleed on the brain, and has had part of his skull removed meaning he'll need to have a titanium plate put in," said Ms added he had also suffered a fractured cheekbone and broken nose."It got so serious that Darren was asked if he wanted a DNR [do not resuscitate] order to be put in place, but he said no thankfully as now he's in a better position and is starting to be able to communicate with us."Ms Shepherd said Ashton's recovery had been "very slow" but the family was grateful to those who reached out to support them, including a couple who gave Darren somewhere to stay, and helped with translation at the hospital."They have been a godsend," she said."The life support machine has been removed thankfully, but Ashton still has to be fed through a tube and have oxygen through a tube too. He's still restrained to the bed by his feet and arms because he gets very frustrated." Ashton did not have any medical insurance in place before he travelled to Thailand, so his family have been fundraising to pay for his treatment, with the aim of bringing him home soon."It's harrowing and soul destroying to think he's lying there and there's nothing anyone can do."I've spoken to him very briefly, it was tough, he's desperate to just come home now."Ms Shepherd added the family had been working with a repatriation company to help bring Ashton back to Wales.A Foreign, Commonwealth and Development Office spokesperson said: "We are supporting a British man who has been hospitalised in Thailand and are in contact with his family and the local authorities."The police in Thailand have been asked for comment.
Yahoo
27-06-2025
- Health
- Yahoo
Gwent man fighting for life in Thai hospital has ‘woken up'
A Cwmbran man that's been 'fighting for his life' in a Thai hospital has 'woken up.' On May 30 29-year-old Ashton Jones, travelled to Bangkok Thailand with his lifelong friend for a lad's holiday. Sadly, just five days later his family received the news that Ashton had been separated from his friend and had undergone extensive emergency brain surgery. 29-year-old Ashton Jones from Cwmbran has 'woken up' after fighting for his life in a Thai hospital (Image: Angela Roden Shepherd) Now just a week later Ashton's gone from having a do not resuscitate order in place to being able to show basic signs of communication. Childhood friend Angela Roden Shepherd aged 50 has been a shoulder for Ashton's family to lean on. In an emotional post online, she shared the happy news. Angela said: 'Progress is really good for Ashton. I actually spoke to him today which was amazing. 'I say speak I can speak to him, and he can acknowledge. He can nod and he can shake his head and that's purely because he's got the tube going down his throat. 'He's still being ventilated and tube fed but he is trying really hard to speak. He told his dad he loves him, told his friends that he misses them.' Ashton a week earlier fighting for his life in a Thai hospital (Image: Angela Roden Shepherd) When Ashston went to Thailand he didn't have medical insurance in place. So, the family set up a GoFundMe to help raise money to bring him back to the UK. An incredible £22,110 has been raised so far which Angela explained has been going towards Ashton's increasing medical bills. In the video Angela said: 'We've raised an amazing amount of money, but we still have a little bit of a way to go. 'All our medical bills are starting to come out. As an example, the ventilator he's on is costing 60,000 baht a day which I believe is around £50 to £60.' 'That's without his medication, that's without his feeding tube, without the care the staff have been giving him every night he stays in hospital. So, we still do need to keep raising money.' Childhood friend Angela Roden Shepherd has been a shoulder for Ashton's family to lean on. (Image: Angela Roden Shepherd) Unsurprisingly Ashton's family are relieved that signs of recovery are starting to show. Angela told the Argus: 'In less than a week we've gone from having a do not revive in place to Ashton communicating with us. 'As the days go on, he's not stopping. He's smiling he's chatting he's telling his dad he loves him but it's still not safe for him to fly because of the length of time after surgery. 'The family are over the moon they just want him home now.' A community fundraiser is being held at the Halfway Pub in old Cwmbran. The event is taking place July 5 with all funds going towards bringing Ashton home. A raffle is being held alongside a barbecue and karaoke. The fundraiser will be running from 12pm onwards.
Daily Mail
25-06-2025
- Health
- Daily Mail
Dr Charlie Teo makes a disturbing admission about what happened to one of his patients after his surgery
Controversial neurosurgeon Dr Charlie Teo has admitted to leaving one of his patients paralysed in a scathing interview where he slammed his critics for 'persecuting' him. 'If you look at my CV, out of all the articles that I've published, many of them are on complications,' Dr Teo told Mets Analin in a podcast released on Tuesday. 'So I don't try and hide from my complications, I admit to them. I take it on the chin, it's my fault, you know that person is paralysed because I went too far. 'It wasn't intentional of course, but it was my fault, and I've published on that.' Dr Teo has continued to perform brain surgeries overseas, after a professional standards committee reprimanded him in 2023 for 'unsatisfactory professional conduct'. While Dr Teo is still registered to operate in Australia, he requires written support from a neurosurgeon approved by the Medical Council of NSW in order to practice, which none of his colleagues have been willing to provide. The finding concerned operations on two female patients at Prince of Wales Hospital in 2018 and 2019. Neither patient regained consciousness after the surgeries and both died - one of them just 10 days afterwards. The committee found that Dr Teo didn't exercise 'appropriate judgment' in operating on one of the patients, while with the other, he 'carried out surgery which was different to that proposed to the patient, and the surgical strategy led to unwarranted and excessive removal of normal functional brain'. Dr Teo had become 'isolated from his peers' and the conditions placed on him were 'necessary to protect the health and safety of the public', the committee said. Since the ruling, the surgeon has operated in countries including China, India, Germany, Switzerland, Spain, Brazil, Peru and Nepal, and claimed many Australians are flying abroad for treatment. He has formally requested the restrictions be lifted, claiming that jealous surgeons are out to get him and he is the victim of a smear campaign. 'So here's a doctor who's got a worldwide reputation for being very honest with their presentations getting lambasted and getting persecuted for having complications,' he told Mr Analin in the Tuesday interview. 'Well hang on - I will be the first to admit that I have bad outcomes.' Mr Analin, Sydney gym owner and creator of the Elevate with Mets podcast, told Dr Teo he was a 'massive fan' of him because he had helped a close friend with treatment more than 20 years ago. In the wide-ranging interview Dr Teo, born in Australia to Singaporean parents, said he found neurosurgery daunting as a medical student because of its unforgiving nature. It was only later when he was thrust into the field that he decided he had found his calling. He described 'bullying from the medical fraternity' as his greatest challenge and insisted, 'I don't think I've done anything wrong'. 'Now, speak to the doctors and they think I've done a lot of things wrong, but all I've done, Mets you've just got to believe me, all I've done was care for my patients. 'These cases that my colleagues have called futile cases that I take on - well all of those people knew exactly what they were facing - they were facing death, certain death... Or a chance at living longer and maybe even being cured. '...My only crime is that I've given patients autonomy and I've taken on cases that everyone else says I shouldn't take on. Your friend's wife is exactly one of them.' He said he enjoyed brain surgery so much that it was a 'natural progression' to continue doing it in China after he was effectively banned from Australia. The interview divided Aussies, with some coming to Dr Teo's defence - arguing that his patients knew the risks of surgery - while others suggested he had preyed on distraught families. 'The guy told people with no hope of a cure he could help them only to leave them as vegetables for the rest of their short lives,' one said. 'He performed surgeries on people that other surgeons wouldn't do. Those people would have probably passed a lot sooner without surgery,' said another. 'Dr Teo is a genius! A massive loss for Australia if he is still prevented from operating,' said a third. 'He worked outside the scope and advice of his professional body,' a fourth said.
