Latest news with #neurosurgeon
ABC News
a day ago
- Health
- ABC News
Neurosurgeon Greg Malham accused of 'sexist' and 'unprofessional' behaviour by colleagues and patients
It started out as one of those odd stories you sometimes see in the rough and tumble of a federal election campaign — a viral video of a man tearing down a female politician's campaign corflute, talking about burying the body under concrete. The vision of a surgeon smashing Kooyong independent Monique Ryan's election sign into a rubbish skip and saying "always gotta bury the body" went viral in a week when multiple women were allegedly murdered by men. But for many of the former colleagues and others who spoke to Four Corners for our investigation into this man, the video was telling — not just about his attitudes about women, but also the position he occupied as a surgeon at the apex of the private hospital world. A surgeon who left behind uncomfortable nurses, crying radiographers, patients who thought him like an egotistical character out of Mad Men, and a devastated, grieving family. Greg Malham was a renowned neurosurgeon at Epworth ― Melbourne's largest private hospital. When the corflute story broke in Melbourne's The Age newspaper, Epworth's CEO, Andrew Stripp, issued an unusually robust statement to staff, saying the hospital was "deeply concerned by the unacceptable behaviour displayed by the surgeon" and he personally found the content of the video "abhorrent". Within weeks, Greg Malham resigned from the hospital. Mr Malham was encouraged to report himself to the medical regulator, AHPRA, which commenced an investigation, but he is still operating. An investigation by Four Corners has discovered a string of people from Mr Malham's past who were not shocked by the video because they had seen what they described as sexist and inappropriate behaviour in the workplace by the neurosurgeon. "I wasn't surprised, because that's how exactly how he would carry on in theatre," said Katie, a former Epworth nurse who worked with Mr Malham in theatre and in the hospital's recovery rooms, who told Four Corners she found his behaviour with women "uncomfortable". Maddison, a former Epworth radiographer who also worked with Mr Malham, said he and other surgeons at the hospital had a "God complex". "They did see themselves as more important and better than anyone in the room," Maddison said. The phrase "God complex" was often volunteered to Four Corners about Mr Malham, whom many of his former colleagues thought was a prime example of the problem with some egotistical surgeons in the private hospital system. Former patient Annie Sargood and her husband Randall Cooke described Mr Malham as "probably the most egotistical person [they had] ever met". "[He was] absolutely, completely arrogant, like a character out of Mad Men," Ms Sargood, who had a spinal fusion operation with Mr Malham, told Four Corners. Mr Cooke said there were "flirtatious innuendos" in the way the surgeon behaved with his wife. "He was so up himself, he was so full of himself," Mr Cooke said. Four Corners has spoken to many staff who worked with him at Epworth and before that, at The Alfred public hospital, who felt uncomfortable about his behaviour. Recovery and theatre nurse Katie, who left Epworth in 2021, remembered often feeling uneasy around him because of the "inappropriate" way he would speak — this was something volunteered by many other nurses Four Corners spoke to. "He'd come into recovery and say, 'hey spunky'," Katie recalled. "[He] could be quite crass with some of the remarks he made, particularly around women. "He would make a lot of the nurses in recovery quite uncomfortable when he came in to hand over his patient." One memory that stood out for her was how, she said, he would "sometimes put his hand on your back and just leave it there that little bit too long". "There was sort of a vibe in the recovery room … 'Oh, here comes Greg. Let's get ready to feel awkward'," Katie said. She said that when she worked in Mr Malham's theatre, he would "really let loose in terms of his inappropriate behaviour". "Comments about women, about their tits ― just really crass, vulgar comments," she said. Maddison is a former Epworth radiographer who left the hospital largely because she could no longer bear working with surgeons in theatre. She said the neurosurgery department where Mr Malham worked was particularly toxic. "Radiographers would be crying because of the way that they'd been spoken to by the [neurosurgeons]," Maddison said. "A big reason for that stress was the stress that was put on us in theatre and just being scared every day." Two weeks before she left Epworth in January 2021, Maddison made a written complaint to human resources at the hospital about Greg Malham's behaviour in theatre. She said the radiography department was understaffed, and radiographers were often stretched so thin they would be late to theatre. On one of the occasions she was sent to Greg Malham's theatre, she said her heart sank because she assumed from previous experience he would get angry. She said he was "standing at the end of the corridor just glaring at me the whole journey up to the theatre". She wrote to HR that when she walked in, "Mr Malham … was yelling 'f***, f***, f***! This is f***ing ridiculous, having 12 people standing around doing nothing while we wait for an X-ray'." She wrote that Mr Malham then "aggressively un-scrubbed and stormed past me". "I felt uncomfortable, intimidated, scared, stressed and embarrassed," Maddison, who was worried she would make a mistake in the theatre, wrote. "I completed the imaging and left the theatre and burst into tears." Epworth's chief executive, Professor Andrew Stripp, who was not at the hospital at the time of these allegations, cannot speak about Greg Malham for legal reasons. But he does have a message for surgeons in his hospital more generally, saying they should be "mindful of the environment you are working in, be mindful of your team". "If people have felt uncomfortable about raising concerns or addressing issues, I'm very sorry to hear that," Professor Stripp told Four Corners. "It's essential that we create an environment at Epworth HealthCare where people can come to work, feel confident that they can deliver the care that they trained [for], that they aspired to do, and feel safe in doing so. "And when that's not living up to expectations, that they can take action, that they can be heard, and that those issues that are raised will be taken seriously, the concerns will be respected, and they will feel safe in doing so." The Royal Australasian College of Surgeons (RACS) has strict guidelines for its fellows that go beyond their technical skills in the operating theatre. The College's Surgical Competence and Performance Framework says it is "poor behaviour" for surgeons to "repeatedly display a negative attitude towards junior medical staff, nurses and other health care professionals". It also says it is poor behaviour if a surgeon "berates and humiliates others" or "makes unwelcome comments on the appearance on the appearance of others". The College put out a statement condemning Mr Malham's behaviour in the corflute video after it received multiple complaints. RACS president, Professor Owen Ung, agreed with Four Corners that his behaviour in the video may also breach other competency guidelines, including those that said it was poor behaviour if a surgeon "lacks awareness that certain behaviours are disrespectful towards others" and "participates in or makes derogatory jokes." "We made it clear that we denounce any of that sort of behaviour," Professor Ung said. "Surgeons are held to high standards, as they should do in the community, and we take it very, very seriously. Neurosurgeon Ruth Mitchell, who worked at The Alfred with Greg Malham, preferred not to say what her thoughts were about him, but she did comment more generally about what she saw as a very sexist surgical culture in the field of neurosurgery. Of the roughly 300 neurosurgeons in Australia, only 16 per cent are women. "What I worry about is like a generation of female surgical trainees … who've had to do the emotional labour of tone policing or, you know, behaviour managing, managing up their seniors who really aren't behaving professionally," Dr Mitchell said. "The impact that has on the rest of your learning. You're meant to be learning how to operate. You're meant to be learning how to manage complex conditions." All of the 25 neurosurgeons at Epworth are men. When Andrew Stripp was asked if this was acceptable in 2025, his response was a very curt "No". "We'd like to see that improved," Professor Stripp said. "It is not OK," said Dr Mitchell. Yumiko Kadota is now a cosmetic physician, but she did several rounds of training in neurosurgery and left surgical training because of the toxic, male-dominated culture. She posted on Instagram about the corflute video being reminiscent of the "toxic dude-bro culture" she had witnessed in her training and was flooded with responses from "disgusted" women, including some who had worked with Greg Malham. "And the stories are sad, but not at all surprising to me just because I have seen similar behaviours in the past," Dr Kadota said. "It's a typical locker room chat where you can get away with saying misogynistic things to the other lads in the locker room and get away with it because there's no one holding you accountable. "And when you work in a male-dominated speciality like neurosurgery, there aren't that many people around who put you in your place." Warning: The following sections contain references to suicide. There was an incident that current and former Epworth staff repeatedly raised in relation to Dr Malham: his relationship with a 34-year-old nurse at the hospital who suicided in September 2014. The nurse's name was Laura Heffernan, and in her suicide note, she blamed Mr Malham for her decision to take her life. The note formed part of a coronial brief that has not been made public until now — the entire brief was released to Four Corners because the Victorian State Coroner accepted it was in the public interest. Apologising to her parents, Laura wrote in the note that she loved Greg with all her heart and could not "believe it was all lies and fake". Laura had been contacted by Mr Malham's ex-wife to say that he had been sleeping with both of them and lying to them. "I feel disgusting & used & humiliated & ashamed," Laura wrote. "I don't think the pain of how someone could be so hurtful & f***ed up & totally made me think they loved me & wanted a life with me will ever go away. It just hurts so much." Laura was very popular at the hospital, and Epworth nurses who worked with her felt uncomfortable about the power dynamic between the star neurosurgeon and the much younger nurse. Some told Four Corners that Mr Malham was inappropriately persistent in his attentions. "We found out that Laura was with Greg, and honestly, it was a little bit of a shock given his reputation," Katie said. "She was quiet, you know, quite dainty and just a nice sort of girl. And he was this outspoken, powerful, sort of obnoxious man." Katie remembered how, before they started dating, he would check the roster to see what time Laura was starting and finishing and leave chocolates for her, which none of the other surgeons would do. Another former Epworth nurse, Ruth, who was close friends with Laura and was a key coronial witness because she was one of the last people at the hospital to speak to her alive, said that in the early stages, Laura found Mr Malham's attentions "quite claustrophobic". "She was really professional and really good at what she did, and I think she probably felt that that, at times, was a bit intense," said Ruth, who left the hospital in 2015. "I think a lot of us were thinking, 'why is she with him?'" Katie remembered. Ruth, Katie and the other nurses noticed a sudden change in Laura after the relationship with the powerful neurosurgeon abruptly ended — Ruth remembers hugging her and recoiling because she was so thin. "And following that time, she just became really depressed," Katie said. "She'd lost a lot of weight. She pretty much looked as if she'd lost the will to live." The coronial brief shows Laura discovered Greg Malham cheated on her with the second of his now four wives and lied to both of them for months. She sent her girlfriends a distressed email: "I wanted you girls to know how f***ed up Greg is … I spoke to his ex-wife today … She knew that we were both being totally duped. Greg's told me lie after lie and is unable to give the truth when face to face … She thinks he has Narcissistic Personality Disorder … I'm so ashamed, embarrassed and humiliated … He is such a bad person. How can you think you can know someone when they can be that evil?" A supportive doctor offered to accompany Laura to complain to Epworth management about Greg Malham, but Laura told the doctor words to the effect of "no, he's too powerful". In September 2014, eight months after she started dating Greg Malham, Laura pulled up next to a park near her home in Thornbury in Melbourne's inner north and killed herself. "The last text she sent to me was just hugs and kisses," a tearful Ruth said. "As time went on, I was just angry, I suppose, that he could treat someone as lovely as Laura the way he treated her." Laura's mother, Christine Heffernan, said she did not understand why her daughter loved Greg Malham so much, but that Laura had blamed her decision to kill herself on him. "So, to me, to this day, it's just a waste of a beautiful life," Ms Heffernan said. Greg Malham never contacted the Heffernan family after Laura's death. He never responded to investigating police, despite repeated requests and the fact that he was not under suspicion. "People were angry, really angry at him," Ruth said. Katie was one of the nurses who refused to work with Greg Malham after Laura's death, and she remembered how one nurse left Epworth because of it. "One of the nurses sort of spoke up for Laura, and there were some interviews with her, with management, and soon after, she had left," Katie said. "Her concerns were Laura's mental health was deteriorating as a result of being with Greg, and she felt like there were some people that needed to be more accountable for that. There should have been a bit more of an intervention before she died. Many people told Four Corners that these types of surgeons brought in so much money for hospitals that management was loath to intervene when there were red flags about their behaviour. "They're the top of the food chain," said Ruth. "They are seen as almost untouchable. "I think in that culture, it's expected that you are going to get treated not well at times — you know, yelled at, you know, spoken down to." Professor Stripp can't address Greg Malham's treatment of Laura for legal reasons, but he had a personal message to any man in a position of power at the hospital who behaves inappropriately. "I think it important to understand such behaviour is unacceptable at Epworth Healthcare and will become known and we will address it," Professor Stripp said, agreeing that this meant "zero tolerance". The staff who worked with Greg Malham over many years are speaking out because they say change is desperately needed. "The system's so broken," Maddison said. Greg Malham did not respond to any of Four Corners' detailed questions, but in a preliminary call, he said the corflute video was intended as a joke amongst a small group of friends and that his fondness for mobster movies had been misinterpreted. Mr Malham pointed to his long and successful career at Epworth. Despite the scandal following the corflute video and his departure from Epworth, Mr Malham is now operating at Melbourne's Warringal Private Hospital, whose code of conduct says it has zero tolerance for inappropriate behaviour. Warringal's owner, Ramsay Health Care, said in a statement to Four Corners that Greg Malham has "temporary credentialling" and his application for full credentialling was "currently progressing". It said all practitioners seeking to work there must agree to uphold its code of conduct and values. Watch Four Corners' full investigation, God Complex, tonight from 8.30pm on ABC TV and ABC iview.
Arab News
4 days ago
- Health
- Arab News
Book Review: ‘When Breath Becomes Air'
Published a year after the author's death aged 37 in 2015, 'When Breath Becomes Air' is an autobiography about the life and struggle with terminal lung cancer of Dr. Paul Kalanithi. In the book, Kalanithi, an American neurosurgeon at Stanford University, talks about his own journey from being a physician providing treatment to his patients to becoming a patient himself facing premature mortality. The narrative moves from talking about how Kalanithi saved lives to confronting the end of his own, reflecting on what makes life worth living in the face of death. Despite his diagnosis, Kalanithi continued working as a physician and even became a father, explaining to his readers how he embraced life fully until the very end. Unfortunately, the book had to be completed by his wife after his passing, and serves as a moving meditation on legacy, purpose, and the human experience. Among the book's strengths are its authenticity and depth of emotions, touching on everything from the day-to-day experiences of physicians to Kalanithi's own love of literature — originally, he had studied English at university. A fitting tribute, then, that his own work would go on to become a New York Times' bestseller. Neurosurgery, though, was in his words an 'unforgiving call to perfection' which not even his diagnosis could check. 'Before my cancer was diagnosed, I knew that someday I would die, but I didn't know when,' he wrote. 'After the diagnosis, I knew that someday I would die, but I didn't know when.' The book garnered praise upon publication, winning the Goodreads Choice Award for Memoir and Autobiography in 2016. Its run on the NYT's bestseller list lasted an impressive 68 weeks. Writing in the Guardian, Alice O'Keefe suggested: 'The power of this book lies in its eloquent insistence that we are all confronting our mortality every day, whether we know it or not. The real question we face, Kalanithi writes, is not how long, but rather how, we will live — and the answer does not appear in any medical textbook.'
Malay Mail
4 days ago
- Health
- Malay Mail
The invisible club — Nahrizul Adib Kadri
I'm often told I look normal. In fact, when I sit in the waiting room of the neuro clinic for my annual check-up, I might even look like I'm there for someone else. I dress neatly. I walk in unaided. I respond when my name is called. There's no oxygen tank by my side, no slurred speech, no visible signs that something once went deeply wrong. But I'm the patient. I'm the one with a brainstem cavernoma — a rare malformation tucked deep inside the pons, where vital things live: breathing, swallowing, balance, vision. Mine was discovered almost by accident in late 2015 after a year of quiet, persistent numbness. No real pain. Just a strange tingling on the left side of my body — like when your leg falls asleep. Except this one didn't wake up. Even after diagnosis, I felt mostly fine. Until I didn't. On my 41st birthday, after a small slice of cake, I vomited. Just once. But I remembered what my neurosurgeon had said: If anything changes, head straight to emergency. So I did. What followed was a slow spiral — days in a hospital room, my vision narrowing, my head heavy as stone. They drilled a hole in my skull to relieve the pressure. And when things didn't improve, they opened it properly. They removed the cavernoma. And with it, a part of the person I used to be. The surgery was a success. Technically. The mass was gone, but the aftermath lingered. I emerged with right-side facial paralysis and fine motor loss in my left hand. I couldn't use a straw to drink. I couldn't button a shirt with my left hand. I couldn't pronounce the consonants F, V, B, or M without sounding like I was underwater. These were not headline-worthy losses. No one made a documentary about it. But they changed my daily rhythm in subtle ways. And now, almost a decade later, they still do. In the neuro clinic, I'm often the most 'normal-looking' person in the room. There's a cruel kind of irony to that. Some patients shuffle in, others are wheeled. Some can't speak. Others don't respond. Then there's me — smiling halfway, speaking carefully, nodding with one side of my face. And because I pass, people assume I'm fine. That I've recovered. That the story is over. But recovery doesn't always mean return. Sometimes it means reinvention. I'm not who I was. But I'm someone still becoming. We live in a world obsessed with how things appear — with symmetry, vitality, performance. And we admire recovery when it ends in a triumphant 'after.' What we don't talk about is the middle. That long, awkward middle where you're not who you were, and not yet sure who you'll be. It's in that space I've quietly learned how to live again — how to laugh when others flinch at my half-smile, how to teach when my words won't form the way they used to, how to type research papers when my fingers fumble the home keys. Haruki Murakami once wrote, 'Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.' It's the kind of quote that looks great on a poster, but feels slippery in practice. Pain can change you long before you choose how to respond to it. And sometimes, just waking up and carrying on is the only choice you have. Murakami's characters often walk through surreal landscapes of loss and disorientation, not to escape their pain but to better understand it. I think about that often — how we don't really get out of the woods, we just learn to walk differently within them. I like to think there's a quiet club for people like me. We don't meet. We don't speak of it. But we recognise each other — in the slightly delayed grip of a handshake, in the gentle sway of someone regaining balance, in the pause before a word that's harder to pronounce than it used to be. Coelho once wrote, 'The strongest love is the love that can demonstrate its fragility.' Maybe the same can be said for strength itself. Real strength isn't loud. It doesn't announce its victories. It adapts. It hums quietly beneath the surface of ordinary things: holding a pen, buttoning a cuff, walking into a clinic with your head held just high enough. Over time, you learn to stop explaining yourself. People will think you're fine, and you let them. Not because you owe them silence, but because you've made peace with being misread. When someone asks me if I'm fully recovered, I say, 'I'm well.' And I mean it. I'm well in ways that matter. I teach, I research, I write. I raise three sons with a woman who knew me before all this. I show up. I adapt. I live. But once a year, when I sit in that neuro clinic — surrounded by wheelchairs, soft-spoken nurses, and a neurosurgeon who never forget my face — I remember that I belong to a quiet category. Not the visibly broken. Not the visibly healed. Just quietly altered. And maybe that's the mark I carry now — not the scar at the back of my head, not the asymmetry of my smile, but the quiet knowledge that looking normal and being fine are not the same thing. Not even close. * Ir Dr Nahrizul Adib Kadri is a professor of biomedical engineering at the Faculty of Engineering, and the Principal of Ibnu Sina Residential College, Universiti Malaya. He may be reached at [email protected]. ** This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of Malay Mail.
ABC News
5 days ago
- Health
- ABC News
God Complex
Skip to main content For years, a star neurosurgeon operated inside Australia's hospital system despite repeated allegations of sexist and inappropriate behaviour, and a string of legal claims by devastated patients. This is the hidden story of the toxic culture that enabled him. In this Four Corners investigation, reporter Louise Milligan talks to senior surgeons and hospital insiders who are speaking out for the first time. Through powerful testimonies, internal documents, and newly surfaced footage, God Complex reveals a culture of protection, silence and complicity in Australia's most elite medical circles, and the human cost of letting power go unchecked. God Complex, reported by Louise Milligan and produced by Mayeta Clark, goes to air on Monday July 21 at 8.30pm on ABC TV and ABC iview.
Health Line
04-07-2025
- Health
- Health Line
Treatment Options for Brain Cancer
Key takeaways Surgery, radiation therapy, and chemotherapy are common treatments for brain cancer, and they can be used alone or in combination. The specific approach depends on the cancer's characteristics and location. Targeted and electric field therapies are additional options for managing brain cancer. Clinical trials, like those researching immunotherapy, also offer promising new treatments that could improve the outlook for people with this condition. A brain tumor happens when cells in your brain begin to grow and divide out of control. While some brain tumors are benign (noncancerous), others are malignant (cancerous). There are a few different treatments that may be used for brain cancer, either alone or together. And clinical trials are currently testing new treatments for brain cancer that can help to improve your outlook. Keep reading to learn more about each treatment, how it's used, and the side effects associated with it. Can you survive brain cancer? It's possible to survive brain cancer. But survival can vary greatly based on many factors, such as the type of brain cancer that you have and your age. Surgery for brain cancer Surgery is a part of treatment for many brain cancers. During surgery, a neurosurgeon will try to remove as much of the tumor as possible without affecting the function of your brain. Surgery is often done by craniotomy. This is where a small opening is made in your skull, allowing for access to your brain. You may be under general or local anesthesia during surgery. While operating, a neurosurgeon can use various techniques to help them safely remove your tumor without damaging the surrounding tissue. These can include: Using surgery in combination with other brain cancer treatments like radiation therapy (RT) may be able to eliminate smaller, less aggressive cancers. But this can be more challenging for cancers that are larger or more aggressive. Surgery can also be used for other purposes. These include inserting a shunt or drain to reduce intracranial pressure or placing an Ommaya reservoir to help deliver chemotherapy (chemo). Side effects of surgery for brain cancer Some of the possible side effects of surgery for brain cancer may include: a reaction to the anesthetic infections bleeding swelling of the brain seizures loss of brain function Radiation therapy for brain cancer RT uses high-energy radiation to destroy cancer cells. It's often given for brain cancer using a radiation source located outside of your body. This is called external beam RT. Radiation has the potential to damage healthy brain tissue, so several methods have been developed to help lower this risk. An example of one is conformational RT, which makes a 3D image of your tumor and shapes the radiation to fit to it. You may receive RT after surgery to help kill any remaining cancer cells. RT may also be one of the main treatment options if your cancer can't be operated on. This may be the case if your cancer is: very extensive located deep within your brain found at or around an area that's vital for brain function Side effects of radiation therapy for brain cancer Some of the potential side effects of RT for brain cancer are: fatigue nausea or vomiting headache hair loss cognitive changes, which can include issues with memory, difficulties with concentration, or changes in personality increased risk of a second cancer Chemotherapy for brain cancer Chemo uses drugs that disrupt the ability of cancer cells to grow and divide. It can be used along with other treatment types, such as surgery or RT, or alone when other treatments haven't been effective. While many chemo drugs are given directly into your bloodstream or taken orally, this isn't always possible with brain cancer. The reason is that many chemo drugs can't cross the blood-brain barrier. As such, some chemo may be given directly into your cerebrospinal fluid. Other types of chemo may also be given as a wafer that's placed in your brain during surgery. A few examples of chemo drugs used for brain cancer, either alone or in combination, are: carmustine lomustine procarbazine temozolomide vincristine Side effects of chemotherapy for brain cancer The possible side effects of chemo include: nausea or vomiting diarrhea mouth sores loss of appetite hair loss low blood counts, which can cause: anemia an increased risk of infections easy bleeding Targeted therapy for brain cancer Targeted therapy uses drugs that target specific markers on or in cancer cells. Currently, there are only a handful of targeted therapy drugs used for brain cancer. Bevacizumab (Avastin) inhibits a protein that promotes the growth of blood vessels around tumors. It's given by an intravenous (IV) line and may be used to treat glioblastoma. Everolimus (Afinitor) blocks the activity of a protein involved in cell growth and division. It's taken as a pill and is used for some types of astrocytomas. Side effects of targeted therapy for brain cancer Specific side effects can vary based off of the targeted therapy drug used. But some of the more general side effects of targeted therapy drugs may include: fatigue loss of appetite nausea diarrhea mouth sores headache an increased risk of infections Alternating electric field therapy for brain cancer Alternating electric field therapy exposes a tumor to electric fields that affect its ability to grow. This type of therapy involves the use of a wearable device called the Optune system that generates those electric fields. The Optune system is used for people who recently received a diagnosis of glioblastoma or those who have recurrent glioblastoma. Side effects of alternating electric field therapy for brain cancer Some of the side effects that you may have while using alternating electric field therapy include: skin irritation where the device and its electrodes are placed on your scalp headache seizures low blood counts and digestive side effects when used with chemo Clinical trials for brain cancer Clinical trials evaluate potentially new or improved ways to treat a disease or disorder. They're essential for testing the safety and effectiveness of new treatments before they're made more widely available. One type of treatment that's being heavily researched for brain cancer is immunotherapy. This is a type of cancer treatment that helps your immune system respond to cancer. It's already used for many other cancer types. For some people with brain cancer, receiving treatment through a clinical trial may be recommended. This is particularly true if you have a cancer that: is rare or very aggressive has a limited number of approved treatment options hasn't responded to conventional treatments has come back after treatment If you're interested in a clinical trial for brain cancer, talk with your medical care team. They can recommend clinical trials you may qualify for. You can also find clinical trials through the website of the National Brain Tumor Society or by searching What's the outlook for a person with brain cancer? The outlook for people with brain cancer depends on many factors. These include: the type of brain cancer you have the grade of the cancer, which estimates how quickly the tumor may grow where the tumor is in your brain how large the tumor is whether or not the tumor can be removed using surgery and, if so, how much of the tumor can be removed the presence of certain genetic changes in the tumor cells your age and overall health For example, the 5-year relative survival rate for adults ages 20–44 years old with diffuse astrocytoma, a slow-growing cancer, is 73%. In contrast, the 5-year relative survival rate is 22% in the same age group for glioblastoma, an aggressive cancer. If you've recently received a diagnosis of brain cancer, your medical care team will consider all of the factors above to give you a better idea of your individual outlook. Relative survival rate vs. survival rate A relative survival rate suggests how long someone with a condition may live after receiving a diagnosis compared with someone without the condition of the same race, sex, and age over a specific time. This is different from overall survival rate, which is a percentage of people still alive for a specific time after receiving a diagnosis of a condition.
