My Life’s Fight Against Glioblastoma: A Story of Hope
I received an email from Fabrizio in which he shares his story and his desire to give hope and courage to those walking the same path. I decided to publish it immediately because of the strength of his message. Below is the full version of Fabrizio’s story, written by himself…
My name is Fabrizio. I’m 44 years old, and on May 19, 2023, my life took an unexpected turn. That day at the Ospedale di Circolo in Varese, a doctor examined me and—his voice calm but urgent—told me, “You need to go immediately to the Emergency Department for urgent tests.” Little did I know then that his intuition would save my life.
In the Emergency Department, after a CT scan, the on‑call neurosurgeon looked me in the eyes and delivered news that changed everything: “There’s a mass in your brain. I can’t send you home.” His words struck me like lightning, but the small, human smile he gave me eased that crushing weight for a moment.
Twelve days later, on May 30, I underwent surgery performed by an extraordinary surgeon whose reassuring smile gave me confidence and calm amid uncertainty. Post‑operative results initially identified a high‑grade glioma; the definitive histology at the end of June confirmed glioblastoma, grade IV. Yet today—22 months later—I’m still here: walking, living, fighting.
My symptoms began on April 10 with tingling in my fingers that spread up my arm. I assumed it was a cervical issue—massages, visits to my general practitioner, an MRI—until May 18, when the tingling extended to my face while driving. Concerned, I asked my father to schedule an urgent appointment at Varese.
On May 19 at 5:45 PM, I arrived at the hospital with my wife. Though I initially minimized my concerns, the doctor insisted and contacted my general practitioner, convincing me to go to the Emergency Department. That warning bell proved life‑saving.
After surgery, I embarked on a grueling course of radiotherapy and chemotherapy with temozolomide. It was a hard but necessary journey—made all the more real by the definitive diagnosis in late June.
Today I’m in good physical condition with no neurological deficits. I continue to work, drive, ride motorcycles, and go to the gym. None of this would have been possible without the “angels in white coats” who poured their hearts into every gesture.
The doctor who first saw me was more than a professional—he was human, visiting me whenever possible and making me feel seen as a person, not just a patient. The surgeon remains my beacon of hope, supporting me still. The radiotherapy team welcomed me each day with kindness, transforming a taxing treatment into moments of light. Oncology nurses, physicians, and support staff showed me a warmth that warmed my soul.
The entire Neurosurgery department—from nurses to care assistants—demonstrated devotion beyond duty: their smiles, jokes, and conversations pulled me out of darkness.
My family never let go of me. My parents gave me silent but powerful strength; my wife was my rock, standing strong for me when I felt weakest; and my son—then sixteen—gave me purpose and taught me that even if defeat comes, I could never regret fighting with everything I had.
I also met Nicolò, a remarkable person who taught me never to surrender. In my darkest moments, his example reminded me to seek the beauty that persists—whether in a smile, a sunset, or simply another day alive.
And my friends—though not always physically present—sent messages and calls that felt like silent hugs. True affection needs no physical presence to be real.
This is more than a medical journey: it’s a testament to humanity, to those who gave me strength, and to my determination not to give up. I share my story hoping it might light a spark for anyone facing an seemingly impossible battle.
