Brain Tumor Grades and Types

When I was first told that I had a brain tumor, “I was stunned. I was shocked. I wasn’t even sure what a brain tumor was other than bad, very bad.”*

I also had no idea of the different “grades” or “types.”

So when I saw this handy and nicely explanatory web page from the “Accelerate Brain Cancer Cure website- http://abc2.org/guidance/brain-cancer-facts/tumor-grades-and-types - that explained brain tumor “grades” and “types”, I wanted to share it with all of you.

TYPES

There are two types of brain tumors: benign and malignant.  According to the site, “Benign brain tumors do not contain cancer cells.” That’s the good news. The bad news is that “benign” brain tumors can be remarkably harmful and dangerous. For more info on the terrors of “benign” brain tumors please visit the wonderful “It’s Just Benign” website - http://www.itsjustbenign.org/ - which is an incredibly sarcastic/sardonic name for a website.

The ABC² website states that” Malignant brain tumors (also called brain cancer) contain cancer cells.” At all levels that’s bad.

GRADES

Here’s what the site says about brain tumor grades:

“Doctors group brain tumors by grade. The grade of a tumor refers to the way the cells look under a microscope:

• Grade I: The tissue is benign. The cells look nearly like normal brain cells, and they grow slowly.
• Grade II: The tissue is malignant. The cells look less like normal cells than do the cells in a Grade I tumor.
• Grade III: The malignant tissue has cells that look very different from normal cells. The abnormal cells are actively growing (anaplastic).
• Grade IV: The malignant tissue has cells that look most abnormal and tend to grow quickly.”

For more info go to http://abc2.org/guidance/brain-cancer-facts/tumor-grades-and-types

*This is a line from my book – “Chief Complaint, Brain Tumor - about my brain tumor and my journey in trying to recover from it. You can learn more about that here: http://www.chief-complaint.com/

Survival Rates Cancer Type

When some average mope at a party learns that I blog about brain tumors, I get questions, a lot of particularly morbid questions like:

• “How bad is brain cancer compared to other cancers?”
• “How long does ______(our friend)  have to live?”
• “What’s the worst cancer to have?”

I rarely know how to answer these questions because it’s hard to think of a brain tumor or cancer that isn’t bad and I know almost nothing about the victim's situation.

I just found the Cancer Research UK website, though, which is helpful in providing information on how to compare the different cancers.  The average survival rates give everybody – victims, caregivers, friends & family – have some vague idea of what to expect (although, as with most everything in life, your survival rate may differ).

If you go to this website, poke around a bit, there’s a lot of good information.

Here’s a link: http://www.cancerresearchuk.org/health-professional/cancer-statistics/survival/common-cancers-compared#heading-Zero

John

PS - I find this whole business of comparing cancers and deciding whose friend/relative/significant other has the worse cancer to be particularly idiotic.  Here’s my excerpt from my book, “Chief Complaint, Brain Tumor” - http://www.chief-complaint.com/ - about such inane conversations:

“The phrase “brain tumor” is scary and difficult to slide into any casual,

over-the-fence-with-the-neighbor conversation. I imagined the following

conversation when running into a friend at Starbuck’s:

“Hey Fred, how’s it going?”

“Great! Our daughter Mary just made the high school jazz band as the

bass player, the only student to ever be picked as a sophomore.”

“Congratulations!”

“And you, how’s it going?”

“Well, I’ve just been diagnosed with a brain tumor—the tumor’s as big

as your wife’s fist.”

“No shit. Well…how about them Bears?”

And with your more competitive acquaintances, I could imagine the

following conversation with Ashton:

“John, how are you? It’s good to see you.”

“I’ve just been diagnosed as having a brain tumor.”

“Really, what kind?”

“It’s a Grade I meningioma. It’s about as big as your fist.”

“Well, my brother Dave has a Grade III metastatic brain tumor. It’s a

Gliomas type of brain tumor. We’re very worried about it infiltrating adjacent

brain tissue. You should be grateful that you only have a Grade I meningioma!”

“You have a brain tumor”

These are five of the scariest words I know. I know this because I’ve had a doctor say them to me.

The ABTA has some pragmatically helpful advice on what to do after hearing this bad/horrific/terrifying news in a section on their website entitled “First Steps After Receiving a Brain Tumor Diagnosis.” - http://www.abta.org/brain-tumor-treatment/newly-diagnosed/?referrer=http://www.abta.org/

I can imagine writing this page was hard, because almost anything I’d write would be trite, scatological or particularly unprofessional. The ABTA, however, has some really good advice on:

•  Educating Yourself
• Seeking a Second Opinion
• Insurance (These dang tumors are costly!)
• Finding a Treatment Center
• Finding Support

Getting back to the importance of “Educating Yourself,” the ABTA website – www.abta.org - has tons of information on all of these topics.

I originally was told by my ophthalmologist who ordered up the MRI that revealed the tumor. Here’s my description of my reaction, excerpted from “Chief Complaint, Brain Tumor” - http://www.chief-complaint.com/

“The ride through the tree-lined streets of Chicago’s north shore suburbs to the ophthalmologist’s office, though, seemed longer that the four or five miles than it was. My memory of that ride was that we talked about everything except the reason for the ride—the nice fall weather, possible movies we should go to, and maybe the piles of leaves in the gutters above the third-floor attic.

But I knew that, this time, something was wrong, something that wouldn’t be easily fixed. My fear was that I had some horrible eye problem that would require surgery. My parents had both had cataract surgery and it sounded unnerving.

So I stewed on the idea of eye surgery (What else could it possibly be?) during the drive and, in the process, torqued my nerves so tight that I would’ve needed a socket wrench to loosen them.

We took an elevator up to the ophthalmologist’s office and, unlike previous visits, we were quickly shown into an examination room.

 

Almost immediately, the doctor entered the room and shut the door.

Then in a no-nonsense tone of voice he told us that I had a brain tumor and he could recommend a very good neurosurgeon.

My tongue tied itself up, then slightly loosened, and I sputtered out something like, “Brain tumor?”

I was stunned. I was shocked. I wasn’t even sure what a brain tumor was other than bad, very bad.

What do you say to somebody who’s just told you that your life is going

to change, for the worse? “Thanks for the really bad news?” “Please excuse

me while I start to freak out?” “Where’s the scotch? And not the Black Label, I want the really good Blue Label stuff!”

 

I have no real memory of what was said other than some comment about sending me to a neurosurgeon that specializes in brain tumors.

There was a painful discontinuity about hearing life-changing news on an absolutely beautiful autumn day. The warm fall weather hadn’t changed.

The streets were teeming with students who just escaped from grade school. But I had just heard the worst news I could ever remember hearing. And the only people who knew it were me, my wife, and the ophthalmologist’s medical team.”

If you have a description of that moment, the moment you learned you had a brain tumor that you’d like to share, just write it into the “Comments” section on this posting.