When five-year-old Olivia first became unwell, her mum never imagined cancer was silently taking hold. It was late spring, the weather was warm, and Olivia had begun vomiting. To Holly Brown, a 31-year-old single mum from Clacton-on-Sea, it looked like nothing more than heat sickness — something that would pass with rest and fluids.
But it didn’t pass.
By June, Olivia was being sick every single day. She was exhausted, pale, and no longer herself. Something felt wrong in a way Holly couldn’t ignore. On June 17, she took her daughter to A&E, hoping for reassurance. Instead, doctors noticed Olivia was unsteady on her feet. Her eyes appeared uneven, one slightly squinting. Red flags began to rise.
The following day, an MRI scan delivered the kind of news that stops a parent’s world in its tracks.
Olivia had a brain tumour.
“I burst out crying,” Holly recalled. “I was just devastated.”
That same day, Olivia was rushed into emergency surgery to fit a drainage system to relieve pressure caused by blocked spinal fluid. Three days later, she underwent an eight-hour operation to remove the tumour. Surgeons managed to remove 95 per cent of it — but the remaining five per cent was too close to vital areas of the brain to touch without causing irreversible damage.
A week later came another crushing blow. Doctors confirmed Olivia had grade 3 medulloblastoma — the most common and aggressive brain tumour found in children — and that it had already spread to her spine.
For Holly, the words barely felt real.
“I didn’t know what was going to happen,” she said. “I didn’t know if she would survive.”
Each year, around 52 children in the UK are diagnosed with medulloblastoma. Most are under the age of five. Survival depends on swift, intense treatment — treatment that often comes with lifelong consequences.
Holly was forced to make an impossible decision.
Doctors explained Olivia could undergo chemotherapy alone, offering a 30 per cent chance of survival. Or she could endure chemotherapy combined with radiotherapy, increasing her chances to around 50 per cent — but with a high risk of long-term learning difficulties and reduced cognitive function.
“I had to think about her quality of life,” Holly said. “They told me the treatment could lower her IQ and she would most likely end up with learning difficulties. It was such an impossible decision to make.”
She chose the option that gave Olivia the best chance to live.
While navigating complex medical choices, Holly also faced another heartbreaking task: explaining the situation to Olivia’s siblings — Lilly, 12, Mason, seven, and Sonny, three.
“It was heartbreaking telling them,” she said. “My eldest understands the most and probably takes it the hardest. She can be quite withdrawn, but I try to reassure her and let her know she can always talk to me.”
Throughout the summer, Olivia endured two five-day rounds of chemotherapy. Her hair began to fall out. Holly collected it, keeping it safe, gently telling her daughter it would grow back.
“She took it quite well,” Holly said. “The hospital gave us a children’s book that explained chemotherapy. I think that helped her understand.”
Between treatment rounds, scans showed the tumour had shrunk — a small but vital sign of hope. But fluid buildup meant doctors couldn’t yet determine the full picture, especially regarding the cancer in her spine.
“The hardest part is not knowing,” Holly said. “Everything feels up in the air.”
In September, Olivia underwent six weeks of proton beam therapy as part of a clinical trial — a highly targeted form of radiotherapy designed to limit damage to healthy tissue. The side effects were brutal. Her skin became sore and flaky. Nausea overwhelmed her. For weeks, she had to be fed through a tube.
Now, the family waits again.
Another scan is scheduled for December 4. Just days later, Olivia is due to begin six to nine more months of chemotherapy. Her future remains uncertain, balanced between hope and fear.
As Christmas approaches, Holly is focused on one thing: making memories.
Knowing Olivia will likely be too unwell to go out during treatment, Holly and her mum Amanda have set up a GoFundMe to transform their home into a Santa’s grotto — filling it with lights, decorations, warmth, and joy.
“We don’t know how well she’ll be,” Holly said. “So we want to make it special at home. We want precious Christmas memories.”
Most days, Holly says she holds herself together because she has no choice.
“I can’t fall apart,” she said quietly. “My kids need me to be strong.”
But in the quiet moments, when no one is watching, she allows herself to cry — and then carries on.
Because for Olivia, and for the memories still waiting to be made, she has to.