- Theo, 13, was rushed to hospital after falling face-first onto his bike handlebars at a skate park
- A precautionary scan revealed a 10cm tumour deep inside his brain
- After two major surgeries and three weeks in hospital, Theo was back home and enjoying life
Here Lucy Phillips, 47, from Perth, WA, tells her story in her own words
Warning: The contents of this article contain graphic content
The phone rang and, looking at the screen, my heart dropped, seeing it was my son, Theo, then 13.
It was school holidays in April 2025, and Theo had spent the morning at the skate park with his bike.
‘Have fun! Be safe!’ I’d called out when he left.
Theo and our younger son Albie, then 11, were adventurous types.
As soon as they could walk, my husband, Lee had taught them how to cycle. As they grew, they added fishing and dirt bike riding to their list of interests.
And while of course they wore helmets, bumps and bruises were par for the course – especially with my oldest son.
I was used to it, which is why, when the phone rang and I saw it was Theo, my heart sank.
‘I’ve broken my jaw!’ Theo screamed.
‘Hold on. Dad’s coming!’ I soothed, motioning to Lee who was working in the backyard.
Dropping his tools, he raced out the door.
Just minutes later, he was coming back through it with Theo.
My poor lad was covered in blood, and more scarlet liquid was gushing from his face and mouth.
Grabbing a towel, I sat Theo down and tried to look in his mouth.
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‘There’s so much blood, I can’t see where it’s coming from,’ I gasped, blood now covering my hands and splashing on the floor.
Theo was screaming, and the stream wasn’t slowing.
‘I’ll race Theo to hospital,’ I told Lee.
At Joondalup hospital emergency, Theo was rushed through triage.
‘He’s taken a chunk of flesh from the palate of his mouth,’ one doctor said, managing to stem the bleeding a little.
Made more comfortable with painkillers, Theo was finally able to tell me what happened.
He’d been sitting up against the wall of the skate park, when he noticed his bike tipping.
To stop it falling, he stood to catch it. But he tripped over the back wheel and landed, mouth open, onto the handlebars.
Terrifyingly, the handle and brake mechanism had impaled the inside of his right cheek and come out the other side.
It sounded horrific, but thankfully the medic explained the mouth was fast healing, and would mend on its own with the help of some glue to seal the hole.
Then, Theo was taken for a precautionary CAT scan to check his jaw and throat.
‘Just to be safe,’ the doctor reasoned.
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By now it was 7pm.
Lee’s parents, Karen and Tony, came over to stay with Albie while Lee met me at the hospital.
We were expecting to head home soon, when suddenly we were all being ushered into a private room.
‘We’ve found a mass on Theo’s brain,’ one of the doctors said, pointing at the scan.
‘Am I going to die?’ Theo cried.
We listened in shock as the doctor explained the mass was the size of an orange.
But there was more…
It was lodged so deeply in the back of Theo’s brain, that surgery to remove it would be very risky.
Theo could suffer a stroke or paralysis, or even die on the operating table.
I felt my heart shatter. How could this be happening? Theo hadn’t shown any symptoms of the 10cm tumour.
He was kept in for further tests, and it was revealed Theo had no peripheral vision in his right eye.
That’s why he’s always been so clumsy, I thought, shocked.
We hardly had time to process the news before – a week later – Theo was taken to Perth Children’s Hospital for surgery.
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With tears streaming, I planted one last kiss on his forehead before he was taken into theatre.
There, doctors removed half my boy’s skull in order to perform the delicate procedure.
Ten hours later, Theo was out. He was snaked in wires, with a drain leading from his brain.
But he was alive and the mass was gone.
‘Theo had a benign tumour called a papilloma choroid plexus,’ the surgeon said, explaining the mass had likely been growing slowly from birth.
‘It could have been fatal if it had burst,’ he added.
Our boy had been a walking time bomb.
I couldn’t believe being impaled had actually saved Theo’s life. I was so grateful he was alive.
But his recovery wasn’t easy.
Heartbreakingly, when Theo woke he couldn’t recall my name.
It was the same when Albie visited.
And a week later, doctors were concerned that he still hadn’t been able to get out of bed.
A CAT scan discovered a build-up of blood on his brain, so Theo was whisked back for another nine-hour surgery to drain the bleed.
‘We love you,’ I sobbed, feeling helpless.
Thankfully, when he woke a second time, my boy was back.
‘Am I alive?’ he asked.
‘You’re going to be just fine,’ I smiled.
Twenty-four hours later, Theo was eating, drinking and recognising people.
And on day five, he was up and playing basketball in the hospital grounds.
He has his sparkle back, I thought, feeling thankful.
After three weeks in hospital, in June, Theo came home.
Fourteen months on, Theo, now 15, is back to being his happy self.
But he still has a journey ahead. He suffers muscle weakness in the right side of his body, has memory loss, and finds it difficult to remember words or form sentences.
He also has difficulties navigating fatigue and learning in a classroom setting.
Theo will have yearly MRI scans to monitor his brain, and ongoing appointments with speech, physio and occupational therapists.
We’re so thankful to all the friends, family members, and medical and rehab staff, who had a hand in saving our boy.
One thing’s certain – Theo still loves his bike, and when I see him back in the saddle, I can’t help but smile.
He’s our miracle.
To support Theo visit ‘Help Support Theo and His Family on His Journey to Recovery’ on Gofundme.
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