Anna had no cancer symptoms whatsoever. Then doctors found a brain tumour the size of a lemon.

You can contribute to Anna's Go Fund Me page right here, to help her help others in her position.

At 26, I was in the prime of my life. 

I loved my job, had amazing friends and worked hard during the week so I could kick up my heels with my friends on the weekend and enjoy life to the fullest.

Little did I know what lay ahead.

In October 2010, I arrived home from a 12km run and suffered a gran mal seizure (a type of seizure that involves a loss of consciousness and violent muscle contractions). I was rushed to emergency. 

Following an overnight MRI, I woke to a room with three patients – all at least 30 years older than me – and I was desperately trying to get my bearings. Turns out my mum had been there, but had rushed home to have a shower after being by my side all night. Bad timing meant I had woken up feeling incredibly alone and seriously disorientated.

A man with a clipboard approached my bed. He asked my name and then blurted out a life-changing sentence.

"Overnight scans have identified you have a brain tumor the size of a small lemon imbedded in the right frontal lobe of your brain tissue," he said.

"You have brain cancer.” 

All I could do was sit there in complete shock. I had no idea why I'd had the seizure – I thought maybe I was severely dehydrated at the time, but I had never had any 'cancer' symptoms. No headaches. No worries. No idea. 

You always hear of cancer happening to other people. For some reason you never think it's going to be you. 

I sat there quietly trying to digest what I’d just been told. My world was shattered into a million pieces. I called my mum straight away and she arrived in a flash along with my best friend, Isabel.

As a result of this news, major brain surgery was booked in immediately with a brain surgeon. The surgeon told me I likely had five years to live. I had never been so scared in my life. 

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They can tell you where roughly the cancer is in relation to functionality area. But once you’re under, your life and quality of life is literally in their hands. How you come out or if you even wake up is uncertain. Luckily for me, my surgery was categorised as a successful one and I was discharged within 24 hours from hospital.

Three days after my operation I woke to a severe headache and throwing up  – a sign that something is seriously wrong. I went straight to my local GP, before being rushed to local MRI clinic as I had a severe edema (a swelling on my brain). 

I began choking on my vomit in the MRI scanning machine – with my head locked into a frame suffocating me and stopping me from being able to move. 

Anna before her MRI. Image: Supplied.  

They pulled me out as quickly as possible, but as I lay there waiting for an ambulance the entire left side of my face had dropped. I couldn’t feel my left side of my body and it was flopped down. I was covered in vomit and the pain was unbearable. I was in tears; I thought I was about to pass away and farewelled my parents who were there with me holding my hand. 

But then the ambulance arrived and I was taken to hospital – the place I would be for the next two weeks.

Despite all odds, after a three month break to recover, I was back in the corporate world working my way up the ladder. I wasn't quite back to full strength, and running wasn't really on the cards, but I was better.

Well, I thought I was better.

But then a routine scan in 2013 showed the cancer was back. My heart sank so low. Lower than it had ever been the first time around. 

January 2014 marked another major brain surgery for me – with surgeons trying to remove as much tumour as possible. I'll never forget being wheeled down the long corridor further and further away from my parents, not sure if I was going to even wake from surgery but trying to be brave and telling them I’d see them on the other side with a thumbs up.

While I did 'come out the other side', my recovery was not so smooth. I suffered three violent post operative full body awake seizures in hospital that were traumatic and terrifying. Following this was rest and recovery in hospital for three weeks.

By May 2014, doctors made the discovery that my surgery wasn't quite as clean as they had hoped. During a routine post op scan, it was identified that by edging on the side of caution my surgeon had left a small mass of tumour behind. 

Another operation was suggested, even though they'd literally sliced through my skull bone and brain 12 weeks earlier. But I was determined to throw everything at this terminal cancer. So I went for it.

Anna's surgery scar. Image: Supplied.  In July 2014, my third operation took place. Unfortunately the pathology results weren’t good: my tumour had increased in grade and was now a more aggressive – a grade 3 Astrocytoma.

With brain tumors you can usually only have radiation treatment once, since the brain is such a sensitive organ. So I knew diving into a one-chance treatment. 

In September, I started my nine weeks of radiation. It completely wiped me out. I just felt like I had nothing left and losing my hair and gaining 40kgs throughout the process really heavily impacted my self esteem. 

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My body didn't get a break though, as shortly after radiation I was thrown straight into chemotherapy for six months.

However, it seemed to do the trick! I got my life back on track and the looming fear of cancer started to ease.

I wish that was the end of my journey. I wish I could stop the article here and say everything is okay.

But it's not. Because in February of this year, a routine MRI scan found that my cancer had returned. 

Once again I was staring down the barrell of chemotherapy. 

I went for checkup scans before my fourth round of chemo when the MRI revealed the treatment had failed. My tumour had actually grown during that period. 

We were all devastated. It was completely unexpected by everyone, including my amazing oncologist.

I met with a surgeon who reluctantly agreed to operate. He’d rejected the idea in January as he was concerned about the high risks involved with the location of the tumour on my motor strip – the area controlling all of my left side movement. So we arranged for an awake surgery – a daunting thought, but honestly, what other choice did I have?

Post operation, I was in hospital for two weeks and unfortunately again I had post-op awake seizures. These were ones where I was fully aware my body was seizing, but I was trapped in it and there was nothing I could do but watch my body move uncontrollably and wait for the medication to arrive. 

I’ve now had three months off to recover before I begin my final treatment option. After four major brain surgeries I can no longer have anymore, and I’ve already had radiotherapy, so... I’m starting some heavy duty chemo on my birthday and praying the cancer responds well to it and slows down.

However it is inevitable that I will lose my mental and physical capacity over time, which makes me deeply sad, scared and incredibly anxious. 

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I’m all about quality of life and I’m going to fight as hard as I can because we only get one life and I want to LIVE. I’m usually so full of life, I have a huge heart and just love everything about life – so the thought of things getting harder for me to enjoy is scary, but one I am trying to wrap my head around. 

Sadly now when my left leg is fatigued it drags and the left side of my body has been numb since my first ever operation. This latest surgery left my left hand is still moving, but it needs intensive rehab for finer movement – I almost chopped my fingers off trying to cut veggies the other day. 

I’ve been through a lot in my time, but this recovery has been one of the toughest.

This is terminal. I know I'm going to 100 per cent die of this incurable cancer. I’m literally on chemotherapies developed 30-40 years ago, so it's hard to keep hope that I have much longer left – but I'm finding ways to keep myself busy and distracted. 

I have designed a cancer support network app and website to help cancer patients and carers all over Australia and the globe connect with others who can relate, find support in these relationships and an understanding like no other. But without the funding this dream of mine and the legacy I want to leave to help others cannot become a reality. 

You can be completely surrounded by family and friends trying to support you, but find yourself sitting there feeling the most alone you’ve ever felt in your life – and no one should have to feel this way.

I think having battled this cancer four times that I have a unique insight into what support some cancer patients need and how to help them. It may not be for everyone, but if I can help just one person, then that’s my job done. 

I am beyond grateful to be alive and I want to inspire other brain cancer patients – and any cancer patients – that just because you are given a prognosis of time to live that if you just give it everything you have, things can change.

A girlfriend started up a Go Fund Me to help me with medical bills, fund my website and live my best possible life whilst I’m physically and mentally able to – as I will slowly lose all of this over time. 

I haven’t been able to earn money for six months now and it’s certainly a struggle. Brain cancer is the most expensive cancer to treat and the least funded. My doctors have been amazing, but I really need everyone’s help. 

You can contribute to Anna's Go Fund Me page right here, to help her help others in her position. She will also be appearing on the Kyle and Jackie O show to share her story and tick off a few big bucket list items! Be sure to tune into that and follow her progress on her Instagram page, @gingearoundtown.

Feature Image: Supplied. 

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