Cancer bride Anna Swabey in her own words months before her death the day before dream wedding
Tragic blogger wrote of 'joy' at finding love of her life Andy Bell, who she was due to marry in Yorkshire Dales tomorrow
A BRAVE, young cancer victim spoke of her happiness at finding the love of her life just months before her tragic death.
Anna Swabey, 25, was told she had three years to live after being diagnosed with an aggressive brain tumour in January 2015.
But she tragically died this morning – the day before her dream wedding to fiancé Andy Bell.
Her family announced the news today, saying: “Anna passed away peacefully in the early hours of this morning.
“I cannot put into words the heartbreak we all feel, but amongst our sadness, we are so proud of her courage, her spirit and the determination she showed throughout her illness.
“If ever there was a person to show us how to live, it’s Anna Louise Swabey, our beautiful, brave girl.”
Back in March, Anna told of her impressive optimism despite the terrifying ordeal facing her in a piece for The Sun’s Fabulous magazine...
“WHEN I tell people I’m terminally ill, their immediate reaction is to shower me with pity.
I try to assure them that even though I probably won’t see 30, they shouldn’t feel sorry for me – I say I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.
And then their sorrow quickly turns to bewilderment.
I can understand why – a brain tumour in my head is killing me.
But I’ve not just accepted my terminal diagnosis, I’ve embraced all of the joy it’s brought into my life.
After five years studying at the University of Portsmouth, then working in the area as a manager at a designer outlet, I’m back living back at my parents’ house in County Durham.
I’ve become a blogger, writing about my experience, and I raise money for charity.
But the greatest thing of all is that I’ve met the love of my life and have got engaged. Why wouldn’t I be happy?
I could spend every day in bed feeling bitter and mourning the future I’m not going to have, but that wouldn’t change anything and I’d never get those precious days back.
The only way I’ve been able to make peace with my illness is to acknowledge it and make the most of every second.
Back in January 2015, I was a fit and healthy 23-year-old who’d left uni with a first-class honours degree in languages and landed a great job at the retail outlet. Life was good.
But one evening, as I got ready for a night out with friends, I suffered a massive seizure.
The last thing I remember is putting on my make-up in the bathroom.
Apparently my flatmate found me unconscious and fitting, so called 999 and I was rushed to Portsmouth’s Queen Alexandra Hospital, before being moved to Southampton General Hospital.
There I had an MRI scan, which showed I had a brain tumour – but I needed a biopsy before doctors could be sure how serious it was.
The week spent waiting for the results was torture and every day felt like a lifetime.
My parents – Linda, 60, and Keith, 51 – spent hours online researching all the possible outcomes, while I refused to think about it.
I tried to stay hopeful that maybe I’d be able to just live with the tumour.
I assumed the worst-case scenario was cancer and I would need to have treatment.
At no point did I ever think it would kill me.
So when my doctor delivered the bombshell that the tumour was rare, aggressive and incurable, my parents and I were stunned.
As he revealed my life expectancy could be anything from a few months to three years, I sobbed uncontrollably. My parents broke down, too.
Telling my brother Matthew, 33, and sister Victoria, 36, and extended family later that day, I desperately tried to hold it together. But inside I was falling apart.
Most were so deeply shocked by my news, they could barely speak let alone cry. Apart from the seizure, I appeared completely healthy.
Within a few weeks, I had an operation to remove some of the tumour at Charing Cross Hospital in London – a consultant there is an expert at treating my type of cancer – in a bid to prolong my life.
After that I started radiotherapy and chemotherapy.
Walking on to the ward, it was full of much older people who were painfully skinny, bald and in pain.
Looking and feeling so well, I felt like an imposter.
The treatment was gruelling and I ended up losing my hair. I’ve worn wigs ever since, but refuse to dwell on it as the therapy is buying me precious time.
Moving back home was a tough decision, but I knew one day I’d need a lot of care and support, and wanted to spend as much time as possible with my loved ones.
I’m an ambitious person, so the most frustrating thing was leaving my job behind and not being able to work, as my treatment plan was so busy.
I also found it hard to come to terms with the idea I’d never fall in love or get married. Who’d want to be with someone with a ticking time bomb inside their head?
Even so, it didn’t stop me scrolling though Tinder last February, just weeks after my diagnosis.
I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, but thought it might somehow cheer me up.
I was quickly matched with a guy called Andy, now 26 and an engineer, who lived nearby in Newcastle.
I didn’t think there was any harm in chatting to him online and by text, but then after a few days he suggested we meet up.
I knew I had to let him know the truth, fully prepared never to hear from him again, so sent a text saying I was terminally ill with a brain tumour and I’d understand if he just wanted to leave things.
To my surprise, less than a minute later he replied, saying it didn’t matter and that he still wanted to get to know me.
His reply made me cry with happiness. For a moment, I felt like a normal 20-something again.
After our first date we were immediately an item. I loved the fact that Andy just saw me as ‘Anna’ and not ‘Anna with the brain tumour’.
And he never treated me any differently or let me play my ‘cancer card’, as I call it.
We’re just a very normal couple and the joy that brings me is indescribable – it’s something I never thought I would experience.
In December, Andy asked me to marry him – I said yes, of course! – and he’s now moved in with me.
Thankfully, Andy’s friends and family have been really supportive.
I was nervous meeting his parents – who would want their son to be dating a dying girl? But they’ve been very welcoming.
We’re planning to get married this September at a private retreat in the Yorkshire Dales, surrounded by around 160 family and friends.
I still can’t believe I’ve fallen in love with such an amazing man who’s prepared to take on all that comes with my illness.
I feel guilty I will bring him so much pain in the future, but he’s told me he’d rather have a few years with me than none at all.
I’m currently nine months into a 12-month course of chemotherapy. In January, I had a scan, which revealed my tumour hasn’t grown and is now considered ‘stable’.
It’s the best news I could hope for, which will hopefully buy me some more time.
When I’m not having treatment, I fund-raise for the Brain Tumour Research Campaign – even though brain tumours are the biggest cancer killer of children and adults under 40, it receives less than one per cent of national cancer research funding.
To date, I’ve raised almost £45,000 for the charity.
Despite my overall positivity, I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t have days when I felt low or frightened.
I worry what it will be like at the end. But those moments, when fear and sadness creep into my mind, are rare.
I’m yet to plan my funeral, but I’ve told Andy and my family that I want it to be a celebration – I don’t want people wearing black.
I also want to write letters to my loved ones with a final message they can keep.
At the moment, my health is good and I feel well, but I could have another seizure and die tomorrow
– which is why I refuse to waste today feeling anything but happy and thankful for all that being terminally ill has given me.”
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