It was the Spring Racing Carnival in Melbourne. My friends and I had a ritual – each year we dressed up and spent a day at the racetrack. Saturday September 6, 2003, had been a great day as always, and once we said our goodbyes that evening, I caught a train home.
But as I got off at my station, a friend I’d spent the day with sent a text message. Some of the girls were going for dinner and asked if I’d meet them at the restaurant. It was a beautiful evening and I thought, why not? The restaurant was a 10-minute drive away and I was walking towards the taxi rank when I heard a train whistle a couple of stations down the line. I thought I might as well jump on the train instead, so I doubled back to the station.
My sliding door moment …
I reached the platform and stepped towards the waiting train, but the doors closed. There was a wide gap between the train and the platform, and I was leaning too far forward to stop myself falling. The train moved and I have a vague recollection of trying to grab the edge of the platform.
I can’t find words to describe the pain.
A lady who’d just got off the train hit the emergency button and climbed down on to the tracks with me. I was conscious and asked her to help me get up, but I couldn’t feel my legs. She asked me my name and if I was married – the paramedics had told her to keep me talking so I didn’t lose consciousness. When I asked her how bad I was, she said, “pretty bad”, so I told her to tell my family that I loved them and that I was sorry.
My leg was amputated to save my life
I was 37 then and working as an account manager for a wine company. I spent a lot of time on the road, loved my job, had my own home and plenty of friends. Cooking and entertaining were passions, so I hosted fortnightly dinner parties and went to live music gigs and . I couldn’t imagine how my life was about to change.
I was rushed to The Alfred Hospital in Melbourne. I remember being in a white space with lights on the ceiling. Three teams of surgeons worked for 24 hours to save me. I died a few times, so I was put into a coma to keep me as stable as possible. My long list of injuries included a broken pelvis and ruptured bladder. Eight days after the accident, I contracted a severe infection and my right leg was amputated to save my life.
I had strange dreams while I was in the coma. In one, I was sitting in the back of a helicopter with a doctor, and when I looked down, my leg was missing. When I came out of the coma and was told I’d lost my right leg, I said, “I already know”.
Becoming an amputee felt like a second chance
I can honestly say that at no point was I devastated about losing my leg. I remembered being on the train tracks – I knew what could have happened – and this felt like a second chance. I’m an eternal optimist who always looks for the silver lining – though initially I had no idea of the hard work that lay ahead. I thought I’d go to rehabilitation, someone would give me a prosthetic leg and I’d walk out in a pair of my beloved stilettos!
Instead, I was in hospital for three-and-a-half months and had 27 procedures and surgeries before moving to rehabilitation for seven months. I weighed 42 kilos. There were times when my confidence ebbed.
Then I met Jason – a friend of a friend who’d been in a helicopter accident 18 months earlier. He’d also lost a leg and had similar injuries to me, but he rode his pushbike to the hospital to visit me and I thought, if he can do this, it isn’t over for me. He sparked my fighting spirit.
My fighting spirit
One year after my accident, I returned to work. I was on two walking sticks, but it was a start. I began driving again and went out with friends – but the high heels had to go. They just weren’t practical anymore. I began to rebuild my confidence.
I had too much to do to let heels slow me down.
I used to run and I wanted to stay active, so I took up golf, but sand and amputees aren’t good friends! One day, I attended a golf fundraiser and got stuck in a bunker, so I took off my leg, threw it up over the side of the bunker and commando crawled my way out.
Helping other amputees
Finding accurate information about what it was like to live as an amputee had been difficult. In hospital and rehab, I’d wanted information so I could make decisions about what came next. While my doctors and nurses were great, they didn’t know what it was like to live as an amputee.
In 2004, I started Limbs 4 Life, which is a support network where amputees can speak to other amputees, and receive hope, purpose and information. I started small but now Limbs 4 Life is a national organisation with 200 peer support volunteers – all amputees. In 2019, the New Zealand Government adopted our peer support program, and we successfully lobbied the Australian Government to include amputees in the National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS).
What is an amputee?
There are about 160,000 amputees in Australia, including children born with congenital limb deficiencies, people who’ve lost limbs through trauma or infection, and those with type 2 diabetes, cancer or vascular disease. We match them with someone who’s been through a similar journey. My next goal is to set up an amputee wellbeing centre offering counselling, yoga, massage, and a prosthetic facility.
Life as an amputee
Part of adapting is accepting what has happened and I don’t hide my prosthesis. I don’t notice if someone stares at me. Although recently I walked through an airport wearing shorts and a stranger, a man, told me my prosthesis was “disgusting” and that I should “put it away”. I was so taken aback. I didn’t know what to say, but I didn’t dwell on it.
I’ve never thought “why me?” You’ll never get an answer to that question so it’s a waste of energy. There was life before the accident and life afterwards but I’m the same person. I’ve shaken a few trees, met people I would never have met, and I hope I’ve looked what happened in the eye and used it for a good purpose.
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