By Sarah Wise

One moment you’re ‘living your best life’, and the next, you’ve hit rock bottom. Life can change in an instance, and that’s what happened to me when I was 24 years old while working and living in London. 

It was October 2019, and I was at my favourite band’s concert on my then-boyfriend’s shoulders. We fell, my chin hit the ground, and I was instantly paralysed from the neck down. I couldn’t feel the ground beneath me. It was like my body no longer existed.

I was diagnosed with a spinal cord injury (SCI); in technical terms, C3 incomplete quadriplegia ASIA D. I had two 8 hour surgeries and now am the owner of a titanium neck. Two rods, 16 screws, and the replacement of my C7 vertebrae with a cage. This marked the start of a journey I never expected to be on.

A body I thought I knew completely had forgotten how to do the most basic tasks. I used to be an elite gymnast and cheerleader. I was able to pick up new skills with ease and knew the limitations of my body (there weren’t too many!). But now my body didn’t respond to what I told it to do or decided to do something else! It was like my brain was the parent, and my body was a toddler. 

Doctors told me that it was unlikely that I’d ever walk again. But I didn’t believe them. I asked every person the same question “will I walk again?” No one could give me the answer I was looking for. I will never forget the look on their faces - deep pity. 

At the beginning of my recovery, there wasn’t much hope. At first, my knees started moving and then on day 12, I moved my right big toe for the first time. It was the best moment of my life, and I knew in my heart I would walk again. 

I spent the first four weeks of my recovery staring at the white ceiling from my hospital bed before I was allowed to sit in a wheelchair for the first time. 

I had always seen wheelchairs as a hindrance my whole life, but now I viewed it as something to give me freedom. It was a tough start, though; sitting upright was a massive task in itself. 

Alt text: Sarah sitting in her wheelchair, enjoying a night out on the town with family and friends. All pictures: Sarah Wise (@sarahjwise) 

Getting into a wheelchair was both a high and low point in my recovery journey. I was finally able to see outside the white walls of my hospital room. However, this was the first time I was exposed to living my life as a person with a disability. I hadn’t socialised with anyone in weeks; I craved connection. But anyone who I caught eyes with quickly looked away. People I spoke to would reply to the person next to me. I was treated differently. But I was still me? My wheelchair made people feel uncomfortable. 

I impressed my medical team with my recovery progress and was told they had never seen someone recover as quickly as I did for the level of injury that I sustained. I used this and each tiny improvement as motivation to keep going. 

I spent just over three months in hospital before returning to Sydney, rehabilitating my body and learning how to manage my new life. At five weeks, I took my first steps with assistance and surprisingly, I found the process of learning to walk more fascinating than frustrating. 

I now refer to myself as a “walking quadriplegic”, but you’ll have to stay tuned to part two of my blog to find out why.