“The diagnosis came as a bit of a relief. Despite the difficult reality of being told you have a terminal illness; I finally had some context for the past six years of my life. It took more than 10 visits to intensive care – all before my 21st birthday – for the answer I needed.
The warning signs were there from the very first head injury, when I was just 15. What should have been relatively routine instead required hospitalisation. I knew instinctively – despite being told otherwise – that there was more to it. After the second head injury, I spent a year in hospital, learning to talk, eat, move, and even remember. Still nothing was detected, and in truth I did not mind. All my focus was on my boat.
I can still recall the day that I fell in love with the water. With rowing, with kayaking, and with the thrill of competition. Despite being five years younger than my brother, I raced him, and I beat him. I got out the water and said to my parents, ‘I want to go to the Olympics.’ I wasn’t particularly serious about school, but I was about racing. It gave me an avenue for my energy.
In the midst of that second recovery, it also gave me a purpose. As soon as I got home, I said to my Mum ‘I want to get in my boat.’ Although I could not walk, I could row. And 18-months later I was on the start line of the Junior World Championships.
At university, as I would head out to train at 4:30am my flat mates were stumbling home. I missed out on that part of being a student, but I didn’t mind. I loved what I was doing, and the people I was doing it with. After I got selected for Team GB, I remember thinking ‘f$%k, I am actually doing this!’ After the injury I was told that I would never get back, and yet there I was. Fulfilling my childhood dream.
When it happened again – for a third time – it was incredibly difficult. A canoeing accident left me fighting for my life, causing me severe internal and external injuries, as well as complex neurological issues. This time I knew what lay ahead, and that awareness was scary.
The first two recoveries I did not struggle mentally. But this third time, hidden behind the humour, was an avalanche. Last winter, after a series of upheavals in my personal life, the scales were tipped, and I broke. I experienced this huge sense of loss. An overwhelming sense. It was once again my boat which saved me. As soon as I was strapped in – able to hold just a single oar – my face lit up.
I had just begun to get my life back when I was sent – once again – towards rock bottom. This time it was a spinal stroke, and this time – six years on – MELAS was finally identified. It is an extremely rare mitochondrial condition – which can occur at any age and often out of nowhere – affecting my cells’ ability to heal, putting my organs at risk, and creating a domino effect of ill-health. MELAS has only 30-years of research behind it, meaning the doctors are at a bit of a loss with me. But in the face of this darkness, I am trying to find those shards of light.
One particularly bright light is the many people who support me – the ‘Carmichael Can Cult’ as they like to be known. They have shown that they are here for everything. For all of me. It is a depth of love and care that I have not known before. In this safety I have started to remove my mask of positivity. To let people in.
Before I was ‘Georgia the rower,’ or ‘Georgia the athlete.’ But who could be found beyond this identity? I like to think of this discovery – of a whole new part of me – as a rainbow. In the rain is the grieving process – which I never did properly before – for my former life. And in the sunshine is this evolution.
While I am physically stuck in bed – for now at least – I have in fact found a sense of freedom. I understand now that I am not trapped by my mind. It is a choice. And in this choice – in this new-found vulnerability – there is hope.
I can use my story to help others. So, if further down the road someone is in my situation, they will know that there is a route through. It is what Ed has done so brilliantly with M2M. Encouraging people to flip the focus. To notice all the things that they can do, and that they already have. In what is going to be a long road ahead, this mindset is vital for me. It is the same mindset which will – I am sure of it – take me back to my boat, to the start line, and eventually to the Paralympics.
I know that the rain can become a rainbow. I have done it before, so why can’t I do it again?”
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