From Leukaemia to Pedal Power
At sixteen, you don’t think much about your future. You’re not thinking about your health. You’re not thinking about how quickly life can change; And you’re definitely not thinking about cancer.
For me, it started like a lot of things do — small, confusing signs that didn’t seem like a big deal at the time. I was sick, had a few strange symptoms, and wasn’t feeling right. Like most people, I thought it would pass.
It didn’t.
Within a matter of days, everything escalated. I went from being a normal teenager to being told I needed to get to Melbourne urgently. I didn’t really understand why. I didn’t ask too many questions.
I just went.
Looking back, I think part of me didn’t want to know.
The moment it became real wasn’t in a hospital room or from a doctor — it was seeing my mum’s reaction. That’s when it hit me that something serious was going on. Not long after, I was in hospital starting treatment.
At sixteen, I didn’t understand leukaemia. I didn’t research it. I didn’t want to know what was ahead. I just did what I was told. Overnight, everything I knew was gone. My normal life, my routine, the freedom of being a teenager — replaced with hospital walls, treatment schedules, and a completely different reality.
What followed was months of treatment that pushed me in ways I wasn’t prepared for. There were physical challenges that took a toll on my body. There were days where I had nothing left in me; and there were moments that tested me more than I ever expected.
But I didn’t spend time overthinking it. I focused on getting through each day. That was it. No long-term thinking. No “what ifs.” Just the next step.
Looking back now, I think that’s what got me through — not trying to process everything all at once, but just doing what needed to be done in that moment.
There were people around me who helped more than they probably realise. Small things made a difference. Distractions mattered. Then somehow, piece by piece, I got through it. Eventually, I reached remission.
People often ask what that feels like — whether there’s relief, excitement, or a sense of everything going back to normal. The truth is, it’s not that simple.
Life after cancer isn’t about going back to who you were before. It’s about figuring out who you are now. Because things change. Your body changes. Your mindset changes. Your outlook on life changes. There are things you carry with you long after treatment ends — some visible, some not. You learn quickly not to take things for granted. You also learn that everyone is dealing with something, whether you can see it or not.
For me, that experience shaped the person I’ve become. It taught me resilience, even if I didn’t realise it at the time. It taught me perspective; and it gave me a different understanding of what really matters.
These days, I spend a lot of time giving back to others but also doing things I enjoy; in particular, out on my bicycle.
Long rides. Big distances. Pushing through when things get tough. People sometimes ask if I draw on what I went through back then. The answer is — not directly. Because nothing really compares to that experience.
There is one thing that’s the same; you keep moving forward. You don’t focus on the whole journey. You focus on the next checkpoint. The next kilometre. The next goal. Eventually, you get there.
That’s what the road represents to me now.
Not just distance — but progress.
Not just endurance — but purpose.
But most of all, something I didn’t fully
understand back then:
Freedom.
What I’ve been through has shown me just how powerful hope can be.
If you feel moved to support the reason behind this ride, a donation to Make-A-Wish Australia will help bring that same hope and joy to children facing their own challenges.
Comments