I think it was 1964 or 65 when I was infected with the measles. Both my brothers were down with it too.

We were living in Wellington, New Zealand as my father was working for an advertising agency there. We hadn’t lived there long when the measles epidemic hit.  My mother was left with the task of taking care of us and, according to her, had trouble getting a doctor to come to the house. By the time the doctor did come my measles infection had progressed further than anyone could have imagined. Whilst my brothers, both younger were recovering, my temperature continued to soar.  The last thing I remember was devouring a chocolate heart ice cream whilst seated on an armchair propped up on pillows. I still can’t even look at a chocolate heart ice cream.  My mother had begged my father to get it for me in order to get my temperature down. Apparently, there was a big fight over this as my father did not want to be late to work and did not like to be told what to do. Anyway, after the ice cream or in the middle of it, I collapsed.  I had fallen into a coma.  I was rushed to the hospital by ambulance. There I was lying on a trolley in a coma but I saw everything. The next thing I remember was being moved through a long hall into a dark room with two nurses and a surgeon looming over me sticking a needle into my lower spine.  Still in a coma.  I travelled through a long tunnel at the end of which was a bright light and then back again as one of the nurses stroked my hair.

My parents visited me every day for the next three weeks praying that I would come out of it but it was looking pretty dire. In fact the doctors were preparing to turn off my life support. I cant even begin to imagine how that must have been for two very young parents. Then, suddenly a miracle happened. My father told me a joke and I laughed.  There was much rejoicing. I was awake. I was going to live! But in what condition? What would be the quality of my life from then on? From that moment on it would be a long road to recovery.

I was put into a ward with lots of other children also with life threatening illnesses and some with encephalitis.  Sometimes they could be a little noisy but I could not speak and had no co-ordination so couldn’t stand up in my cot. I would try to join in but could only make cooing noises. Like an owl. The little girl in the next cot was in the same condition. We cooed at each other for days.  Then she died.  I couldn’t even cry properly.  I could think, feel, see, hear but I could not communicate.  When they took her away I wanted to scream but nothing would come out.  The nurses didn’t come to me. They couldn’t hear me. I was alone and helpless in my grief.

My grandmother came with mum to visit. She brought a fuzzy felt board game. She and my mother moved the shapes around and then guided my hand so that I could do it too.  Every time she came to visit she brought a new fuzzy felt game and I learned how to move the pieces on the board all by myself. I could sit all the way up too even though the muscles were still very weak. Problem was mainly co-ordination.  The messages from my brain would not translate to my body.  My left side in particular, which to this day is still slower.  One day when mum and grandma came it just so happened one of the nurses was giving me a bath.  I was so excited to see them that I tried to stand up. The nurse kept trying to stop me but I was determined. After two tries they left the bathroom and as the nurse turned to see them out I had a third try. I did it! I stood all on my own for about two seconds before sliding back down with a thud.  The nurse turned. It was too late. She had missed it. They’d all missed it. I burst into tears. I screamed. I vowed to myself that next time I’d get it right the first time.

About a month into my recovery I was able to be wheeled out to the hospital dining area. Still couldn’t walk. Couldn’t eat solid foods either and was being fed through a tube in my nose. On that day mum came to visit with my two little brothers both pushing my wheelchair. Once we reached the dining space the nurse arrived with a bowl and feeding tube for me. My mother and brothers sat down at the table and ate their food too. Suddenly my mother looked at me then at the wall. A small mirror was hanging there. My mother put down her plate, fetched the mirror off the wall and put it up to my face.  I took one look at myself and pulled out the tube. From that moment on I had to learn again how to use a spoon.

For every step forward there was a step back.  I still couldn’t co-ordinate my arms and legs. My speech was slurred and I had seizures. I was angry and frustrated. So much so that I would lash out at the nurses and even remember hitting one of the with a pole.  On the day that I was to go home I threw a hissy fit.  Mum and dad had come with new clothes for me to wear and I greeted the with my fists. As soon as it became clear to me that I was leaving with them, however, I was calm.

Once home there were still many obstacles. My father had done up the back room for me and it was really pretty. One night he sang me a song and shut the door behind him. About three in the morning I needed to go to the toilet and couldn’t open the door. I had an accident and couldn’t control my bowels. I basically couldn’t control anything.  My limbs were like those of a rag doll.  It was decided that I would go to special physio classes and I was driven back to the hospital by a taxi provided by the medical team at least twice a week.  I would often start fitting in the front seat next to the driver. Sometimes I’d lash out and hit him. I hated that place. When I got home I’d go outside and bash my head on the concrete unbeknown to my parents or anyone else.

Eventually my muscles began to work again and I was able to walk and open and close doors by myself. Soon we moved out of Wellington and on to Melbourne Australia followed by Sydney. I still couldn’t tell left from right when asked to do something. My hand to eye co-ordination was permanently affected and to this day I can’t catch a ball.  Because my left side never fully recovered I would never be a dancer like my mum. I do, however, move well and can dance perfectly well on my right side.  To this very day I also have delayed responses and often find it hard to put names to faces.  I had big problems adjusting to new schools as I tried too hard to get on with other kids. Slow reactions, responses and nervous anxiety due to delayed co-ordination in messaging from the brain to the body prevented me from fitting in.

Many years later I grew up, took a thee year acting course with Hayes Gordon, Went to University and got a B.A. and a teaching degree, travelled Europe with a theatre troupe, taught English literature and drama in high schools,  married, wrote two novels, and wrote and directed my own plays for local theatre. It didn’t really matter how much I achieved though as I always saw myself as the person who could never fit in.  Now I’ve retired myself from beating myself up. Now I know that we are all the total sum of our parts and that my struggle with measles encephalitis has made me strong and that inner strength is what has got me through all life’s challenges so far.

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Story published November 2025