The profile of the month is chosen by the MSIF editor from those submitted.

Betty Cuthbert, Australia’s ‘Golden Girl’

Year of diagnosis:1969 - 1979
Born: April 20, 1938
Occupation: 1956 & 1964 Olympic Gold medal winner
Country: Australia

Exerts from Betty Cuthbert’s Autobiography,

Betty Cuthbert the working class girl from western Sydney captured the hearts of Australians in 1956 when she won three sprint gold medals in the Melbourne Olympic Games. She captivated the nation again in 1964 when she came out of retirement to win the 400 metres gold medal at the Tokyo Olympics. And in 1979 the public were shocked to learn that, for ten agonising years, she had been struggling against multiple sclerosis.

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Once upon a time, someone invented a race to test his ability against another. Perhaps he was a hunter who discovered that out in the wild he could chase his prey faster than the others in his tribe. In ancient Greece the Olympics were born, and the concept of competitive racing captured the imagination of many peoples from that time on.

My life began as a sprint race but it became a marathon. I am well into the second half of the race now. It is the forty-eighth year since I ran a faster, smoother race in Melbourne. Those long-ago races are like an intangible dream, but I know they happened once, somewhere back in time.

In the years since then my route has become more difficult. Often the road has been rocky and steep, and there have been pitfalls, craters and hurdles. But along the way I’ve found many revival points, just like the marathon runners who grab a drink to keep their energy from being depleted. The ‘nourishment’ I’ve found has been in knowledge which I’ve been able to use at later points in my life. The ‘cups’ holding that nourishment have been many things: the support of caring people, the comfort of animals and the natural world, the inspiration of others running their own gruelling races, the love of a heavenly Father.

I have recalled all the stages of my race so far: From my sporting career, through my struggles with multiple sclerosis, to the peace I’ve found knowing that my life is in the hands of the One who one day, in his time, will bring me wholeness again. As I look back over it I find I’m happy with my life; I’m thrilled with all the good things in it and grateful for everything I have done and learnt and seen.

Yes, sometimes it seems my path is a hurdle race longer than a marathon. But I’m determined to keep on knocking those hurdles down, pushing them aside, going around them and jumping the ones I can. I refuse to let them fall on me and stop me. And one thing I know: however long this marathon goes on for, it will never stretch an eternity.

During 1972 – 1973 I had one really great love affair. It was with a man I had terribly strong feelings for. He was very good for me. When he knew I had to have a hysterectomy he found a top specialist. I think I mentioned in passing to him that I’d been told I might have MS, but at this stage I didn’t believe it myself and I thought nothing of it.

When it was finally confirmed some months later, I had to confess the news to my friend. I did it over dinner at my house. He was quite nice to me that night, but after that he changed. From then on he walked about six paces ahead of me everywhere we went and wouldn’t come near me. In the end, I asked if he was afraid of catching MS from me. He did not have to answer.

It took a long time for me to get over him. It didn’t help that at last I knew for certain that I had MS. Towards the end of 1973 and into early 1974 the reappearance of the still unconfirmed symptoms convinced me that I needed to face whatever it was that had hold of me.

I sat in the specialist’s office and asked him to tell me the truth. He did. He explained that tests indicated the ‘possible’ presence of MS in my body. I listened to him in a state of shock. I felt as if my entire world was crumbling around me.

Ever since the first signs of MS in 1969, I’d been unable to run at any speed. Now I was reduced to a slow jog over a very short distance. One occasion when I was obliged to jog a reasonable distance was for a worldwide television series called ‘The Olympians’. The American producer came to Australia in 1975 to film the programme, and I had the privilege of introducing the section on Australian athletes with a scene showing me running along a beach. It hurt more than winning my 400 metres gold in 1964 to make that beach run look normal and easy…

…In early 1991 a good friend of mine established a gospel group. She began holding meetings around Perth. Sometimes I went along. One night I was sitting by the book sales table when a woman my own age came up and introduced herself as Rhonda Gillam. She seemed a really nice lady, but I didn’t think much more of the encounter until one Saturday morning she rang me at home and invited me to her house in Mandurah, which is seventy kilometres south of Perth.

We hit it off unbelievably well and the very last thing I wanted was to impose myself on anyone, but there was never any question of that. Rhonda’s conviction that somehow God had chosen her to look after me was, if anything, even stronger than mine.

I have a great family that have stood by me through thick and thin. I owe my mum more that I can ever repay. I’ve caused her much heartache over the years but she has always been a shining light. Dad taught all of us to fend for ourselves; if we wanted something we learnt to do it or earn it.

I also have a ‘second family’, the Gillams, who have done so much for me. Nowadays Rhonda doesn’t have to handle all my housework. And she no longer has to come and get me up and put me to bed. This changed a few years ago when the MS Society arranged for the Silver Chain, a disability home-help service, to send someone each morning and evening to help.

These days my health goes up and down. I no longer have any interest in the alternative treatments that I set such store in twenty years ago. When you are desperate you try anything. But I still refuse to fill my body with drugs. I do get great relief from massage though.

The frustration can still be extreme. Sometimes I fall off my scooter at home or simply drop things one after another. If I get tired or have to endure too much small talk my nerves can still fray and I can snap at people…

…In July 2000 as the Sydney Olympics approached, the big question on everyone’s lips was who was going to light the cauldron at the Opening Ceremony. When I was in Melbourne for MS Week in June, the press hardly wanted to know anything else. As the time approached little hints leaked out through the media, of a platform that could be raised and lowered – just the sort of thing for a wheelchair - and a SOCOG official accidentially let my name slip in a radio interview. It was all very tantalising. Everyone had their tips, even the person in the street.

Of course it is part of the Olympic tradition to keep the public guessing until the last moment who is going to light the cauldron. It builds the drama and adds to the thrill.

When we eventually arrived in Sydney in September things were at fever pitch. The night of the Opening Ceremony was spectacular. The atmosphere was electric, the colour and energy extraordinary.

I watched about half of the performance from the News Corps box and then was whisked away downstairs to get ready. They dressed us in Olympic outfits and transferred me into a special heavy wheelchair designed to carry the torch. Then we waited. The sounds from the ceremony echoed down from the stadium: Olivia Newton-John and John Farnham singing ‘Dare to Dream’; the Governor-General declaring the Games open; the cheering as the Olympic flag was carried around the arena. While this was all going on, Herb Elliot ran into the bowels of the station with the torch and it was transferred to the special holder on the arm of my wheelchair. I didn’t realise until that night that Raelene and I were to be the ones who actually took the flame into the arena and I could hardly contain my excitement.

The last notes of Tina Arena singing ‘You will find the flame’ died away and the stadium faded into darkness. There was a momentary lull and a spotlight came up on the entrance to the tunnel leading onto the arena. The announcer’s voice rang out: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, celebrating 100 years of women’s participation in the Olympic Game, the Olympic Flame carried by Betty Cuthbert and Raelene Boyle.’ The crowd erupted and we moved out into the stadium…

…I haven’t been beaten by this disease. You’re never defeated while you have hope. I think I have the same hope today as I had when I ran: the hope of victory, of coming first. I don’t give up easily