Dr Taka shares his journey with Aplastic Anaemia through an emotional tribute to Maddie and her legacy

By: Dr Takavada Mapfumo

Today I am deeply thankful to be celebrating my 52nd birthday, and am grateful to my family and ancestors, ana Moyondizvo and Musikavanhu – The Almighty among His People.

But truth be told, I may not have been here to celebrate this birthday if it were not for the extraordinary care I received from the Haematology team at the Royal Brisbane and Women’s Hospital (RBWH) and my GPs, as well as the incredible support of Maddie Riewoldt’s Vision.

Let me take you back.

Soon after my 50th birthday, I was admitted to RBWH on Friday the 13th of September 2024.

Friday the 13th – you couldn’t write the script better.

Surprisingly, I had spent the whole day at my clinical practice, working as a GP.

When I finally received by blood results late that night and saw the levels of my haemoglobin and platelets, my first response was not panic. I thought to myself:

“Please, just give me another 24 hours. Let me say goodbye to my children, who are already asleep.” And asked my wife to drive me straight to the Hospital.

That was my mindset.

Days into my admission (It may now appear as if I’m exaggerating but I was put on Bed 13)

 , one of the Haematologist came to my bedside and told me about Maddie Riewoldt’s Vision.

My first impression was simple:

“This probably doesn’t apply to me. I’m on my way out.”

The fact that Maddie had lost her battle, made me think, perhaps this is where my journey ends too.

Somehow, I accepted the invitation – after a thorough explanation, with my choices respected. If I am completely honest, I probably accepted partly out of politeness and appreciation for someone taking the time to care.

Little did I know what that decision would mean.

After three weeks in hospital, under 24-hour observation, surrounded by beeping machines and monitors that seemed permanently attached to my body – even accompanying me to the bathroom! – I was finally discharged.

Lucky me.

But leaving hospital was only the beginning of another journey.

Having been a medic myself since 1999, I suddenly found myself on the other side of the consultation table – not as the clinician, but as the patient.

And that was humbling.

When I first made contact with Mei Ling Yeh, a Tele-Support Service Nurse at Maddie Riewoldt’s Vision, something changed.

I felt as though a new breath had entered my lungs.

It was like talking to someone I had known for years.

There was something in her voice, her experience and her knowledge that gave me something I desperately needed at that stage:

A future.

Imagine being on what you believe is your deathbed and hearing someone calmly say:

“I have patients who started where you are now, and they have gone on to live for another 10 years and more.”

Medicine gives us treatment.

But sometimes, what we desperately need is hope.

Of course, we trust our doctors and medical teams. But as clinicians, we also understand their obligations, their limitations, the time pressures and the many demands placed upon them.

Maddie Riewoldt’s Vision filled a space that medicine alone sometimes cannot.

Imagine having an hour of one-on-one conversation, with someone who understands your journey, without feeling rushed or like just another number.

That experience taught me something profound.

I became a fighter, a survivor.

More importantly, I became a real patient, rather than simply a clinician who happened to have a diagnosis.

And that moulded me differently, compared to the resilience I had as a medic.

Maddie, you are a living legend.

Your vision continues to breathe life into people you never met.

Maddie Riewoldt was only 26 when she tragically died from Aplastic Anaemia, a Bone Marrow Failure Syndrome. As her fight was coming to an end in February 2015, she asked her family to make her a promise – that nobody else should have to go through what she did.

That promise became a legacy.

And today, sitting here at 52, I am one of the people living inside that legacy.

Because of you, my pathway became a little less frightening, a little less lonely and, ultimately, a pathway towards survival.

And so, Maddie, keep flying high.

Keep spreading that cooling breeze beneath the wings of those who are still fighting.

To your family, I say thank you.

Thank you for choosing to honour your daughter’s wishes.

Thank you for refusing to let her story end with her.

Thank you for ensuring that her vision continues to give others hope.

Today, I celebrate another birthday.

But in many ways, I also celebrate another year of life that I wasn’t sure I would have.

So, this birthday candle is not just for me.

It is for Maddie.

It is for her family.

It is for the doctors, nurses and support teams who stood beside me.

And it is for every patient still fighting their own battle.

One life saved becomes another story.

One story becomes hope.

And hope, when shared, becomes a legacy.