‘My doctor leaned over and said you’re really going to have to fight hard now’

More than 25 years ago, I battled an illness that nearly took my life. When I recovered from meningococcal septicaemia, I vowed to make the best of what I had, and to embrace life.

I became active and sporty and was fit and healthy - then I was struck by another health issue, this time not so serious, but still one that changed my life.

As I recuperated from a ruptured Achilles tendon, I decided to start a blog about my experience, in the hope of supporting and guiding other people in my situation.

A big reason for doing the blog is because of the isolation caused by injuries like mine, and how family and community are fabulous, but connecting with people with similar stories is invaluable. This is my story. I hope sharing it will help others.

In 1999, I was a teacher in Togher Boys’ National School, on a maternity-leave contract teaching Senior Infants. Flor Delaney was the principal - a warm, supportive leader who created a real sense of community in the school.

One morning, I arrived at school feeling a bit off. It seemed like the start of a flu - tiredness, aches, that chill that creeps into your bones. As the day went on, I felt worse. By home time, I was shivering and exhausted. I popped into Flor’s office and said, “I won’t be in tomorrow - I just don’t feel well.” My mum collected me, and we stopped by the chemist. My sister was sick too, and it almost became a light-hearted competition over who was worse off. I crawled into bed, convinced a good sleep would fix it.

But by around 9pm I felt sicker than I’d ever been - burning hot one minute, freezing the next, drenched in sweat and shaking. A doctor was called around 10pm and said it looked like a bad flu.

By 4am, another doctor came, but again it seemed like nothing more than an aggressive virus.

By 9am, my own GP, Dr Hutch, arrived. When she saw the tell-tale rash spreading across my skin, everything changed. She leaned close and whispered: “You’re really going to have to fight hard now.” It was a surreal moment.

An ambulance was immediately called and I was rushed to Cork University Hospital under Garda escort at an intense speed I will never forget.

I was diagnosed with meningococcal septicaemia, a life-threatening bacterial infection. I was taken straight to the Intensive Care Unit, where the first 48 hours were critical.

Everyone who came near me had to wear masks, gowns, and gloves - protective isolation to prevent infection.

Those early days are a blur. I remember flashes: doctors and nurses suited up, moving quickly around me, and what I thought were huge needles coming towards me. Later, I realised those terrifying scenes were hallucinations caused by the infection - at the time, they felt completely real.

I also remember waking once to see my parents and uncle and a priest outside the glass window of my room. What are they doing here?

I believe my guardian angel was watching over me. There was even talk at one stage of amputating my leg. Somehow, I pulled through.

Towards the end of my ICU stay, a great friend and wonderful teacher who is now principal at Kildorrery NS, brought in the Evening Echo. On the front page, the headline read: “Kids pray for teacher struck by meningitis.”

I asked: “Oh my God, is there another teacher here?” My friend smiled and said, “Marie, the story’s about you.” It was surreal reading about myself while still in the ICU.

Those prayers - from my pupils, colleagues, family, and the school community, and I think my guardian angel watching over me - carried me through. They shaped how I’ve approached life ever since.

I left the hospital on crutches. Recovery was slow, but that experience changed everything. It taught me to make the most of every single day. So many people who have contracted this illness lose limbs, suffer hearing loss or face lifelong complications. I was incredibly lucky - and I’ve never taken that for granted.

From that point on, I decided to use my body as best as I could every day. That’s probably why my life became so sporty and active in the years that followed. Movement became a reminder of what I nearly lost - and of the second chance I was given.

Meningitis can develop rapidly and is life-threatening. If you notice sudden fever, rash, headache, or flu-like symptoms, seek medical help immediately.

Now, it’s the same leg that’s brought me a new challenge: a ruptured Achilles tendon.

On the Saturday, I was a runner. A mother. A teacher. A person whose identity was built on movement - half marathons, daily runs, GAA matches, school sports days, bike rides, endless errands, laughter, and action.

Sport was how I connected with my kids. How I reached my students. How I processed stress. It wasn’t just something I did - it was who I was.

Then, in an instant, it stopped.

A ruptured Achilles. Surgery. Bed rest. Weeks - maybe months - of stillness. In one moment, my whole life was turned upside down. Everything I loved doing - everything that made me feel alive, useful, joyful - was gone.

The pain is intense, the recovery is slow, but every step - literally and figuratively - is a lesson in patience, determination, and hope.

While this injury isn’t life-threatening, recovery has been gruelling and isolating, again reminding me of the power of connection and community.

With the incredible support of my colleagues at Midleton Educate Together, along with friends and family, I’m navigating this recovery and reflecting on how to help others facing similar struggles.

To share this journey, I launched a new blog, which I hope will portray the resilience, recovery, and the importance of staying connected.

Given the Echo’s role in telling the first part of my story all those years ago, it means a great deal to share this next chapter in the paper.

Through this blog, I share the highs, lows, frustrations, and small victories, hoping to inspire anyone navigating their own health journey or simply seeking a reminder that even when life knocks us down, we can rise again.

I’m a teacher who absolutely adores my job. Connecting with children, watching them learn, grow, and shine, is one of my greatest joys.

I’m also a mum to two amazing kids, a wife, a daughter, a sister, and a friend who thrives on life’s little adventures.

Beyond work and family, I love staying active, whether through Pilates, walking, or outdoor adventures.

Life has thrown me some tough challenges, from serious illness to injury, but I’ve learned to face each one with resilience, humour, and determination.

The blog is a mix of my health journey, my reflections as a mum and teacher, and the everyday moments that bring meaning and joy. I hope my stories encourage, connect, and maybe even inspire you to keep going - no matter what life throws your way.

Here’s the truth: I wasn’t prepared for this injury. Not physically. Not emotionally. Not mentally. I went from feeling strong and full of purpose to feeling helpless, stuck, and invisible.

This blog is my way of processing all that. It’s a space to be honest - about the pain, the mental battle, the mess, the guilt, the rage, and the surprising beauty that sometimes shows up in small, quiet ways. It’s about being a woman whose body suddenly said, Stop. And being a woman who’s learning what that means. I’m writing for:

Women who have been injured, sidelined, or forced into stillness.

Mothers who are used to doing everything and don’t know how to just be.

Teachers, carers, athletes, and high-achievers who suddenly feel useless.

Anyone who’s had their identity stripped overnight and is trying to figure out who’s left.

There are hundreds of blogs about wellness and movement. But this is about what happens when you can’t move. When your world shrinks to four walls, painkillers, and learning to wash your hair on the bathroom floor.

It’s personal, yes - but I know I’m not the only one going through something like this.

If my story helps someone else feel less alone, or gives voice to what they haven’t been able to say out loud, then this time won’t have been wasted.

This is a journey I didn’t ask for. But I’m showing up anyway.

Thanks for being here.

See Marie’s blog at https://marieoregan.com/