RIDE TO FIGHT NEURO    |      SUNDAY 14 JUNE      |     130KM | 100KM | 60KM | CIRCUIT CHALLENGE

Meet Brooke

Every morning, Brooke steps into the Queensland Children’s Hospital ready to support some of the state’s sickest kids. In her role as a surgical coordinator, she moves with quiet confidence. But what the hallway lights don’t show is the private battle Brooke carries in her bones: the dizziness that blurs edges, the headaches that throb behind every smile, the exhaustion that steals moments from her day.

At just 30, Brooke was diagnosed with MS. The moment she heard the words, the future she had been building seemed to fracture. 

She had imagined long-distance runs at dawn, a growing side‑hustle, and plans for a family with her husband. She remembers sliding into her mum’s car after the appointment and sobbing, whispering, “how can I work as a neurological nurse and know nothing really about this.”

Before the diagnosis, there were signs, not always consistent, but signs. “I had hand tremors, daily headaches, burning sensation in my legs, both eyes shaking, fatigue not relieved by sleep, light sensitivity, I was seeing halos around lights, pain behind my eyes —all for about 18 months, on and off."

“Then the right side of my face, neck, chest and upper arm went somewhat numb, complete sensation change… I put it down to a pinched nerve,” she recalls. “When that side also went heavy, I thought I was having a stroke.” An MRI erased the fear of a brain tumour but replaced it with MS. From the outside, though, nothing seemed to change. “To everybody else, I look rather normal… I don’t have many physical deficits, which I’m very lucky for, but that makes it difficult when everyone sees me and says, ‘You look so well!’… this is an invisible condition.” Invisible doesn’t mean imaginary. It means the symptoms are tucked where eyes can’t go, but they still impact her.

Brooke is a nurse—hardwired to help, not ask for help. And yet MS demands a new kind of courage.

“I have to remind myself to ask for help and support and turn to MS Queensland when I need to,” she says. 

She called the MS Queensland NeuroAssist helpline, seeking understanding, treatment options, and the kind of clarity that steadies your breath. “I’m impressed by the allied health facilities and the CMILL machine in the Milton Neuro Wellness Hub,” she shares, hopeful about connecting with people “like me who are just starting to work out what this all means.” In all this uncertainty, MS Queensland is a constant; offering practical guidance, specialised care, and a community that whispers, You are not alone.

But the future still presses in. “I know I can’t fall down the rabbit hole of worry, but I do,” Brooke admits. “I contemplate a future where my husband becomes my carer and I’m wheelchair bound… It’s the uncertainty of it all… that can be de‑stabilising.” 

She is planning for a family, adjusting medications, and hoping (like so many young women with MS) that pregnancy may soften the symptoms. She is also bracing for the possibility of relapse after birth. 

The careful budgeting of her energy never stops. She must choose when to show up fully, when to hold back, and which ambitions she can still nurture. She’s shifted into a more administrative role, away from the relentless demands of shift work, and let go of her small business to keep more of herself for the people she loves most.

And yet, Brooke refuses to be defined by limits alone.

Straight after her diagnosis, she laced her shoes and ran a marathon, raising funds for MS Queensland. At the finish, a friend said, “you’ve made a grown man cry.” The achievement washed over them like light. “The feeling was euphoric… we were all so overcome with the achievement and proud of the money we raised.” Movement is medicine for Brooke, she says it’s “good for balance and neuroplasticity”, plus the pride of completing a challenge steadies her mind as much as her body.

She knows life could be worse; she’s seen worse in hospital corridors. “I’m thankful for what I have,” she says. “As a nurse, you don’t often think about asking for help because you’re programmed to help others.” Gratitude doesn’t erase grief; it keeps your heart open while you carry it. And hope, real, durable hope, looks like this: “I’m hopeful that with more awareness of neurological conditions and more funding into the services and research, the next person to be diagnosed with MS will have more certainty about their future. In the meantime, I know MS Queensland is the safety net we can all rely upon."

As you ride each kilometre of the MS Brissie to the Bay, you become part of that safety net.

Your support provides a steady voice on the phone when the symptoms surge, specialised allied health care that rebuilds confidence, and a community that understands the invisible and holds space for the uncertain.

Will you support someone like Emma to change the lives of the 1 in 4 Queenslanders living with a neurological condition!

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