When 2005 London bombing survivor, peace advocate and proud Adelaidean Gill Hicks AM MBE stood before a packed auditorium, balancing on her prosthetic legs, there was barely a dry eye in the room. 

Gill’s story—told with warmth, humour and profound humanity—was a stirring reminder of the power of compassion, connection and physiotherapy to rebuild a precious human life.

Gill began with a gesture that set the tone for what was to come—she asked the audience to stand, not for her but for a symbolic show of thanks. 

‘Please consider me a representative of every single person who has never had the opportunity to say thank you. 

'Thank you for giving me a life of independence, for enabling me to even look at a staircase and climb it. 

'To me, that is Mount Everest.’

The room erupted in applause as physiotherapists from across the country acknowledged, perhaps more deeply than ever before, the quiet power of the profession.

From there, Gill shared her journey with raw honesty and lightness.

She spoke of her life before 7 July 2005—she was a successful designer, living in a run-down house in London, working long hours, convinced she was too busy to live fully. 

And then, with devastating suddenness, her life changed forever when a suicide bomber detonated a device in her train carriage on the London Underground.

‘In that darkness, we reached out for each other’s hands,’ she said. 

‘We didn’t know each other’s names or beliefs but that connection, that humanity, became our lifeline.’

It was an experience that reshaped her understanding of what truly matters. 

Her recovery in the months that followed, after losing both legs below the knee, became a journey not only of physical rehabilitation but of rediscovering trust, resilience and joy. 

Gill spoke with deep affection for the physiotherapists who guided her through her first few days of recovery at Guy’s and St Thomas’ Hospitals in London.

‘I remember being in intensive care when a physio named Clare walked in with a basket of rolled-up bandage balls,’ she said. 

‘She started throwing them at me and I thought, “Haven’t I suffered enough?” But somehow, I caught them. 

'And that tiny act gave me confidence that I could do more.’

That spark of belief grew under the guidance of her physiotherapist Matt, who taught her to walk again and, in the process, how to live again. 

‘Matt taught me that 90 per cent of my ability to walk was in my mind. 

'He used to push me over, again and again, until I learned that I didn’t need to fear falling because I could always get back up.’ 

It was a lesson, she reflected, that applied far beyond walking.

For the physiotherapists in the auditorium, many of them visibly moved, Gill’s words reaffirmed the extraordinary impact of their work—often unseen but life-changing in its ripple effect. 

In her closing moments, Gill returned to the heart of her message—a call to honour the humanity that underpins every interaction.

‘All that has enabled me to be here today, balancing in front of you, hasn’t come from technology or artificial intelligence,’ she said.

‘It has come from human instinct, human touch and unconditional love. That is what saved me and that is what continues to heal me.’