She was eventing at the 3* level when she had her fall.
Her brother is married to Piggy March.
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I cannot remember when did the stars change??? Was she 3* Advanced or 3* Intermediate??
Em
Eventing nation states that she vented through 4*, and that is with the new stars.
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Was she deemed of sound mind? I have yet to read confirmation that this was MAiD or assisted suicide, which DOES complicate things a bit. The oversight is there to ensure that these decisions are done with a lot of forethought and care.
I still agree it was her choice and I support that, no matter how it happened, but to say she was or wasnāt affected by depression at the time of her death is not for any of us to determine.
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She was also - in her words - an adrenaline junkie (not being disrespectful). So pottering around would not have given her any satisfaction or enjoyment. It would be like locking a border collie in a cage because it has no back legs. āThey are alive, they are fed, I give them cuddlesā. But that individual withers and crumbles into madness.
She implied if sheād had children, she would not have made this decision.
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Just to clarify I meant the event she fell at was a 3*.
I didnāt read it that way because it was followed very quickly by the commentary on the capitalistic system. So, I saw a personal opinion based on experience of our current cultureās perception of disability by someone who has experienced same.
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Yes it was. The 3* at Burnham Market in 2022.
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This, for those that can access it, is a piece by a UK journalist who writes a weekly column in The Times. She (the journalist, not Caroline) fell from her horse fourteen years ago, eventing, and has been in a chair ever since.
A powerful read
Apparently some can access this article and for at least one member on here, they canāt, so here is the full article:
Those who judge Caroline March have no right. She lost too much
The talented horse rider died by assisted suicide, two years after being paralysed. I empathised with every word she wrote about her decision
Melanie Reid - The Times
Ihad followed Caroline March on Facebook since her accident, one of thousands silently willing the former professional event rider on after her life-changing fall two years ago. There were low moments, when her yearning for what she had lost was evident, but this lovely, young, go-getting woman seemed to be rising out of the ashes and rebuilding.
In the first year she went through stages that I recognised well: denial of the reality of paralysis, then a stubborn quest to defeat it, and finally ā Iām not going to use the word acceptance, nor the hateful, trite ācoming to terms withā ā she seemed to have reached a place where she could whizz around in a fabulous wheelchair and forge a career as a photographer.
When I chanced across her final message online on Monday, a few hours after it was posted, it devastated me. Her words were searing, beautifully written, brutal and utterly honest. Liberated by the decision she had made to end her life, she said it as bluntly as anyone who is paralysed has ever publicly done: hers was an unbearable existence. She had lost too much. I understood and empathised with every single word. Fourteen years ago, playing around at the grass roots of the same sport, I fell off my horse and broke my neck. I spent a year in hospital and live in a wheelchair as a tetraplegic.
Itās vital to understand, I think, where Caroline came from. People who keep horses, especially professionals, lead a driven, immersive life, one of permanent labour. They are physically tough, resourceful and can-do. They work ridiculously long, hard days, often wet and dirty, always on the go, slaves to their pampered animals. For many it is a kind of addiction: to the smell of horses, the feel of their coats, the thrill of riding, training, winning.
For me, Carolineās key paragraph was where she expressed this. It made me break down because I identified with it. It bears repeating in full: āIāve always believed that you canāt change ā¦ what makes you tick as an individual. Iām feral, a complete rogue, someone that thrives on spontaneity. Iām feminine, masculine, strong, sexy, intelligent, loving, loyal, needy, with a heart of gold all in one. Quite simply put, everything that defined me is physically not possible to do in a way that I enjoy. I hate asking for help, not because I canāt, but because I love doing things for myself and it destroys me watching people do my jobs. Iām possibly the most independent, strong-minded, stubborn c*** going. Iām manual labour, I produce horses, I drive wagons and help on the farm. Iām a dirty bitch and a complete whore for sexy underwear. Iām crisp cold mornings taking my dogs for a walk, I kill things for fun, stupid miles on my bike. My idea of a holiday is off-grid huts exploring inaccessible landscape. I donāt just like the countryside, I need it. I need risk, that dopamine hit and the threat of danger ā¦ adrenaline hits are my addiction.ā
And therein lies her eulogy and our lament, those of us who carry on after injury. No one healthy can understand what paralysis takes away from you. They can try, but if you break your spine you pass through a door that few others enter. And it aināt into the rose garden. Hers was a dreadful multiple bereavement ā career, freedom, her dream of a band of happy children free-ranging the farm. She says she would have been a great mother, but on her terms, not those decreed by paralysis. So she was angry.
Those who rush to judge this 31-year-old when they have no right to ā and sadly there are many of them, devoid of empathy or motivated by their position on the politics of assisted dying ā should respect Carolineās choice and stay silent. Only she knew. After I broke my neck I learnt very quickly that only those who inhabit the body know what it means to endure that body.
The choice of whether to go on or to give up is a basic human right. I find her decision heartbreaking ā it lies like lead on me as I write this ā but I admire and respect her. She has let no one down. There are very few of us with spinal cord injuries who have not toyed with the same solution. Those who choose to go on do so for the sake of others, or because we find an alternative purpose. Thatās not to say we do not continue to suffer, physically and mentally. Disability is rubbish, no matter the modern gloss put on it. Believe me, the knowledge that thereās a way out, even if it means leaving the country to exercise it, makes life more bearable.
There will be some in the spinal community who wish Caroline had waited, because two years is nothing in the spinal scheme of things, and her life might have improved. But thatās only their perspective. Frankly itās not anyoneās business. She had no interest in being called an inspiration for keeping going, an accolade the rest of us must queasily accept, again and again.
Caroline sounded a unique, fiery, free spirit. Highly intelligent, rational, mentally aware, she had before her accident shaken off the depression sheād suffered. She simply didnāt want to live a life based on sacrifices and suffering, faced with āthe entire impossibility to do anything and everything I loveā. Such is her right.
āPlease respect my decision, this is my life and my choice. I am an incredible person,ā she wrote. And so she was. I am glad she has found peace, and I wish the same for her family.
Melanie Reid ās Spinal Column appears every Saturday in The Times Magazine
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Her own letter refers to assisted suicide. Never something she thought sheād use ābut here we areā, she says.
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I do wonder how much of an emotional response other paralyzed people might have to this very public suicide.
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Darkmoonlady says that it is being discussed right now, but she feels those opinions are not welcome.
āYou act like anything Iām saying isnāt what the disability community isnāt openly discussing right now, and they are. I guess you just donāt care what disabled people think on the subject.ā
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Sixth paragraph
According to the article she was paralyzed 2 years ago.
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Thank you for pointing this out, that is very different than 14 years ago. (I am not saying this changes anything about the death, just saying that facts should be accurate.)
That part is even visible on the preview of the article on the post and I had not noticed it until you said something. (And I can not read the article, it wants me to subscribe.)
About the author
āMelanie Reid was an award-winning columnist at The Herald in Glasgow before reporting and commentating for The Times from Scotland and then on the Comment pages. Having broken her neck and back in a riding accident in 2010, she writes her Spinal Column in The Magazine every week.ā
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I only got the preview as well and saw it at the top. I also googled yesterday because I didnāt know the history.
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OOOOH!!!
The part about falling from a horse and being paralyzed 14 years ago is about the author, not about the person this thread is about.
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Yes, I know. Iām not sure where I said that wasnāt true. I clarified it was at Burnham Market in the 3*. Everyone knows it was in 2022.
Oh, youāre referring to the article I posted by a journalist? It was the journalist that ended up in a wheelchair 14 years ago, not Caroline. Melanie (the journalist, and literally the reason I subscribe to The Times) offers her perspective as someone who suffered a similar injury. Itās an interesting contrast to some of the comments from wheelchair users in this thread.
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It doesnāt really do anyone good when itās behind a paywall.
Itās essential to consider the perspectives of individual authors and not discount their opinions or experiences. Each personās viewpoint adds depth to the conversation, and understanding different perspectives can lead to a more nuanced understanding of the topic at hand. Just because someone agrees with your opinion doesnāt invadidate their opinion:
It works both ways.
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