20 Years On From Surviving 7/7: Susan's Story Of Life, Limb Loss & Resilience
This year marks 20 years since the tragic 7/7 London bombings - a series of coordinated attacks across London that killed 52 people, injured more than 800, and changed countless lives forever, including that of Susan, one of the survivors of the Piccadilly Line explosion.
We had the absolute honour of creating a bespoke walking stick for Susan to mark this milestone, a design inspired by Russell Square Tube Station, where she was rescued on that devastating day. Working with her to bring such a meaningful concept to life was an experience we’ll never forget. Her resilience, courage, and continued advocacy for accessibility and awareness inspire us deeply, and we’re privileged to share her story in her own words.
My Story
I was born and raised in Kent. I went to college, trained as an NHS Operating Department Practitioner, and then decided I wanted something more from life, so I took myself to live and work in Australia for a while. When I came back to the UK, I quickly realised life in Kent wasn't quite enough and got myself a job in London. A couple of years later, when I was 29 years old, one trip to work changed my life. I went from being the healthiest and fittest I had ever been in my life to disabled in one tube ride.
On 7 July 2005, I was on my morning journey to Great Ormond Street Hospital, where I worked, when a suicide bomber detonated a device in my train carriage on the Piccadilly Line. I later learnt the man that boarded the tube and told me to 'have a good day' was Germaine Lindsay. I was standing two feet away from him when he detonated his device. He killed 26 people, seriously injured lots more, and placed mental scars on many forever.
The blast was catastrophic.
I woke up on the floor of the tube. I must have lost consciousness for a few minutes, but I don’t recall getting hit on the head. The explosion must have simply knocked me out. When I woke up, it was deathly silent.
I instantly knew there had been an explosion. I knew it was a bomb. I knew it was Al-Qaeda. In London, we’d been gearing up for emergency responses and plans as it was clear a terrorists attack would come. Never did I think for one moment that I would be injured instead of assisting.
My first memory is of thick smoke and looking for fire. Luckily, there was none. My next thought was my leg. I knew it was so badly damaged it would need amputating – but having been in many trauma theatres, I also knew it wasn’t the end of the world.
I lost my left leg above the knee and sustained serious injuries to my right leg, hand, hearing, and many other burns and abrasions from the blast. I had around 30 operations in one year, including skin and fat grafts to save my right leg.
I've worked with patients living with visible differences, limb loss, and chronic conditions, and although nothing prepares you for becoming one yourself, it meant I knew the success of surgical interventions that enable people to live a fulfilled life post-injury.
Twenty Years On
July 2025 marked 20 years since the attacks. I can joke that I feel “older and stiffer,” but the truth is that limb loss and ongoing injuries take a physical toll. Daily pain, fatigue, and mobility challenges are part of my reality, yet they also serve as a reminder of what I’ve overcome.
I’ve been lucky to meet so many incredible people with visible and invisible disabilities, from congenital differences to acquired injuries, and every one of them has shown me new ways to live fully. What unites us is not what we’ve lost, but how we keep moving forward.
This anniversary has felt more emotional than I expected. Part of me fears that the world is forgetting what happened that day, and another part grieves that the world still hasn’t changed enough. Twenty years on, we still see hate, inequality, and division. I’d hoped we’d have learned more by now.
My Special Walking Stick
It was after my secondary amputation in 2007 when I accepted I would need a walking stick and wheelchair to be part of my life permanently. It was hard to accept that I needed additional help, and the negativity surrounding ability in the communities through access and attitudes can be really challenging. I think things are slowly getting better to that regard, but challenges appear on a daily basis for some, and there is so much more that needs to be done.
I discovered Cool Crutches around ten years ago, and it was a total game-changer. The NHS stick I’d used was uncomfortable, and the ferrules were awful; it didn’t represent me at all. When I switched to Cool Crutches, the ergonomic and soft-grip handle reduced pain levels immensely, and the stylish designs made me feel like myself again.
Over the years, I’ve collected a pair of crutches and four sticks (though one’s mysteriously disappeared!). My favourites are my Leopard Walkng Stick, my Design Your Own Skulls Walking Stick and now my very own Bespoke Walking Stick. Each one is personal and empowering. I’m constantly stopped by people asking where they’re from, and I love telling them.
For the 20th anniversary, I wanted something special. Together, we designed a Russell Square walking stick, inspired by the station’s beautiful Victorian tiles- the very place I was carried to safety that morning.
That spot will forever hold meaning. It’s where I was treated by a doctor I knew, where I shared a fellow passenger’s last words and later passed them to their family, and where I first felt hope that I would survive.
Carrying that walking stick feels like carrying a piece of history. It's a reminder of those we lost, those who helped, and the strength of those who lived.
Lessons I’ve Learned
If I could speak to my younger self, I’d tell her to live fully and without hesitation. Life can change in a moment, and when it does, you’ll wish you’d said yes more often. So don't make excuses and take opportunities.
To those who have recently received a diagnosis or been in an accident; give yourself time. Allow the silence and be still if that is what you want. Find yourself when you are ready. Your instincts will know what you need to do to carry on being you and how you want to move forward. Don’t let anyone tell you that you need to do something unless you want them to. If you’re able, have hope.
And don't let limitations define you. There’s so much support out there from charities like Access Adventures, LimbPower, and Back-Up Trust, that can help you rediscover adventure, independence, and joy.
Recovery and Finding Purpose
Recovery was painful, both physically and emotionally, but I had one goal: to walk again and get back to life as quickly as possible. My background in healthcare helped - I’d watched patients, especially children, face unimaginable challenges with determination and optimism. They became my teachers.
Of course, there were moments of pain, anger, and exhaustion. I threw my prosthetic limb across the room more than once. But I was determined to move forward with my life. I had a strong network. My family, my husband, my friends, my home, and my work , they all gave me a reason to keep going.
For me, physical activity became therapy. I skied, mountain biked, waterskied, and kite-surfed. The adrenaline reminded me that I was still alive. These days, yoga, mindfulness, and strength training are my focus, but the purpose remains the same: movement, connection, and self-belief.
Purpose is also really important for our mental health. Having a reason to be here, finding where you need to go next, and what you can do with your skills to make a positive impact on your life is really important. It made me the person I am today.
Surviving something like 7/7 gives life new meaning. I’ve always felt that I owe it to those who didn’t make it home to live fully, and I carry them with me in everything I do.
Understanding Disability
Disability awareness has improved, but there’s still so far to go. I don’t blame people for not understanding, how could they if they’ve never lived it? But there’s a huge difference between awareness and empathy.
It means so much when someone simply acknowledges that life is different. Not less, not worse, just different. Respecting that truth, and being open to learning, can change everything.
Living With Pain & Barriers
My biggest challenges are pain and accessibility. Pain never really goes away, it just becomes part of the rhythm of life. Access, too, is an ongoing struggle. Every outing comes with a mental checklist: stairs, distance, seats, terrain, temperature. It’s exhausting before you’ve even stepped out the door.
But accepting support and using the right equipment changed everything. I used to resist walking sticks or wheelchairs, but when I finally embraced them, life got easier and more joyful.
What I’ve Learned
- Good equipment changes everything.
- Acceptance takes time, but once it comes, life opens up again.
- And above all, kindness! To yourself and others, it makes all the difference.
Looking Ahead
This year, I had the honour of speaking at the 20th Anniversary 7/7 Memorial Service at Hyde Park. It was one of the hardest but most meaningful experiences of my life.
In my speech, I spoke about resilience, how it’s not just bravery or strength, but also exhaustion, pain, and perseverance. It’s the messy middle that no one sees, the quiet healing that happens long after the world moves on.
To anyone living with scars, visible or invisible, please remember:
You don’t owe anyone perfection. You don’t owe anyone a polished story of survival.
Just being here is enough. Speaking up is enough. Even staying silent is enough.
We all want to say a massive thank you to Susan for sharing her experience with us. It gave us goosebumps to read - what an incredible lady!
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