She leant in to say goodbye to Chris Cairns, a New Zealand cricket great. His organs were failing after a tear in the main artery of his heart, and doctors were preparing to put him on life support.

But before they could ventilate him for an emergency flight from Canberra to Sydney, Cairns pulled his wife in close and whispered the words that gave her hope.

"Don't worry, I've got this," he said. And then he was gone. The doors to the elevator closed. The helicopter took off. And Mel drove home not knowing if Cairns would survive the flight.

"He probably doesn't remember saying that," Mel says.

"In my heart, I believed him. That's what I clung to. That moment was terrifying. He's a fighter ... everything he's been through. I knew that if he had any say in it, he would come back." And he did, despite all odds pointing to death.

It's that fighting spirit Cairns and rehabilitation staff hope will help him be able to stand by himself in time for Christmas. The reality, however, is Cairns doesn't know if he'll be able to stand, or walk, again for the rest of his life.

Known for his power during an almost 20-year career, Cairns' muscles have wasted away during a three-month stint in hospitals and rehabilitation centres after a rare aortic dissection and a spinal stroke.

The focus now is on the biggest fight of his life, and the 51-year-old is attacking his rehabilitation like he once attacked hapless bowlers. With ruthless dedication.

In their first interview since Cairns collapsed on an otherwise quiet Wednesday in August, he and Mel open up about their harrowing journey and the optimistic outlook they have for an unknown future.

Remarkably upbeat, they want to share their story to thank the Canberra health workers who saved Cairns' life, and use it as a reminder for people to be vigilant and disciplined with their health.

"We're lucky we were in Canberra," Mel says. "I would never have known this was the right place to have a cardiac episode."

The sudden illness shocked the cricketing world as the news started to spread. There was an outpouring of support from former teammates, opponents and fans from around the world, which has helped Cairns reconnect with a game he loved following legal battles and bitter disputes in retirement.

All of that, he says, is in the past. His focus now is moving forward in small steps after he and Mel stared down death and won.

"We don't know what happens going forward. I don't know if I'll walk, I don't know if I'll stand," Cairns says.

"But I may stand. I may walk. The only option is to keep going. The thing is I'm not even just lucky to be here. I'm very lucky."

So there Cairns was on a Wednesday morning, feeling unwell and "foggy" at home. He collapsed and fumbled his way to the phone to call Mel.

The next eight or nine days were a blur of medication, hallucinations and painkillers for Cairns, so Mel recounted the terrifying scenario.

Cairns' blood pressure dropped quickly, he was throwing up and there was fluid around his heart. Initially doctors considered draining the fluid in the emergency department.

Given his symptoms, cardiologists at The Canberra Hospital recommended a CT scan to to rule out an aortic dissection, a condition found in three out of 100,000 people. Without that scan, Cairns could have died before anyone knew what was wrong. That split-second decision gave Cairns a chance to live.

Doctors found the main artery to Cairns' heart had torn. He was rushed to surgery within 20 minutes and although there was hope, the road ahead was long.

The surgeon, Dr Glenn McKay, was by chance a New Zealander and cricket fan living in Canberra. The first operation went for seven hours, but the diagnosis was worse than initially thought.

"The anaesthetist came out of theatre after about two hours and his words to me were: 'It looks like a hand grenade has gone off in his chest'," Mel says.

"At that point, we knew it was serious. Seven hours later ... they said they'd fixed the aorta. He was alive. I left to take a shower and they said they wouldn't call unless they needed to. Within a few hours, the phone rang."

Things started going downhill, and a second operation couldn't stop the spiral. Cairns' heart, lungs, kidneys and liver were failing and the prospect of death became real.

He was put on life support for an emergency helicopter flight to St Vincent's hospital in Sydney, leaving Mel behind because of COVID-19 restrictions and to look after their children.

Mel watched the helicopter take off and drove home not knowing if her husband would live or die.

"That was the worst moment for me. They told me they would do what they could, but he was critically, critically ill," Mel said.

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"I drove home, shut myself in the room and held my phone for an hour and a half waiting to find out if he had survived the flight."

Cairns survived, but his status didn't improve. Doctors considered a heart transplant, but two more operations gave him good news. They managed to save his heart, but when Cairns woke up he couldn't feel his legs. At some point, he suffered a spinal stroke.

"My legs felt like they weighed 200 kilograms each," Cairns said.

"I couldn't move. At that stage they were more concerned about my heart ... the next day we had an MRI and it showed a spinal stroke, so we've been dealing with both fronts.

"I didn't start to understand or process what had happened until I got back to Canberra. As much as we're talking through this process now, there were some pretty dark times. Especially around the loss of movement.

"I had no idea what had happened until I woke up. I knew there was the possibility of death or some type of mental disability [because of the stroke], they were both pretty high on the probability aspect.

"So the fact I'm here, the fact I'm cognitive ... I'm pretty lucky. Sure, I have to deal with the physical aspect, but I'm able to hopefully live a long and healthy life and see my kids grow up."

Cairns could be forgiven for turning his back on the sport that has given his family so much. His dad Lance was a New Zealand all-rounder, and Cairns followed in his footsteps.

Cairns was a giant of the game at the peak of his powers - a powerful batsman and a premier bowler in both Tests and one-day internationals.

But cricket also caused him immeasurable pain when he retired. He was accused of match-fixing in the Indian Cricket League, leading to an exhaustive five-year battle to clear his name. He succeeded, but the scars cut deep.

It was in the intensive care unit that cricket gave him something to focus on while he was dosed up on medication. He started recounting every cricket teammate he played with and details of tours during his career.

"And he didn't stop. For hours," Mel laughs.

Cairns adds: "It was like a psychedelic experience. I suppose it's what's in your soul, right? When you're in that sort of environment, you revert to who you are.

"And having gone through the challenges and what occurred, a life and death scenario, it puts things back into reality. The amount of well wishes that we received from the cricket community was very genuine and very humbling. The past is the past, the future is more important."

Mel could immediately see the difference in her husband. His power and stature had wasted away at a remarkable speed after his operations, followed by two weeks in a hospital isolation room upon returning to Canberra because of the NSW COVID-19 outbreak.

Days turned into weeks in hospital, but he was eventually moved to the University of Canberra Hospital to start his rehabilitation and to rebuild his muscles.

"When he got back from Sydney the most shocking thing for me was the muscle atrophy and how quickly that happened," Mel says. "He had always been strong and that was his identity, too."

Chris adds: "Then Mel went and bought me a shirt that said: 'Who you calling chicken legs?'

"I didn't process it to start with ... of course there have been tears. A U2 song came on in the gym and I burst into tears ... It was a reminder of the fact I would normally jump up and dance to that song in a bar. I don't know if I'll be able to do that again."

Cairns got good news earlier this week when he was cleared to start rebuilding his upper body. He was in a motorised wheelchair until Wednesday to limit movement in his chest and arms to give his body time to heal.

The rehabilitation facility at the hospital has become something of a second home. Cairns is the first to arrive before the doors open at 9am and completes five hours per day.

Cairns' University of Canberra Hospital physiotherapist Sam Smith says: "It helps to have a motivated patient like Chris. He comes in for three hours, has a break for lunch and then comes back for two hours.

"Sometimes we have to prompt patients to set goals. With Chris, he knows what he wants to do and we facilitate that. And then trying to rein him in has been the challenge."

But because of the rarity of Cairns' condition, there are no guarantees or timelines for recovery.

"I know it's not all going to be happy, there will be tough times. But ultimately there's no point dwelling on that," Cairns said.

"We don't know what will come back, but you do the exercises to try to spark the nerves and the muscles. You just keep punching every day, that's all you can do."

What keeps him moving forward? His children - Isobel, Noah and Angus.

"They've made pictures and posters ... the kids always keep it real. You do it for them. That's the motivation."

Cairns says Mel has been his biggest supporter.

"She's a wonderfully strong woman ... when you need someone to kick your backside because you're feeling sorry for yourself, she's there. But seriously, she's the rock for our family."

Mel grew up in Canberra, and the Cairns family initially moved to the capital in 2011 before returning to New Zealand. They came back to Canberra in 2015, but what they didn't know at the time was that decision would save Cairns' life.

"My diagnosis is not that common. So there's challenges professionally for people as there isn't a lot of research. But they are up for the challenge and every situation we've come across to date, they have helped me," Cairns says.

Mel adds: "As a mum I have sat in the emergency department waiting room for hours waiting for kids stitches or X-rays, but I will never gripe again. To know that when you really need the system to work, it does and it saves lives, I will happily wait."

"We're so grateful to everyone that has enabled Chris to be here. He is a fighter, all the stuff we've been through in our life together ... there's no greater fighter."

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