I was preparing for an interview this week, going over all of the bullshit I need to remember to give examples. Mum was asking me questions and I was feeling pissed off how much effort it takes to apply for a stupid band 4 job for 6 months, swearing at the end of each answer and giving the Vs. Obviously that was just for Mum, I wasn’t really going to do that.
Just before the football finished I wanted to go home, it was 9.30pm. Dad always drives me home but we had decided to walk, he was carrying stuff and I was carrying stuff. I just remember a neighbour coming by and me moving to one side catching my foot on the grass verge. I went flying into the air, the thought of it now is making me cringe but it’s one of the most awful things that has happened to me (so far). I couldn’t stop it and I don’t know why or how or whether I got my bags caught or whether it was just fate or punishment I don’t know. I hit the concrete really hard, full force with only my Mouth to stop the fall. I knew instantly it was very very bad. I could feel Teeth bits in my mouth and blood. I felt no pain and was probably in shock.
I went straight upstairs and held my Face in my hands. I could hear my parents flapping in the background and saying stuff. I didn’t look at my face for another 5 hours, I was way too afraid. My main aim was keeping it together. I insisted I was fine and didn’t need the hospital but they took me anyway.
Dad thought I would need stitches which Scared the hell out of me.
The thought of having a scar on my face scared the hell out of me.
Breaking my teeth scared the hell out of me.
We waited till around 12.30am to see the Dr where I was hoping he would clean it and I could go home. He said you did the right thing coming to hospital. He went to get a colleague. I was lying on a bed behind one of those curtains with Mum and Dad. I thought I was ok until the other Dr said it was quite a complicated cut and that I would need to see a plastic surgeon. That’s when I started to cry for the first time. This was real and it was much more severe than I had even thought.
I felt more bad for my parents having to see me this way. What a silly fucking thing to do to myself.
My parents were amazing and I was like a child again snuggling up to them and holding their hand.
I thought I was getting out of this ok but now I wasn’t so sure.
When we initially arrived in A&E it is funny how everything in your brain changes in a crisis. I had accepted it immediately, it was done, it had happened, no one could ever change it. I was grateful I had done it to myself and it hadn’t occurred through a mugging or a rape or a gang.
Just me being a dozy bastard. Things could be Worse right!
When we got home none of us could believe what had happened. It was just a normal night like any other and although it isn’t the end of the world we were all rather upset.
We discussed how odd it was and why I hadn’t put my hands out and why we didn’t just go in the van and how maybe I had really upset someone ‘up there’ or in a past life. Was it punishment, was it a message of some kind? Was it fate intervening a much worse tragedy.
My parents were supposed to go away for the weekend on the bike, maybe I saved them and didn’t even know it.
None of us will ever know.
Will any good come of this? It is too soon to answer that but I do believe everything happens for a reason.
So the next morning I was called to get an appointment at Wythenshawe Hospital to see the surgeon. I must say I thank god for the NHS and the Drs and Nurses and staff were all so wonderful.
My Mum joked about me getting a really handsome plastic surgeon and I made jokes about Dr Kristian Troy (off Nip Tuck). Turns out it was no joke.................. how embarrassed I was looking like a scabby white version of Bubba from Forest Gump and talking remarkably like (I discovered by accident yesterday), Louie Spence.
I had woke up without pain or any major bruising. Despite Dad saying I look like I’d had a car accident. I was still hopeful I could go home and not face any further trauma until the lovely Nicholas (Olivier Martinez-esq- but better) said I would go into theatre on Friday to get it cleaned and to have stitches on the lacerations, top and bottom of my mouth. On a good note he didn’t think the cut under my nose would scar too badly but it was best to get stitched to prevent infections.
As much as it perturbs me that I have to go into theatre and get stitched inside my mouth, I keep telling myself it can’t be worse than having your face smashed in with concrete. I have had a needle in my arm for two hours by choice, surely I can do this little thing.
My teeth are chipped but hopefully they won’t need pulling out, it is a little less sore today. I can’t eat solids as I can’t chew and I have to drink through a straw. I look like I’ve had really dodgy botox and am talking funny.
I would have hoped to recover quickly but it has only gotten worse today and is more swollen and once they start pulling it tomorrow and stitching, it will probably just be more enflamed.
So let this be a lesson to you all, always pick your feet up and never carry too many bags : )
One last thing..................
I’m really grateful for Mum and Dad who were there for me and did everything they could to make it better. Love you millions ~ and to all my wonderful friends who have been worried about me.
Love you all.
Don’t laugh at me when you see me!! xxx
FMP
