Over a period of time I gradually come back to reality; at least that’s what I begin to believe! The weird stuff fades eventually and I can begin to take in what’s been happening to me. I learn that whilst I started off in the Alexandra hospital in Redditch, I was transferred to the Coventry & Warwick hospital after a couple of ops and about 5 days. I suffered an ‘open book’ fracture to my pelvis plus three fractures to my sacrum (a long bone near the base of my spine) and lots of lacerations and soft tissue injuries to my lower abdomen. I later come to describe these injuries as similar to when you’ve had roast chicken and pull the wishbone…

The C&W team (led by Martin Blakemore, top orthopaedic doc) have pinned & screwed the front of my pelvis back together and I have an external metal frame screwed into my hip bones to hold the sacrum fractures in place: they can’t pin & plate these as all the nerves into my legs pass through this area and any intrusive procedures could paralyse me. I’ve also had an ileostomy - this is similar to a colostomy but higher up in the digestive system - and been fitted with a supra-pubic catheter. This was done because of all the damage to my abdomen: urethra mostly ripped from my bladder, lacerations all over the place and surgical wounds from the various ops. I’m told at some point that I had to be given ten units of blood. I’m in the intensive therapy unit for some weeks and then, once I’ve started eating again (following the feeding tube incident) and not having hallucinations any longer, I’m moved into the orthopaedic trauma ward.

I have my wounds dressed once every couple of days: they’re extensive and deep so they’ve not been stitched closed, rather they’re packed with stuff that looks like greenish cotton wool: it’s called ‘algesite’ and its made from seaweed and comes in metre long ‘sausages’. The packing – more that a metre per wound – takes a while and for some of them (on my perineum, in particular) I have to be taken to an operating theatre and sedated so the medics can roll me over to get at them. Once a week or so I also get taken down to the X-ray department for a CT scan or straightforward X-ray: depends on what Mr B’s looking for at the time.

The nature of my fractures means that I’m not going to be allowed to move for about three months. Most of the time, though, I tend to sleep or, at least, doze; the time seems to mostly pass a little easier this way and it’s a relief from the crushing boredom of being stuck in bed unable to move. The doc’s arrange for me to have a special bed with a pneumatic mattress to help avoid my getting bedsores – seems to work OK but the pump unit breaks down a couple of times and I end up lying directly on the metal bed frame: agony…

After a few weeks in the trauma ward – it’s mid-December 2003 by now – I’m pressing for a return to the Alex. Sue has been able to make arrangements with her work so that she visits me twice most days, but the travelling is taking its toll. She tells me one day that she nearly fell asleep on the drive home one night. We agree that she should cut down on the visits a bit, but I’ll only feel happy (well, happier) once I know that her travelling is reduced to a minimum. Mr B tells me that I can’t go anywhere until the external frame is removed. One day I wake up and realise that the frame isn’t in its usual place: it has shifted over to my left side and is fouling the cot side on my bed. The doc looks at it and decides that the whole frame has come loose. Apparently, once this happens it can’t be re-set and has to be removed. This is OK as my fractures have now started to knit together again and I can manage without it so long as I don’t move: I still have to stay more or less flat on my back, though. Arrangements are made for me to be taken down to theatre for the frame to be taken off with me under anaesthetic. The doc takes a last look at the frame before I’m moved out to theatre. As he gives a little tug on one of the pins screwed into my hip it comes out! It didn’t hurt, so we agree that he can see if the other pin will come out, too. To everyone’s surprise, the second pin slips out easily – still no pain and the wounds close-up immediately and hardly need dressing. I’m feeling quite happy about how this has gone – I wasn’t looking forward to being knocked out and tubed-up again – and now I can start lobbying to get moved back to the Alex.

It takes a few days, a couple of false starts and quite a lot of frustration, but I’m finally locked & loaded on a trolley, into an ambulance, transferred back to the Alex and into Ward 17 (orthopaedic trauma) about ten days before Christmas 2003. I’m now being looked after by Mr Alan Price and his team (another set of top orthopod docs).

Christmas is not a real fun time when you’re confined to a hospital bed. I do, though, get a present from Mr P – I ‘m allowed, for the first time in nearly two months, to sit up in bed to eat my Christmas dinner as my fractures have reached a ‘sticky’ stage in the healing which means I can start to put (just) a little bit of weight through my pelvis again though it’ll be another month or so before I can think about getting out of bed. I’ve got this fancy bed with a pneumatic mattress and electric controls to raise and lower different bits: I can set it up so I can sit without continually sliding down the bed. Sue & Hari spend much of the day with me as visiting hours are relaxed for Christmas; Linn also makes it over for a visit.

Life in the Alex is a step up from the C&W ward I was on before. In ward 17, at least, every bed has its own TV screen with telephone & radio all in one unit. The system runs off a pre-paid card for access to the TV & phone – calls are very expensive, though. The TV is useful as it helps the time to pass a bit more quickly.

One evening, can’t remember the date but sometime around Christmas, a nurse comes to my bed and says that I’ve a phone call from the USA at the ward desk – it’s my old friend Rick Knoechel calling from Detroit and he’s caused a bit of a stir as I don’t think they’ve ever had an international call coming into the ward. Anyway, the only way they can get me to the phone is to disconnect my be from the power supply that keeps the mattress inflated and wheel me out, bed & all, to the desk. I figure that the mattress won’t lose too much pressure while I’m talking to Rick. His call gave me a real boost – for a day or two, at least…

Also around Christmas time Angelo, a mate from GKN, turns up to visit unexpectedly. He’s bought with him a Jaguar XJ steering knuckle signed by the guys in the foundry & test lab in Telford – as a get well card, its different! Everyone finds this quite amusing and I tell some of the nurses that I found it in the bed one morning & maybe one of my fixators have come out! To keep my area tidy, I get Sue to hang the knuckle up on the coat hook by my bed. A couple of weeks later one of the nurses comes in and takes the knuckle off the peg. I ask her what she’s doing and am told that C&W have asked for their external fixator back! It takes a bit of effort to convince her that its actually a Jaguar suspension component and not a medical device.

Again around Christmas or New Year, I finally think to ask for a mirror – I haven’t looked in one since before the accident. I’m rather shocked to see what I look like: almost exactly the same as the pictures a few days earlier of Saddam Hussein when they found him in a hole. I look very ragged – my hair hasn’t been washed in two months! - and I vow not to cut my hair or beard until I’m out of hospital.

Early in the new tear (2004) I get around to kicking off my compensation claim against the driver who put me in here. Sue’s done some research via the back pages of Bike magazine and the internet and has sorted out a short list. After some discussion we decide to go with White Dalton. In mid-December I’d done a witness statement for the police which I reckon was as accurate as I could remember. Copies of various papers now start to go back and forth between me and my new solicitor – Nick Routh – as the compensation process gets underway. Nick says he thinks I’ve got a very solid claim but that it’ll likely take 2-3 years before it’s all settled so I try to keep it as a background activity and don’t think too much about it most of the time as the wheels of justice grind along (very) slowly …

It’s now late January 2004 and I’ve been in hospital nearly three months. Mr P allowed me to start sitting up a bit at Christmas but now I’m allowed to wriggle around and sit on the edge of the bed. This feels a bit weird at first, partly because I’m sitting ‘properly’ and partly because the mattress moves about on its pressure cycle (anti-bedsores mode). It doesn’t take me too long to get used to it though and this is the last stage prior to me getting out of bed for the first time. I’ve been doing various physio exercises for some weeks to try to keep some sort of muscle activity but my legs are stick thin as I’ve lost maybe 90% of the muscles in my legs & backside. The big knobbly bits halfway down my legs are my knees – it’s very strange… Anyway, the day finally arrives when I’m getting up for the first time: nothing too ambitious, just onto my feet, turn 90 degrees and sit down in a chair. Sounds easy, but it takes three people just to get me upright: one under each arm and the third kneeling on the floor pushing on my knees for all they’re worth to lock them out – and I’m also trying to support myself on a Zimmer frame. This is so difficult I wonder if I’ll ever be able to stand on my own let alone walk again. The experience was exhilarating and frustrating in equal measure. Hope it gets easier…

The day after my first foray out of bed I get the chance to have a bath & wash my hair – for the first time in three months! A couple of nurses turn up at my bedside with a hoist & chair attached. I shuffle half out of bed and into the chair and they wheel me off to the bathroom where I’m lowered, chair & all, into a deep bath of lovely warm water: bliss! The ileostomy bag gets in the way a bit & drying myself afterwards takes some effort and help from the nurses but it’s great to (finally) feel properly clean again. I also discover that I’ve lost about 7 stones, but I’ll pile a lot of this back on over the coming 12-15 months…

Over the next couple of weeks I my ability to get out of bed and walk about a bit using a Zimmer frame improves. I practice walking two or three times a day and eventually can make it from my bed to the bathroom down the corridor and back again. Before I’m discharged I’m washing in the bathroom every day and no longer have to have bed baths. Most evenings, now, Sue takes me down to the hospital café on the ground floor (ward 17 is on the 1st floor) for a cuppa & a sticky bun. I usually use the frame to walk from my bed to the end of the ward where I get into a wheelchair for the trip downstairs. One evening I lose my balance and fall. I don’t hurt anything – except my pride – but can’t get up on my own & need quite a bit of help from Sue & the nurses to get me into a chair and then back into bed. I realise that this walking malarkey is going to be more difficult and lengthy than I first thought.

Something else has happened while I’ve been bedridden: I’ve become a non-smoker after 20+ a day for more years than I care to remember. I guess the 3-4 weeks I spent unconscious and all the drugs helped me kick the habit. I now find the smell of cigs turns my stomach. The other thing I notice on my trips away from the ward are the patients hanging around by the entrance smoking – many of them with drips on wheeled stands attached! I never want to be that sad…

Its now mid-February 2004 and Mr P has told me I’m OK to, finally, go home. The Occupational Health people come to see me and supply a load of kit for me to use at home. Sue takes most of it away a day or two before I’m discharged. She’s also managed to clear out the dining room and turned it into a bedroom for me ‘cos I can’t get up & down stairs with the Zimmer and we don’t have a lift! Fortunately, I can use our downstairs toilet OK but it’s back to bed baths until I can climb the stairs again… Nonetheless, after nearly four months in hospital, it’s very good to be home again. Sue’s arranged to work odd hours & do some stuff at home and her mum comes over a couple of times a week to keep me company so I’m not stuck on my own all the time. Linn manages to visit fairly regularly & my mate Norm turns up at least once a week. Also, the home phone is a lot cheaper than the one in the hospital, so I’m talking to folk on the phone a lot, too. Two or three times a week I get home visits from the District Nurses – I’ve still got un-healed wounds that need packing & dressing regularly. Also, a physio comes in to help me with my exercises. After a couple of weeks of this the local hospital in Bromsgrove (Princess of Wales or PoW) arrange for me to attend rehab sessions twice weekly, so I don’t need the nurses or physio to visit me at home any more.

The rehab unit at the PoW works mainly with people who have neurological problems: strokes, MS, Parkinson’s & accident victims like me. Looking at some of my fellow rehabees, I start to appreciate that I’m not as badly off as I might have been. I think I’m probably the second youngest in our group; a guy called Mark is younger than me & he’s had a stroke that’s left him half paralysed down the right hand side and, just for good measure, given him epilepsy into the bargain… We do various exercises/physio from about 10 ‘til 12: moving to music, walking practice & games. At first it all seems a bit childish & silly but after a couple of sessions I realise that it’s being done to real purpose and I now have a more positive attitude to it. After the exercise/games sessions we have lunch and then I get taken home – I get collected & dropped off by an ambulance and the arrival/departure times can be a bit erratic but at least I don’t have to worry (too much) about making my sessions & getting home afterwards. Over the next six months I progress from walking short distances with the frame to short walks with elbow crutches and, eventually, two walking sticks. The first big milestone is getting rid of the frame and onto crutches. The next is doing my first trip up & down a flight of stairs – this was really scary but quickly got easier with practice. Being able to ‘do’ stairs means that I can now get up to the shower & be able to get properly clean (again !!).

It’s close to the end of May and the wound on my perineum has finally, after more than six months, healed. I can now start the process of getting my ileostomy reversed – the end of the bag & being able to drink beer & eat curry again, yea!! Actually getting the op sorted out is easier said than done. It takes a few weeks to get an appointment with Mr Velaneni, the gastro-intestinal consultant at the Alex. He sends me off, a few more weeks later, to have a Barium enema to check that all my ‘tubes’ are still properly connected. The enema is an absolute joy (not!): the radiologist pumps this white liquid up my arse and watches it flow around in my intestines on a real-time X-ray system. It all hurts a bit, but the ‘best’ is yet to come… Once they’ve pumped what feels like several gallons of this white stuff up me, the pressure is released and it all comes rushing out again – the nurses catch most of it in a bucket, but I still get quite a lot of it over my back & legs. Anyway, the news looks good: from what I see on the X-ray screen & the reactions of the radiologist my ‘tubes’ are OK & I notice that my ileo bag has partly filled with white stuff that could only have come upstream… And the good bit ? When I get home I have an attack of the cramps & only just make it to the bog in time to explode out the remnants of the Barium stuff – if I’d made it outside, I reckon I could have white-washed the fence!!! Fortunately, I get private health cover through Jaguar and my next consultation with Mr V is at the Droitwich hospital where he tells me the good news: everything looks fine & he can do the reversal op the following week – I’d likely have to wait for months before I could get this done on the NHS as it’s considered as non-urgent surgery; even though this bloody bag’s doing my head in!

I go into the Droitwich at the end of July (2004) for my ileo reversal. The hospital is modern, everyone gets their own room, the staff are friendly & the food’s pretty good. My op goes smoothly (apparently, I was unconscious at the time!) and I wake up after a couple of hours or so – Sue, Hari & El are there when I come around. Got a bit of a sore throat (again) after being intubated but at least my senses of smell & taste seem to be working OK: after earlier ops these went awol and very strange – it took months for them to recover & even today I’m not sure they’re the same as they used to be… I stay in the Droitwich for another four or five days recovering from the op. The wound is quite neat but, as it later turns out, right on my belt line & I’ll suffer a bit of discomfort & itching later: nothing to be done about it (can’t move it somewhere else, after all!), so it’s something (else) I’ll just have to try to live with. I have a few bouts of sickness & incontinence both during my hospital stay and after I get back home as my gut settles down after being sliced & diced: Mr V took about 2-3 inches out of my small intestine to give two good (wet) ends to join together that he says will heal better than trying to just close the hole formed when they made my stoma in the first place. Anyway, even though my gut hasn’t settled completely & I’m wearing an adult-sized nappy in case of ‘accidents’, Mr V discharges me with a follow-up appointment a week or so later. Back home and I’m not doing too badly and am mostly continent until…

I’ve been eating fairly normally for a few days and my gut seems to be settling down and becoming more manageable when, all of a sudden, I start throwing up violently (Olympic standard projectile vomiting!) and feel awful. This goes on for about 24 hours so Sue takes me down to the PoW minor injuries unit where a nice lady doctor gives me yet another internal exam (at least she’s careful & it doesn’t hurt especially). She says I’ve got a ‘sub-acute obstruction’ in my gut as a result of the op and prescribes a strong laxative. If this works, fine, otherwise I might have to have something more intrusive done… Fortunately, the laxative stuff works & I go from one extreme to the other: chucking up regularly to running (limping, actually, I can’t run) to the bog a frequent intervals – at least the industrial strength nappies come in handy! After a day or two everything settles down again & I’m feeling much better – for about ten days until it all flares up again; this time we know what’s going on & it’s straight back to the laxative again. Since then, fortunately, I’ve not suffered a recurrence.

About 6 weeks before I had my ileo reversal I did a 1 mile sponsored walk in aid of the Wishbone appeal which is a charity that helps fund the orthopaedic research team for the Coventry & Rugby hospitals: Martin Blakemore, who glued & screwed me back together, is part of this team. I wanted to try & give something back so decided to give it a bash: the goal was to try to make it round without stopping. I went into ‘training’ by doing circuits of the Arrow Valley lake in Redditch: at first it took ages & I had to stop several times on the way round but, after a few weeks, I managed a non-stop lap so felt that my goal was achievable. I had lots of help getting sponsorship: Bill Slater got a load from Jaguar & Land Rover, Norm Thornton did the same from nCode & EIS, Angelo Fanourakis helped at GKN and Linn, through the Beertown Bikers, raised loads especially at the Victoria in Coalville & the Abbey in Burton-on-Trent. The final total was £2250 & I was very touched by people’s generosity & can’t thank everyone enough: the cause is a good one. Incidentally, as I write this, I’ve not long completed the same event for 2005. This time I got around without stopping or using any artificial walking aid. Still collecting in all the sponsorship dosh but a decent sum has been raised again.

During July & August of 2004 I receive several letters from the Warwickshire County Court. The driver who hit me has been charged with ‘driving without due care & attention’. They’re pleading ‘not guilty’ so it looks like the witnesses & myself will have to attend court to give evidence: I’m not looking forward to this but, at least, the driver will get a chance to see what they’ve done to me. In the event, just a few days before the case is to be heard, I get a letter from the court telling me the driver has changed their plea to ‘guilty’ & I don’t have to go to court after all. In some ways I’m pleased that I don’t have to go to court but in others I’m angry as I figure that the driver’s legal team, having seen the evidence against them, have advised a guilty plea as a damage limitation exercise as it’s obvious they’re not going to get away with it. Anyway, some weeks later I get another letter from the court telling me the driver was given 7 penalty points, fined £200 plus court costs: not much, really, for buggering up my life, but what can you do about it? At the time, and occasionally afterwards when I’m reminded of the case, I get really angry at the driver for pleading ‘guilty’: they’ve robbed me of an opportunity, possibly the only one I’ll ever have, of showing them directly the consequences of their actions and some of the (obvious) effects their few moments of inattention have had, and continue to have, on me.

Since my ileo reversal op I’ve only been attending rehab once a fortnight and in mid September I’m discharged by the PoW team. Sue & I decide to go away for a week or so – to Norfolk – before I start back to work. The holiday is pretty good; we stay in an old pub in Walsingham and travel about on the north Norfolk area visiting old haunts like Wells next the Sea & Holkham, enjoying the food & beer. On 20th September 2004, after almost 11 months on sick leave, I start back to work. While I’ve been away, my department at Jaguar-Land Rover has been relocated to the Gaydon Engineering Centre, so I have a different journey to work: past the junction where I had my accident. A couple of weeks before I start back, Sue takes me over for a visit & we drive past the junction so’s I can (hopefully) lay that ghost. In fact, the experience isn’t that bad – what does shock me is that the road leading up to the junction where it all happened is pretty straight, with good visibility so how the hell did the driver not see me?!?! Since then, I’ve driven past the spot many times: I still ease off when I get close and if there’s any traffic at the junction – particularly anything indicating turning across me from the right – I slow down more & cover the brakes as I approach, so I wouldn’t say I’m 100% comfortable with this place but can handle it without too many problems… I start back to work part time; going in for a few hours a day 2-3 days a week with the intention (hope, really,) of building up to full time again by Christmas. I try to work to a ‘level of tiredness’ such that I’m still OK to safely drive home after work. I see Lisa in Occupational Health on a regular basis to check on progress and agree plans for the next week or two. I do manage to work a full week in the run up to Christmas and expect everything to continue improving after the re-start in the New Year: oh, the folly of over-confidence…

The 4th of January 2005, first day back to work after the Christmas hols and I’ve an appointment with Occupational Health after lunch. The meeting with Lisa goes fine but on the way back to my desk, for why I still have no idea, I lose my balance and fall in one of the corridors close by the surgery. As my left foot comes down the ankle turns and there’s a funny, cracking sound… Two guys walking along the corridor help me into a chair as I can’t put any weight on my left leg; one of them goes to get help from Occ Health. After a few minutes Lisa turns up with a couple of JLR ambulance men. I manoeuvre myself into a wheelchair and they take me back into the surgery. I get an ice pack on my ankle and after about half an hour my leg feels a bit better. We all think I’ve suffered a bad sprain as my leg doesn’t hurt particularly. My colleague Jaspal brings my stuff from the office and my car round to Occ Health and, with a bit of help, I hobble out to my car and drive home. I can’t use my left foot too well but, as I’m now driving an automatic, I manage OK with my right. A couple of neighbours, Malcolm & Steve, see me struggling when I get home and help me into the house; actually, half carry would be a better description of this... I find that I can only really get around in the house by crawling around on all fours. The following day, I’m at home with my ankle strapped-up and feeling wonky – can’t put any weight on it at all. I speak to Lisa on the phone and we agree that it would probably be best if I got my leg looked at by A&E. Sue comes home from work early and after lunch we head off to the Alex. I don’t have to wait too long in A&E before my first examination and an x-ray. The x-ray technician who does these shots remembers me from my earlier accident – she did my shots in A&E and recalls the images in my file – she says she’s surprised (and pleased, too, I hope!) that I survived those injuries; many don’t, apparently. Anyway, still thinking I’ve got a bad sprain, I’m surprised and shocked when the doc, having looked at the x-rays, tells me I have a bimalleolar fracture of the ankle; apparently, this is about as bad as ankle fractures get. I’m put into a temporary cast (back slab) and given an appointment for the Fracture clinic two days hence. At the next visit to the Alex – more x-rays - the orthopaedic consultant thinks hard about pinning and plating my ankle but, in the end and to my great relief, decides to treat it by setting into a cast: I choose a neat purple plaster.

Several weeks pass; I’m confined to the house most of the time and can only get around on all fours (using gardener’s knee pads!) as my right leg isn’t good enough to support me on crutches and I’m not allowed to put any weight on my left leg. It’s all pretty frustrating and boring so I go back to my old hospital habit of sleeping or, at least, dozing for hours on end just so’s the time will pass: terminal brain fade starts to take over again and I spend a lot of time feeling sorry for myself. In some ways this enforced layoff is worse than last time: I can’t really find someone or something to blame for my predicament, event though I’m sure it wouldn’t have happened if I’d not had my earlier accident. My next visit to the Alex is to see Mr Price on a follow-up to the pelvic fractures: he’s shocked to see me with a busted ankle and agrees to take over my care. More x-rays are taken and a new cast put on: the last one had become very loose as my leg muscles are atrophying again… The new plaster is a striking orange colour and, joy of joys, I’m allowed to put a little weight on my left leg at last, at least for very short distances & moving around in the house; I’m given a canvas boot-sandal thingy to put over the foot bit of my cast to keep it clean and dry when I’m hobbling around outside. Whatever, at least I can get around a bit more easily again. Finally, just before Easter, the cast comes off and I’m allowed to walk ‘normally’ (well, normal for me!) again. Actually, I can only manage to get around, very slowly and cautiously, using elbow crutches and I feel I’ve regressed 6-9 months in my recovery. This visit turns out to be my last with Mr P’s team; I’m discharged for all fractures and they don’t want to see me again unless I break something else… I’m actually quite sad and rather depressed by this; I sort of looked forward to my visits with Mr P and in a weird way I feel rather rejected that I’m not of any further interest to the orthopods after all this time…

I start back to work after Easter; part-time again and now attending physio at the PoW twice a week. I really feel that I’ve gone a long way backwards and it’s difficult to get enthusiastic about things: work, home, anything much, really. My physio, Lisa, is very good and works me pretty hard. Throughout April, May and June my leg muscles recover and my stamina improves noticeably – just as well as I’ve piled weight back on again during my enforced three month lay-up; still working on getting some of that off… By mid-June I’m back to walking around with just one stick and managing more free walking: just as well as the 2005 Wishbone Walk is coming up at the end of the month (26/6) and I want to do it this year without any artificial walking aids. Managed the walk fine and raised just over £1300 this year; pretty good result, I think. Lisa discharges me on the 30th June having done as much as she can to get my ankle back into some sort of OK state.

Since autumn 2004 the ‘other side’ in my compensation claim have using a private rehab company to help with my recovery: the object is that they pay for stuff up front that helps me get ‘better’ sooner so they don’t have to pay out so much to me later and the costs for this don’t come off my claim (legal term: non-prejudicial). Anyway, one of the things they get me to do is have a gait assessment by a specialist physio at the Droitwich hospital. I have my first session with him the day after I’m discharged by Lisa at the PoW (actually, this should have happened back in January, but then I had my fall…). He’s very thorough and after more than an hour he tells me his initial conclusions: left ankle in great shape (well done Lisa!!) and right hip joint OK, however… left hip & both knees pretty well shot and my right ankle is also on it’s way out; eventually (a few years from now) I’ll need new hip, knees, etc unless corrective action is taken soon. He’s confident that he can improve my situation and will recommend an appropriate physio treatment plan in his report. I’m currently waiting to learn what happens next…

The other thing that I’ve, finally, come to admit to myself is that I’m in rather poor shape psychologically. My personality has changed markedly since the accident and this has continued since I broke my ankle: most of the time I feel ‘flat’, somewhat apathetic and find it difficult to plan more than a few days ahead. At the same time, I can be very short-tempered and/or moody; often for little or no obvious reason. I also have a low personal esteem. I often wonder how and why Sue puts up with me: I can be very difficult at times and I never mean to be horrid but I just don’t seem to be able to control my emotions. I’m very glad she’s stuck by me, though, to say the very least!! So, what to do about it? Work have been (and continue to be) very supportive and I have my first appointment with a counsellor on 19th July. I’m also waiting for a first meeting with a clinical psychologist paid for by ‘the other side’. I don’t know if either of these will help but I’m willing to give it a try; nothing ventured...

Well, that’s about it: my story from 1st November 2003 to 16th July 2005: well, not absolutely all of it, but as much as I’m prepared to put down in writing. Who knows whether the counselling will help, I’ve more physio to look forward to and, hopefully, I’ll eventually be walking better as a result. I’m waiting for an independent medical exam as part of my compensation claim: this is my equivalent to a day in court ‘cos the ‘other side’ really have to accept full liability. I guess that the claim will be settled sometime towards the end of this year, but I’m not holding my breath! Otherwise, the summer brings out bikers in profusion (ride carefully, guys, there’s still just as many mad bastard drivers out there trying to kill you as when they got me!!!) and I’m saddened that I’ll never be joining them on two wheels again. From time to time I think about buying a trike; maybe one day, or perhaps it’s just a pleasant fantasy…

This isn’t the end of my story, not even the beginning of the end but, having written down my experiences over the last 20 months and started, in a small way, to come to terms with all the crap, it might just be the end of the beginning. Time will tell, I guess…

Me & Sue at a happy event: Linn’s birthday party 2005

Pete B. Dec.  July 2005