An Accident Happens

Monday 2 December
It’s an especially beautiful morning when I set out for my seven-mile run, frost twinkles under the low sun in the Secret Valley creating an enchanted landscape. Once I leave the shelter of the valley behind, I realise that many of the lanes are glazed with treacherous black ice so pick my path very carefully. I love a good downhill sprint, however, so with home in sight and a clear road ahead I take the brakes off and fly. Only, somehow, my left foot snags in gravel. In the split-second before I hit the ground, I know that when I land it’s going to be bad.

There’s a smack as my left cheekbone hits the ground and my teeth clash together as my head bounces. My mouth has gone numb, but when I touch my fingers to my face, I’m surprised to see blood on my hands. I fumble for my phone and try to call Tom, but there’s no answer. I know I’ll freeze if I sit still so I drag myself up wondering why it’s all such a struggle. When I try to walk, it feels as if the ribs on my left side have come undone and they’re clicking too - how I manage to get home, I don’t know. Tom’s mouth opens when he sees me and he calls an ambulance. After twenty minutes, a paramedic rings and hearing my moans and groans, gives the go ahead for me to have paracetamol. By the time the ambulance arrives, some forty minutes later, the pain is so agonising I simply don’t know what to do with myself. 

From the moment Lyndon and Peter, the paramedics, walk through the door, I feel I’m in safe hands. I cannot thank them enough for their care; they make me feel like a little, broken fairy who they are going to fix. Lyndon keeps the pain and fear away and Peter drives very slowly and carefully. I’m so grateful to them.

We reach Glangwili hospital in Carmarthen (some 23 miles away) where Lyndon goes in to prepare the way. After a pause, he returns with a slight frown and says that unfortunately there is no facility for me to be admitted on a trolley and that I’ll have to wait in A&E reception. I thank them, we say our goodbyes, and that’s how Tom - who has had to change a car tyre on the way down - finds me; sitting in a wheelchair, dressed in running leggings, a sports bra and a blanket, waiting my turn along with everyone else.

‘Excuse me,’ says a passing nurse, ‘do you really need that wheelchair? We’re very short of them.’ I explain that I think my ribs are broken but my legs are so wobbly with shock and morphine that I don’t think I can stand. ‘Hmmn’ she replies, stomping off.

I’m finally triaged, sent for chest and facial x-rays and eventually see a junior doctor who tells me his name and wants to know my date of birth and what medication I’m on. ‘Just HRT', I tell him. 'What’s HRT?’ he asks, not exactly filling me with confidence. He notices my cut and bruised hands and tells me they’ll need to be x-rayed. I tell him I’ve just returned from having my chest and face x-rayed. He mutters something about having a look at the x-rays and returns shortly afterwards with a box of co-codamol. 

‘Everything’s normal,’ he assures me, ‘you can go home.’
Presumably he’s not worried about my hands now. ‘But my ribs are clicking and I can’t feel my top teeth at all!’ I insist, panicking.
‘No, it’s all normal. See a dentist if you’re worried about your teeth. Just take the painkillers and breathe deeply.’

Back in A&E reception, still in my wheelchair, sports bra and blanket. I sit in a state of shock waiting for Tom to get with the car and bring some clothes for me. An old man beside me offers me his coat. A woman opposite, gets up and wraps my blanket more securely round me. The wheelchair is whipped away as soon as I stand up.

Tues 3 December.
After a scary, sleepless night, Tom takes me back to a much quieter Glangwili, where I am triaged again and seen by another doctor with a trainee. Many rib fractures don’t show on x-rays, I’m told, but I’m apparently exhibiting all the classic signs (what with all the flapping and clicking of bones and general levels of agony). This time, I leave properly informed about how to care for the ribs in order to avoid pneumonia. ’But we don’t know anything about dentistry,’ the doctor says cheerfully, ‘so you should see an emergency dentist as soon as possible.’

By great good fortune I manage to get an emergency appointment for - yes - 2.30 that same day. But that is a whole new story…

Total Damage: Extensive bruising to left cheekbone and mouth. Cuts to mouth, total loss of feeling in upper teeth, upper teeth misaligned by impact of fall, chipped front tooth. Extensive bruising to hands, gravel rash and cuts on both. Left rib fractures. Cuts and bruising to left thigh and left knee. Right leg hale and hearty!

Has this put me off running? I have to admit it’s put me off falling, but one serious accident in twenty years of running isn’t bad. Besides, if that’s one thing I’ve learned from all the medics is that beneath the cuts, bruises and fractures I’m actually extremely fit!

And finally, I would like to my express my thanks to the Welsh Ambulance Service and the two amazing paramedics who looked after me with such great care.