A quick warning: This blog contains very grim and potentially upsetting scenes. I would recommend you avoid reading it particularly if you have experience of serious head injury, I would hate for it to trigger any traumatic memories!
If you haven’t yet read previous editions please start from the beginning by clicking here:
I missed a little bit out of the story, forgive me but I wasn’t conscious! I forgot to mention that I had a faith healer called Jean! On the 3rd day, Jay (my sister’s boyfriend) asked if my family would have anything against a faith healer coming to visit? A friend of his family was a faith healer, she had heard about my condition and asked if she could come and help. Never has he or any of my family believed in anything holistic like that but being in the situation that they found themselves in they were willing to try anything.
On the 3rd day a lovely elderly lady called Jean caught two buses and turned up at Hope Hospital only to be turned away because I was too critical. Undeterred she turned up on the 5th day (I think Jay picked her up this time) and they went in together to see me. He said that the most bazaar thing happened in the intensive care unit. She hovered her hands above my head and chest as I lay unconscious. As her hand passed over my chest I suddenly took a giant prolonged deep breath in arching my back as I did so, Jay was left quite astounded by this. As they entered that room with Jean to see me he was somewhat unconvinced by Jean’s healing abilities. before they even left the room he had nicknamed her ‘The Jean Machine!’. The Jean Machine said that I was now ‘fully charged’ and would come to see me again soon, she had well and truly joined the ‘rehab team!’. In fact true to her word Jean came to visit me several more times during my stay in Hope Hospital and Trafford General Hospital.
I’m not going to get into the argument of whether or not faith healing is real, in this instance it helped with morale and certainly never did any harm. I think positive thinking is almost always a good thing. Nothing good ever comes out of thinking negatively, you will never achieve anything in life by thinking you cannot do it. That’s common sense but also one of those things that is much easier said than done isn’t it! Since 2007 I’ve had plenty of down days but on the whole I think ive been pretty positive and although its much slower these days I think I am still improving. The only times I have stopped or even gone backwards in my recovery are when I have thought negatively or I have been feeling sorry for myself.
I had a very severe head injury, I was only given 30% chance of surviving and even then my outlook wasn’t great. These days unless you really knew what you were looking for you wouldn’t be able to tell I have had such a serious accident. I honestly have worked pretty bloody hard myself but I am so grateful to so many people for where I am and how I am today, Jean being one of them. Hospitals that invest in a Jean Machine certainly wouldn’t be wasting their money! Haha
Anyway that’s Jean’s cameo now where was I? It was my 6th day in the Intensive Care Unit and I was progressing nicely, it had been on the local news that a guy had been very badly beaten up in Salford and was left with serious head injuries. If you have experience of traumatic brain injury either personal or someone close to you and know what it entails then you will be appalled that someone could inflict that on another person and family. I really believe that anyone that hits or kicks anybody in the head is ignorant of the massive damage they could cause. In my opinion what is needed is a jail sentence for the perpetrator but education to prevent it happening in the first place.
Anyway enough ranting, my family had predicted that he would be taken to Hope Hospital and that I would be moved on.
My sister Sam and my mum were ‘sleeping’ at my sister Marcia’s house whilst my dad stayed in temporary accommodation at the hospital. I use sleep in the loosest sense of the word because I think the girls averaged an hour per night between all three of them. About midnight Marcia’s house phone rang, Sam rushed into the bedroom where Marcia and my mum were, it was the hospital a new critical patient had just been admitted to ICU and because I was the strongest in the ward I was going to be moved onto the High Dependency Unit (HDU). Even though this was expected it still came as a shock, I guess I was so fragile and in a safe place that they didn’t want the risk of moving me.
Someone immediately text my dad for him to go back into the hospital to be with me and they travelled there in the car. My dad made his way there, it was a short journey between the wards and should have taken no more than 5 minutes, but 10 minutes had gone and I still wasn’t there. After about 20 minutes my mum and sisters arrived, I still hadn’t arrived. Me moving on should have been a cause for celebration, I was progressing but in this case it was a massive cause of stress. I was leaving the security of the intensive care unit where I was wrapped in cotton wool with 24 hour care! 25 minutes had gone by and everyone was very concerned, even my dad who usually had a cool head in such situations. What had happened, had I had a set back and been rushed to theatre? Had I had a heart attack? Was I even still alive!?
After half an hour I came through the door, I was still alive! It turned out that I had not had a heart attack but I had had a poo on route so they had to clean me up. Hey when you’ve gotta go you’ve gotta go!
So that’s where ill leave it for now and pick it up next time on my first day in the High Dependancy Unit with a clean bum! (sorry I couldn’t resist saying that!)
I hope you enjoyed reading? If you liked it, didn’t like it, have you been affected by traumatic brain injury? Please let me know your thoughts by leaving a comment below 👇🏽👇🏽👇🏽