One Split Second
Authors: Gillian Crook
One Split Second
Gillian Crook
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© 2012 by Gillian Crook. All rights reserved.
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First published by AuthorHouse 10/21/2011
ISBN: 978-1-4567-8844-5 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4567-8843-8 (ebk)
Printed in the United States of America
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Contents
Saturday 27th September
(32 days)
I think it’s Thursday 2nd October
TOUCHDOWN—JUST ARRIVED AT ST ALWYNS GENERAL HOSPITAL, GLASGOW
Tuesday 7th October 2003
Friday 10th October
Sat 11th October
CHRISTMAS DAY
Friday 25th December
31st December (last day of the year)!! Thank God
To my wonderful children Carly and
Michael, and their dad, Brian, for
keeping things together, my loving
mother and family
, who all helped and
supported me through so many
difficult times
I dedicate this poem to my father.
An Ode to my Father
The Wood for the Trees
I am the elder, the stronger, the Patriarch in this forest.
The foundations of my strong roots, and the sap that seeps through my veins of branch, provide the nourishment for the newer life, allowing the beauty of the colours and fresh leaves to grow from my nurturing,
I provide the wood that builds, that burns, that grows … that weathers the storm, the icy blizzard and the harsh sunlight,
I am the Provider, I am the Protector… .
I would like to thank Colin for
encouraging and mentoring me, and
believing in me, Michelle for all her
help, support, advice and valued time,
Alistair for his computing skills, and
all the
staff at Meallmore Lodge
Nursing Home, Drumboe Suite, Daviot
for all their care and support
Also, John and everyone at
AuthorHouse
‘1 Split Second’, is a true and heartfelt story, of my life, before and after my life-changing accident, that left me paralysed from the top of my ribs down, in August 2003. My names, characters and places are written under aliases.
My story unfolds on the pages with events leading up to the time of my accident, then my long journey and experiences in hospital, recounting the memories.
That’s supposed to be today’s date, I lose track, but I know it’s exactly a month since that ‘fateful,’ ‘wicked’, ‘horrendous’, ‘unkind’ day of the accident. Oh god, I’ve only just started writing because it’s taken me exactly one month to get my head around what happened on the 25th August 2003, that Bank Holiday Monday!!
I have decided, whether it be in ‘my wisdom’, or otherwise, that I have to record some of what is going on around me, in my head, with my body and what has become, and will be my ‘reality’—my future. Even in the short space of time that has passed, I have been through an absolute spaghetti junction of emotions, physically and mentally, not knowing really what or who to recognise as ‘me’!
There is so much to write about, much of what all leads up to the accident and the subsequent outcome and circumstances—however or whatever way you try to make sense of it all you cannot.
In my own way, if I wanted to, I could see it as ‘punishment’, but I don’t really believe in that—I think of it more as a second chance at perhaps helping me to see the ‘good’ and ‘worthwhile’ person I can be, and, have in me—one that I can feel proud of—and for everyone whom I love and care about to see as well. If I rabbit on like this I will never get to the point.
At this moment in time, I can feel myself changing—changing not only because I have come to the realisation that without having to be told, I have lost the feeling of my lower limbs, which at first I thought was just because the toes had gone to sleep, and was perhaps happy to believe and think that. I don’t really remember being told different, although I’m sure I was at some point? I no doubt was told, inbetween seeing my family members and of course my husband and beautiful children there—and perhaps a more beautiful concept would have been that if I was just there with my children I may have thought I was in heaven and that was a million miles away from the place I was in before I had woken. In my dreams I was hoping that I could be that ‘chrysalis’ turning into a butterfly! I think not!—although this was maybe going to be a chance for me to allow myself to drop the ‘mask’!
I have always been good at hiding behind my ‘mask’ and for a short spell was comfortable with me, only on the outside though, cause I had reached my size 8 and had a flat stomach to die for, which according to one of my sisters, I nearly did, because, if I had more weight on my bones, apparently, my injuries may have not been so bad!! ( Jesus, that made me feel a whole lot better—thanks for that Margie!).
So, I thought I was comfortable with me after 6 months at Viewfield (a place with a drink and drug rehabilitation programme), but every day was a fight both mentally and physically, and apart from the thought of my children, which was keeping me going, and using one redeeming feature, my looks, I carried on. Believe it or not, I am not conceited, but I would have been in the gutter long ago had it not been for the fact that I could charm my way out of situations, dangerous or otherwise, right up until that Monday 25th August, the Bank Holiday, when I was still ducking and diving, scuse the pun!, which literally got me to where I am now—broken back and spine, severe abrasions to my head, broken jaw, broken ribs, squashed diaphram, punctured lung, disclocated fingers and paralysed from the chest down and unbelievably resigned to the fact that I left a shitty, meaningless life (apart from my kids and mum) behind and maybe
that
was what gave me the ‘backbone’ to carry on with my life now and give it some purpose.
God, I really feel like I need to get all the ‘crap’ out of my head and get on with living (whatever that is). Even in 4 weeks I can see myself becoming crabit, irritable, demanding, short-tempered, ugly?, yup, keep picking at my face, the only part left clear after my accident and I have to spoil that! No-one has dared to comment on the huge red spot-like mark I have created on my face due to my inability to ‘stop pickin’!! I hate this and I hate myself and God forbid anybody to be where I am today, and that is not self-pity talking, that is because a lot of people could not handle this; I think I have determination—Addicts (see how they deserve the respect of a capital letter because of the lifetimes work it can take you to acknowledge and achieve), sorry, Addicts don’t do things by half, oh no, having an addiction can mean being, focused (at the start) and having an assertive mind, being good at planning, a knack for bending the truth, having an inner belief in the fact that you know better than anyone else and will not be told! So, I know I can focus 110% on rebuilding my life. Living has become my new addiction!! (or maybe I should say my other!), sorry I am gonna have to stop for the mo, my back is hurting, but hey, that’s good isn’t it, because at least I can actually feel something for real?! time for more morphine, yippee!!
Well its now Wednesday 26th September and I didn’t get back to my book (that’s what this is by the way, my lil old book)! Jo came in today with Al, her hubby—this seems to be taking the look of a diary of events? . . . . by the way, as usual I will no doubt slip into what I call my Ronnie Corbett Syndrome, and tell a story within a story, so keep up!—(actually exactly what I have done right now)—Jo, Yes!, I don’t know why exactly but I found myself feeling very irritable and the diazepam is supposed to calm me down, but I suppose it needs time to kick in, please God, before I kick Jo! (love ‘er really). Jo has visited me at night a few times—she seems a bit manic and on another planet, even ‘drugged’ almost! I hate to have these thoughts, but then, she admitted my expected fears that she had been caught drinking a quarter bottle of vodka (probs half, cause we normally play down the amount we have) whilst waiting to pick up her daughter Kim from ballet lessons! Fuck! Al saw her in the toilets. and her reason she gave me for her drinking was because she heard gossip that Al was having an affair!! Personally it wouldn’t surprise me but I have to be non-judgemental beause too many people love a bit of gossip and make their minds up about things without the facts. Anyway, Jo had to tell someone, and for some reason she chose me and I hope to think that’s cause she knows I’m not gonna judge her, which I haven’t, (just that lying cheating son-of-a-bitch of a hubby of hers—actually, I suppose he was there for her through rehab and brought the kids to see her, so sorry, maybe not soo bad). Anyway, she had to offload and I assured her we all have ‘blips’—even though I think it is more than that. Al obviously denied everything, using the old convenient excuse, “I stuck with you through rehab, why would I leave for another woman now??” . . . . indeed?
