"What have YOU done today to make you feel proud?" Heather Small (2000)
"What have YOU done today to make you feel proud?" Heather Small (2000) |
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4th March 2002 |
Friday was my first time ever to the Goodwood Festival of Speed. I got there early, as cars only run on the afternoon, thereby giving me a chance to view the cars and the course in the morning, so I duly walked the course from start line to finish line, commenting to a few marshals along the way how far it seemed on foot!!!! All the usual jovial stuff marshals do in each other's company. And as it was a Friday, and not everyone is able to take time off work, I was elevated from "just" being a course marshal to acting observer (the clerks of the course being aware of my other qualifications). Nothing serious happened on the Friday and I returned home that night to tell Jackie of what I had seen and what she was going to enjoy. Saturday, Jackie came with me to spectate whilst I resumed my posting of Flying Finish 1. But at 4.15, my world would be turned upside down when the 4WD Lotus 63 of John Dawson-Damer left the track and careered through the finish gantry on the grass, then scything down both Andy Carpenter and myself, before the car hit the trees behind us killing the driver instantly. Andy regrettably didn’t survive the operation to save him, and I was left in a bad state. Unfortunately, my own personal recollection of the accident has been erased from my mind, indeed I have also “lost” the majority of the 36 hours before it as well. I have learnt I was thrown some 8 to 10 feet into the trees behind where I was standing, knocked unconscious and had stopped breathing. When the rescue crew arrived, they started the CPR procedure and it was when my airway was opened that I started breathing again for myself. My right leg (at shin height) was severed at the scene, probably by the front wing of the car. Additionally, both bones in my lower left leg were shattered, the blood supply to my stomach had been ruptured, my large intestine torn, and there was a large gash on the back of my head where I had fallen.
I spent the first week after the accident in Intensive Care at St Richards, Chichester, before being transferred to Charring Cross Hospital for plastic surgery and reconstruction of my left leg. However, it seems I had gangrene and septicemia and other infections too, so work on the legs were postponed until my life signs stabilised. Regrettably, that also meant that infection set in within my right leg, and the knee then had to be amputated. In all, I spent a further 3 weeks in intensive care before I managed to beat the bugs, and nearly died a further 4 times, the last time in front of Jackie and my parents on our wedding Anniversary when a blood clot came up my leg. As I was conscious of things at that time, it damn well scared me too. At that point, the bones of my left leg were being held together by pins and wires connected to an Ilazorov frame which ran from knee to ankle. My right stump was encased in bandages, I’d had 12 inches of lower bowel removed, the main muscle from my right shoulder transplanted over the break area of my left leg to promote muscle re-growth there, and stitches inserted into the gash on the back of the head. Anyway, after the blood clot had been sorted, I was taken off of the strong drugs and I was more conscious of what was going on. For the first time I could clearly see the state of my injuries, but what I wasn’t ready for was how weak I was. I couldn’t even lift myself in bed. So for the next 2 weeks I was a case of learning to eat again, get strength back into my body, and be man handled by up to 6 nurses twice a day for bed baths and bedding changes. After that fortnight, the physiotherapists started coming along, giving me small exercises to stop my muscles stiffening up, and then the day came when they got me to sit up in bed, turn and put my left foot on the floor for the first time. I nearly passed out initially but with time managed it and was pleased to see the blood flowing through the foot, changing its colour from white to pink! From there, the therapists got me to use small weights to build up my upper body as for the next 2 years it would be supporting me in a way I’d never had to before. Eventually I was fit enough to start using the gym in the hospital twice a day, to strengthen muscles in my hips, lower back and thighs, and I relished this, being a chance to push myself harder on a daily basis and push the boundaries of my own personal ability. Some 9 weeks after the accident, I was fitted with a training leg, called a Femurette, which would allow me to stand on 2 pins for the first time. Using a pulpit frame, I was indeed able to stand for 2 minutes the first time, and the smile on my face couldn’t conceal the joy I felt at that time. I would try to stand for longer, and sometimes probably stood for too long, but any pain I had was erased by the joy. But I couldn’t stay at Charring Cross, as home for me is in Poole. It had reached the point of either allowing the prosthetics unit at Charring Cross to make my new limb, or transferring me back to a local hospital so that I could be looked after by the Dorset Prosthetics Unit. This made sense because if I had a problem with the false limb in the future, I could either travel the 8 miles to my local centre or the 120 miles to London each time. So I was brought back to Poole hospital for some 3 weeks, after the 11 in Charring Cross. But the weekend prior to my transfer was the weekend of the Goodwood Revival meeting, and Lord March had visited me in hospital and invited Jackie and I to attend as VIP’s, putting us up in a local hotel, etc. So as I didn’t want to let anyone down, including myself, we did indeed attend the event, and the look on my fellow marshals’ faces when they saw me there was outstanding. Indeed, it is quite probable that a number of them thought I wouldn’t ever want to be at a racetrack again, let alone marshal. But there I was, nearly all there, and able to enjoy the festivities. I was able to test my ability to be trackside, with the cars just feet away, and found I still had the nerve to do it. Another barrier crossed. Back in Poole Hospital, I started making contact with the various persons who would help me learn to walk again, both in their physiotherapy Unit and the Dorset Prosthetics Unit in Bournemouth. Every day the challenge to get better and fitter continued, and the next target became how soon could I leave hospital, come home and become an outpatient. Well, 6th October was the day, some 2 days before my 40th Birthday. Unfortunately, with the left leg still encased in its Ilazorov frame and no right leg, it was impossible for me to go upstairs to bed, so Jackie had to re-arrange our house so that I could live and sleep downstairs. My only means of mobility is by wheelchair, but with steps at the front and back of the house I wasn’t able to go out unassisted, so the kitchen, lounge and downstairs toilet became my surroundings except for when the ambulance came 3 times a week to take me back into Poole Hospital for more therapy. Come November, and it was time to start working with the prosthetics unit on creating my new leg. So I visited them, and was measured at various points along my stump. This information was then fed into a computer program that creates the shape of the cup that would fit over the stump. 2 weeks later and I went back for my first fitting and trial walk. Well, it was with immense satisfaction that I was able to walk 40 metres straight away, and whilst not part of me, felt a fairly natural thing to wear. 2 weeks later again, and it was back to the unit to collect my leg. BUT, I’d managed to get an infection within the left leg and therefore couldn’t weight bear on it. Why, this week of all weeks did it have to happen now??? This would take me a fortnight for the anti-bacterial tablets I had to clear fully. However, the following week, I thought, “Sod it” and decided to walk anyway. And I did, some 40 metres on the Monday between parallel bars, and 90 metres on the Wednesday on crutches around the gym. Then on the Thursday night (21st December) I walked in public for the first time, walking in from the car park into a pub (well, some things you just can’t change!) But the toll from doing that was the top layers of grafted skin on the stump had been worn away (just like you feel when you buy a new pair of shoes and they blister/rub your heels), so for the next 3 weeks I wasn't able to walk at all whilst the skin repaired itself and toughened up.
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