The Journey

Lyn Haworth

1982

The 5th of January, 1982: I had just been told that Id been recommended for CID; the first step on my path toward joining the Scottish Crime Squad! The shift had been busy and wet. Very wet, but the rain had turned to ice and my lock was frozen. My colleagues were all getting into their cars and heading home, the car park momentarily resembling a Grand Prix starting grid. I struggle with my key and curse under my breath. Then my knight in shining armour (well, his weathered police uniform) comes to my aid and, with the help of his cigarette lighter, defrosts my lock. Well thank you kind sir! Little did he (or I) know what the consequences of his gallant actions would be. I get the engine running and the heater on full before tackling the defrosting job that everyone used to love to hate; trusty de-icer aerosol in one hand and my warrant card in the other (an invaluable ice-scraper) and soon Im ready to roll.

I set off homewards, south on the A77 in my Morris Marina, with Cat Stevens singing Baby, baby, its a wild world and how right he was.

Suddenly my car slews uncontrollably and everything s-l-o-w-s down. Spinning in slow motion, like a crazy carousel and then a collision of catastrophic proportions knocks the wind, and almost the last breath, out of me. Life flashing in front of me? No! Just one word, in neon lights, beginning with F and ending with an enormous kicking K...

The windscreen is shattered. My hand finds the door. Its stuck. I think I can climb out the window and try to move but I cant. The excruciating pain in my lower body stops me in my tracks. Cars are passing me by, slowing down a bit, but still keep on going. I can see the lodge house at the end of the straight - surely one of them will stop there and get help? No mobile phones in 1982. I smell petrol, so, its perhaps just as well that I dont realise the seriousness of the crash, which has resulted in my car now resembling a bent banana, front passenger seat squashed behind me, and the brake cable cut and leaking onto the road.

Im suddenly icy cold and it feels like pain, rather than blood, that is coursing through my veins. I dont realise it but I drift off. A curly headed, smiley faced man wearing a worried expression wakes me up. He says hes tried to open my door but cant. I keep thinking that he looks like Leo Sayer. Hes talking to me through my smashed side window. Reaching in behind me he grabs the tartan rug from the back seat and tenderly wraps it around me. Wont be long now, pal. I wonder does he mean death, as I drift off once more. I recognise the policeman who takes my hand and he also tells me it wont be long. Hes managed to prise open the door. On cue, a siren and flashing lights brighten the darkness. We look along the glistening straight and see the ambulance rounding the corner, only to hit the same black ice that I did....the vehicle snakes wildly from side to side and I think, Please God, no, dont let me die this way. The policeman dives for the safety of the ditch (I still dont blame him) and I turn away from the lights zigzagging towards me; I pass out.

I wake in agony as the ambulance crew extricate me from my seat in the car. Arms flailing, oxygen mask - and then nothing. Surreal, yet indelible, pictures of what follows still live with me to this day. Nurses cutting my uniform off me, my screams of pain, bright lights, anxious eyes peering at me, and caring hands ministering to my every need.

I survive (in the short term), serious injuries, morphine addiction, pethedine sickness, catheterisation, topping and tailing beds (1982 was not a good year to be hospitalised), as well as the inevitable trail of worried looking visitors. Central dislocation of the left hip, neck to knee damage, broken ribs and other internal injuries. I have no conception of the legacy any of these will have for me. My focus is on getting well, and getting back to the job I love, and making it to the Scottish Crime Squad.

I do get back to work but (long term) its not to be. Strathclyde Police show concern and support me; they provide their version of job creation, God bless them. The painful truth is that, despite fantastic care and rehabilitation, the 5th January, 1982 was to set me on an incredible journey that I never dreamed I would take. Clichd perhaps, but it really was the first day of the rest of my life.

And so, one journeys abrupt (almost fatal) end led to another lifelong journey; one of constant change and adaptation to deal with the consequences of just one day in my life. Broken bones, broken dreams but twenty six years later Im still on the road. Ive passed through many unexpected places, as the twists and turns have unfolded. Ive been to Rock Bottom (not a place I ever want to re-visit) plunging to its dark depths of depression and desperation, but somehow, finding the strength to break out of a downward spiral fuelled by hopelessness, debilitating despair and constant pain.

Would I erase the day, if I could? No way! Three hip replacements, bone grafting, years on crutches and a spell as a wheelchair user have all played their part in making me who I am and more - and its been one helluva ride! I now live every day as though it were my last. You never know whats round the next corner, so my advice to you is this; embrace every second of every minute of each day you are lucky enough to draw breath.