I am that bastard cat...

Chapter 1 or Crash 1

I had a choice for the name of this chapter. It was either “It was a Thursday evening after work…” or “That bastard cat…”

It was a Thursday evening after work, and I’d gone out for a spin with a friend. I loved cycling and wasn’t bad at it if I’m honest. Thursday’s ride would be typical mid-week 30 miler, before a longer ride at the weekend, averaging over 100 miles in total for the week. Mt fitness levels were good as was my general health. I was riding a Trek Emonda, a fast carbon framed road bike that I was very attached to - literally too, seeing as I clipped into the pedals.

I can remember the first section of the ride. Good conditions; not too hot, no significant wind, we would be shifting it and moving quickly. My last memory is of going past Rhosneigr, about halfway on our circular route for the evening and so what follows are not my memories, but what I’ve been told.

We were coming downhill into Malltraeth on a road that I’d used many time. Familiar territory, usually quiet for traffic, a nice, wide carriageway which made a good cycling road. My friend was leading and I followed. Our speed would have been about 35-40 m.ph. Suddenly, it all changed.

Apparently, I called out “Watch that cat!” to my friend, who heard my warning, didn’t see the cat, but then heard the crunching, dragging sound of me hitting road.

So what did the cat do? I have no idea, but it obviously did enough, the bastard (I knew I could get that in somehow). My friend turned around to see me motionless on the floor, away from the bike. Somehow, it was an over the handlebars, head first into the road collision which had knocked me clean out. It was coma-time for me for the following week. On getting to me, he saw that my right cheekbone was caved-in – in the style of a collapsed egg-shell, and my left ring-finger had been completely de-gloved when my wedding ring was ripped off as I fell, along with some serious road-rash on my right arm and left knee. Oh, and blood, plenty of it.

As my friend was calling the ambulance, I had a seizure, so things weren’t looking too good. Anyway, good things can come in threes can’t they, so here are my three – the ones which probably saved my life.

1. My head took the force of the impact. How is this a good thing? I was wearing a good helmet, that's why. Simplez. My helmet hit the road first, and broke under that impact. God knows how many Newtons of force the helmet absorbed, but it did its job. I’d researched a good helmet and this one was a Specialized Echelon II road helmet with MIPS – an industry standard impact protection system which I’m glad was there. I’m not sponsored by these guys, it’s just that you are an idiot if you go out without a helmet, simplez again.

2. Eleri was one of first people who drove past. Eleri, a nurse, was on her way home after just finishing her shift at Ysbyty Gwynedd, the local general hospital. She kindly stopped to help and was able to coordinate between our location, the 999 call handler and the Welsh Air Ambulance. She was the one who removed my helmet when it became apparent that my head was swelling at rather an alarming rate.

3. Two Welsh Air Ambulance air helicopters arrived and I was suddenly receiving attention from two highly trained air-crews who were able to stabilise me. The seizure was subsiding, but I was completely unresponsive down my left side, leading to a diagnosis of a possible stroke. There was an A and E consultant on one of the aircraft who had the authority to send me straight on my way to Stoke University hospital, a specialised trauma canter, so bypassing the local hospital. My wife, who had driven to the scene (with my daughter), was greeted by a dramatic scene. Two police cars had closed off the road in both directions and an officer flagged her down as she drove up. The two helicopters were 'parked' in the adjacent field and she could see that a squad of 6 medics were busy working on me. Local villagers were out at their gates watching the whole scene. Some ghouls were filming the whole thing on their phones. Why? The police officer asked " Are you his wife?" and then lead my wife and daughter to the trolley on which I was comatose - not a pretty sight (swelling and blood). They got to give me a kiss just before I was loaded on to the helicopter. Rhian eventually got to ask a pilot, “So we’ll just follow you in the car then?” 10/10 to Rhian – I know she’s a good driver but perhaps keeping up with a helicopter flying from Anglesey to Stoke at emergency velocity was a little optimistic? However, leg-pulling aside. this was the beginning of a long night for them.

So these three things meant I’d received some serious live-saving care and attention during that vital first golden hour.

Thanks for reading this first chapter. Next time, I’ll describe what I can remember of a week-long hospital coma and the joys of post-traumatic amnesia; not much, so it’ll be an easy one to write.

Cheers and thanks for reading

Ian xx

p.s. Disclaimer: I am not a medically trained person, so I apologise if I get medical stuff wrong. It's been a long year and my memory can be a bit foggy at times :).