My Mental Health Story - Part 2, The Start.

And so here we go with part two, and here we need to go back to Llandegla, and my friend telling me to watch the drain across the road. Well, I did, and I had probably been in similar situations before with uneven surfaces and potholes, so I lifted my front wheel, probably at about 5/6 mph if that, but not really fast enough, and I didn’t lift the wheel enough either.

The two ‘not enough’s’ combined meant the wheel came down in the drain, me and my bike went to my left, and all too quickly for me to do anything, and my head hit something hard, possibly sharp, due to the small indent in my helmet, and that was that; for the first (and so far only) time in my life, I was unconscious.

Now based on part one, you will know that the next few paragraphs are all stories from other people involved, and considering my poor memory, I’m surprised I can remember it all. But then this was one of the biggest events in my life and probably always will be!

People gathered round, and at this centre, and I can only assume others similar, you don’t call the emergency services; you call the cycle centre, and they relay all the information to the emergency services and help with the co-ordination of the situation.

A couple of things happened whilst I was lying on the ground. The first was my breathing; thankfully I still was, but as when sleeping, seemingly I was snoring, but then I stopped. Some of the guys around me started to look a bit concerned, or so my friend told me, as snoring is breathing. Was it a case of no snoring, no breathing? My friend says there was a sigh of relief when I started snoring again, and so they knew I was (probably) okay.

Back in those days I would carry a camera before they became so good on the mobile phones, and there was no need to carry two pieces of equipment. I was also told that when I toldcame round, a group went past us, and someone asked if anyone had lost a camera. Well, considering I had just regained consciousness, I put my hand up and said, ‘if it’s a black Fujifilm Finepix T200, it’s mine.’ Yet I can’t remember that or even lying on the ground!

I don’t remember the goings-on. I don’t remember the air ambulance trying to land, which is good and bad - bad that it couldn’t land due to the terrain, good because if it had, I wouldn’t have remembered being in it, the first time in some 30 years since I was in the Air Force!

(As my now-returned camera was on the go, my mate asked me if it was okay to take a photo; for his sake, I have omitted him from the photo. He asked a paramedic to join in, but she declined the offer. You will see I have got my thumb sticking up to show it was all okay. My friend told me later he wished he hadn’t asked me to take the photo. Personally I’m glad he did; why I don’t really know, but it reminds me how lucky I was that day and the fantastic help I got from our wonderful emergency services and the Llandegla centre team - thanks to all of you.

I don’t remember the ambulance crew, them, and my friends carrying me off the hill on a stretcher to the waiting ambulance. I don’t remember the journey to Wrexham Hospital, the hospital itself, the scan, the doctors or any staff, or my wife joining me after the phone call from my friends. I don’t remember them telling me or her that I had bleeding on the brain, and I don’t remember the transfer to Stoke hospital – none of it and practically nothing for over 4 weeks.

My wife followed us to Stoke in the car and went a different route from the ambulance. As she was driving, and as happened quite often when she drove, the orange ‘low fuel warning light’ came on, and she pulled into a layby and cried. Her husband en route to the hospital, her not really knowing where she was and potentially running out of fuel, just got to her. Not much else to do really except keep going, and sure enough, much to her relief, she got to a petrol station, and all was well, with the exception of her husband!

I am writing this part of the story, as that is what it is; it is part of the journey I have taken and the start of my mental health issues. I fell off a bike in Wales, and there I was lying in a hospital bed in England, probably (definitely) not knowing what was going on, and I know this because I have been told!

I stayed in for 5 days, being monitored, being tested, being looked after, and being sent home on the Friday. And what did we do? We did what we always did on a Friday night - we went to the pub. No-one told us not to; I had been discharged, without any instruction except being signed off work, so we got on with what was normal life.

In the hospital I have two fleeting and vague memories: one was my daughter coming to see me and me asking her why she had come all the way from Scotland to see me. That doesn’t sound like a strange question, does it? But it is when she has lived in Telford all her life! But there was the state of my head and my Scottish connection, and it made me think that was where she lived!

The second is connected to visiting a doctor within those first four weeks, and there was a drawing on his table that included an elephant and a clock, and it was a drawing I had done in Stoke as part of my recovery. Unfortunately, my wife wasn’t with me at that appointment, so we have no idea what was said! That in itself was strange, but remember, I had been knocked unconscious; that was it.

My next fleeting memory was sitting in my boss’s office on the Monday, telling him I wanted to come back to work, but as they had a sick note for a few weeks, it was a no-go. I eventually went back to work when I got home from Iceland, initially on reduced hours, then back to full time. I now know that was a huge mistake. I had been off work for five weeks, and I should have been off for nearer five months, and I’ll explain in time.

(Construction plant equipment, no time to sit about and demanding people!)

I struggled with work; I would be in the warehouse, and the guys would ask me to order items to help with the work, and by the time I got back to the office, a journey of about 10 seconds, I had forgotten. It was a demanding role, even in a small business, and over time I just couldn’t cope; my head was all over the place.

During this period, I was assigned to the Shropshire Enablement Team, based in Shrewsbury. I went a couple of times to meet with a wonderful occupational health nurse, and we talked and talked, and it did me the world of good.

She then told me my next appointment would be with a more senior doctor, and so on my next visit, there I was in the waiting room, and I was called by a young lady doctor. She didn’t speak to me, or ask if I had gotten there okay, or mention the weather or similar small talk – nothing.

She opened her office door and motioned for me to sit down, which I did, and still without speaking. When she closed the door, she was quite specific with her first question and actions. She even bent over slightly towards me as if to exaggerate the fact she was directing the question deliberately at me (not that it could have been to anyone else, just all very direct for the best description.)

Her question was simply ‘how are you.’ And what was my reaction? I cried, not hysterically, but I cried. But I also got flustered; wiping away the tears, I apologised, I was embarrassed as I was crying in front of a lady, and stuttering, I said that I was sorry as I didn’t usually react like this.

Then she had my full attention because she said, ‘would you like me to tell you why you reacted like that?’

My answer was obviously ‘yes?’

And she said, ‘because every time someone asks you if you’re okay, you say yes?’ And I nodded in agreement; she continued by saying, ‘you’re not okay., you’re not well.’

And that was my first encounter (that I remember) where I was told I had anxiety. What else was said, I have no idea, but that is a conversation I will remember word for word for the rest of my life!

So that was me, officially diagnosed with anxiety, a diagnosis I wouldn’t wish on anyone. My story will continue, as there is much more to tell, and once again, if this helps one person, it makes it all worth writing.

I asked my wife a question about Wrexham, and she asked me why I was writing about it, as surely it is something I want to forget about. Sorry, wonderful wife, but try as hard as I might, this will never be forgotten, nor does revisiting it cause me any problems. I’m happy to recall the incident if it does help someone.

There will be more

Thanks for reading

DJ