All is Quiet

New years day 1981, the dust had settled from the events of the previous day. He was driving without due care and attention again and his Lada had come off second best. A write off, his roof caved in completely, windscreen and bonnet similarly. Thank God it was only a Lada. It was the last in his second series of driving lapses in his very short driving career. He had acquired sufficient points once again for a ban. He called the hospital, he was still alive and would survive. He had not quite deserved it yet.

His victim attended court in a wheel chair; the impact had not quite written him off. 15 weeks had passed, 1 in a coma, 1 feeding through a straw, 10 more having his arse washed daily and he was now being pushed around by an angel. Mr Mc had only been driving 4-5 years and didn’t seem too good at it, but his job depended upon it. Not even wheeling in a horror story could convince the court that he might be better off taking some more time out to reflect on the damage he had done and could do again. His job was more important than anything it seemed.

Jan 6th, Brigitte the auxiliary was feeding the winner tomato soup with a feeder. Mum and Angel were sat by his side when his seeing eyes first opened and he tasted the tomato. The brain had switched back on and was registering the damage, tubes everywhere, no pain, ‘Oh my God, my legs!’

TBC