Be Resolved by Sara-Jane McGeachy
I made a New Year's resolution to try and eat breakfast every morning - set myself up properly for the day. On the first of January 2005 I woke up at 1pm and had an Alka-Seltzer accompanied by a slice of cold pizza. It was all going to plan. On the second and third I managed something a little more nutritious. Then on the fourth of January I was due to return to work, so I got up and made myself five minutes late by having a bowl of Bran Flakes; very bad idea.
I put on my new boots and the trousers I had got for Christmas and headed out in to the wind and rain. I remember turning into Palmaston Place and feeling a little despondent that the holiday period was over. I’m not quite sure what made me look up, maybe it was instinct, or maybe I heard a noise, but something made me look to the top of the four-stories of scaffolding towering above me. It was moving; slowly it seemed, tilting towards me. I began to run across the road - I think I was trying to out run the falling scaffolding, looking back that seems ridiculous, but in that instant it was all I could think to do. It turned out to be one of the best decisions I’ve ever made, a much better idea than the Bran Flakes. It’s strange to think now that it was to be the last time I was able to run anywhere for the next two and a half years.
The noise was incredible, the sound of metal and masonry falling and hitting the ground. In the moment of silence that followed I realised I was pinned; face down to the wet pavement. I somehow screamed for help, hoping there would be someone to hear me. As the footsteps and voices came quickly towards me I became aware that the weight on my back was preventing me from breathing. I was suffocating and for the first time I was scared. The pain hadn’t kicked in yet, I was able to say ‘I can’t breathe’, drawing a tiny bit of air into the top of my lungs. I have often reflected that I would not have survived without the bravery and compassion of those strangers.
They were trying to lift off some scaffolding poles to alleviate the pressure on my body, but the ten-ton tangle of metal and wood was not going to shift easily. The disembodied voices were urgent but not panicked; a man was suggesting using a loose pole as a leaver. Had anyone called the emergency services? Yes, someone had dialled 999. Then someone had a knife and cut the rucksack I was wearing from my back. They managed to raise the scaffolding a couple of inches and I somehow shifted out from underneath. I had become aware that my leg was broken.
Months later a cheerful surgeon told me: "You're famous in the orthopaedic world!" as though he was informing me of a lottery win. Not only am I alive, but also able to walk and in possession of both legs after smashing my right femur with enough force to push the bone fragments through the front of my thigh, breaking six vertebrae in my spine and a still unknown number of ribs. Moving out from under the suffocating weight was tough.
A Lady told me her name was Jo. Her voice was kind; she held my hand and told me I would soon be getting the care I needed. The nails on my fingers were chalk-white and saliva was dribbling from my mouth. A paramedic was kneeling on my other side explaining that the firemen were going to start freeing me, and then I could be given something for the pain. In hospital my Dad would explain the sequence of events which followed and the importance of my sprint across the road would become apparent.
A streetlamp had snapped as it was hit by the falling scaffolding tower, it had bent, forming an arch which had prevented the full force of the metal hitting my body. Electric wires were protruding from the broken lamp and when the emergency services arrived on the scene there was a fear that the exposed wires could come into contact with the metal poles and the whole frame could go live. The process of freeing me could not begin until the electricity supply was cut.
Fear, confusion and a kind of desperation are the best descriptions I have for the thoughts in my head as I lay on a soaking Edinburgh pavement waiting for treatment. I was aware of the sparks emanating from the metal as the circular saws began their work. Apparently giant airbags were inflated to allow the medics in; they loaded me on to a stretcher and into the ambulance. I asked someone if I would be able to walk again; he asked if I could move my feet, and I could, I was able to feel my toes wiggling in my boots. At the hospital the new boots were cut from me, along with my new trousers, strange that I should even be aware of the loss.
The following days and weeks have taken on a disorientated, nightmarish quality in my mind. I try not to reflect on it too deeply. But that day, setting out for work, started a new year which would be unlike any other before it and I pray, unlike anything I will ever experience again. I'm left now, almost completely healed and thanking God (oh yes, I believe in Him now) for my life. Does it sound strange to say it was that day which taught me how good life can be, blessed with a family and friends who brought me through the darkest days of my life so far? I look forward with hope and the knowledge that a New Year’s resolution is always made to be broken.
