Gillian Jackson - The Accident

‘I’m so sorry, Joe, really I am. We’ll miss Alison terribly; she was such a lovely person.’ There were tears in her eyes and Joe had to swallow hard to stop himself from breaking down and sobbing openly.

‘Thanks, Helen, and for having Liffey, I knew she’d be fine with you.’

‘Any time, and I mean that. Not just having Liffey, who’s a delight to look after, but if there’s anything you need, we’re here for you. Now, would you like to come and eat with us later? It’s just a casserole but you’re very welcome?’

‘If you don’t mind I’m really quite tired. I think I’ll just have a quiet evening and get an early night. The doctor said I needed as much rest as I can get, although tomorrow I’ll have to start making arrangements...’ His voice trailed off as he thought of the bureaucracy he had to deal with.

‘Ah, well,’ Phil interrupted, ‘I hope you don’t think it presumptuous of me but I’ve taken a day off work tomorrow to be at your disposal. We know you have no family to speak of, so I thought perhaps I could run you about a bit, you know, the bank or wherever?’

‘Oh, Phil, that is so good of you and I don’t mind at all, I’m really grateful. I was awake most of last night trying to think of what I had to do, so I really would appreciate your support. I can’t arrange the funeral yet though, until after the inquest but I need to get an interim death certificate from the coroner’s office. Other than that I’m unsure of what else I can do.’

‘Phil’s auntie died last year and he was executor of her estate, so he has some idea of what needs to be done,’ Helen added.

Joe’s eyes started to fill up again. ‘Thank you both, you’ve already made things so much easier for me.’

‘No problem. Look I’ll put the kettle on and make you a cup of tea and then we’ll leave you in peace. Phil will come back at about six to walk Liffey and I’ll send a bit of that casserole round, just in case you’re hungry.’

Helen was only a couple of minutes and then they left Joe with a mug of hot tea, his dog by his side and instructions to call on them if he needed any help. His neighbours were exceptional people and had already stepped up to the mark, proving to be so thoughtful.

It was 3pm. Liffey settled down beside Joe on the sofa while he sipped his tea. The house felt different, empty, and hollow. Alison’s presence, looking out for her husband’s comfort, keeping the conversation bright and generally making their house a home, would never be felt again, leaving an almost tangible void. She was gone forever and it was going to be almost impossible to adjust.

Joe wondered if he could do it, or even if he wanted to do it. Liffey snuggled closer to him; she would be a comfort, although she would soon begin to wonder where Alison was and he knew that she too would grieve. He dropped his head into Liffey’s warm fur and wept bitterly, letting all his emotions out, while his dog stayed close beside him, sensing his need of her.

A week in hospital seemed like an eternity to Hannah. Each day dragged by with nothing to look forward to other than visits from her family and, if she was honest, even they were something of a strain.

The idea of going home simultaneously delighted and terrified her; at least in hospital help and support were on hand, embarrassing though it often was, but the thought of having to ask Mike or Mel to help her onto the toilet was awful. She hadn’t yet had a proper shower, but would require help with that too, as well as dressing and all the other things she took for granted. Each little task proved to be exhausting and, on top of that, a physiotherapist came to see her each day, encouraging Hannah to exercise her good leg, as well as what was left of her right leg, at least three times a day.

‘It’s important to keep the muscles supple,’ the physio explained. ‘When you’re fitted with a prosthetic leg you’ll need to be able to move your thigh as normal, so we can’t let the muscles atrophy; it’ll cause problems later on.’

The physiotherapist was obviously good at her job and Hannah liked her. Always ready to answer questions as well as she was able, she seemed to understand the emotional side of the injury as well as the physical.

The first time the dressing was changed and Hannah saw the full extent of her loss, she was horrified and felt quite nauseous. The angry wound was like nothing she’d ever seen before and was made all the more shocking because the swollen, ugly mass of flesh she was confronted with was her own body.

After the nurse re-dressed the leg and Hannah was once more alone, she’d cried softly for almost an hour, turning towards the wall so the other patients in the room wouldn’t see. Even now the shock remained, but it was easing. One of the nurses explained that what she was experiencing was a process of grieving; she’d lost a vital part of her body and needed time to mourn, to come to terms with it. Understanding this made things a little easier and Hannah didn’t feel so selfish when she was suddenly struck by a bout of ‘feeling sorry for herself’. She did, however, need to work through these emotions and often experienced anger, as well as sadness and loss, yet Hannah tried her best not to show how raw these feelings were, particularly to her family. When they visited, as they did regularly, she appeared cheerful, but it was an act — she hadn’t yet reached the stage of feeling ‘lucky’, like many considered she was, to still be alive.

From various sources, Hannah gradually pieced together some of the facts about the accident, which her brain seemed to have blanked out completely. When the police first came to interview her, she felt completely useless and could tell them nothing at all about that day.

It seemed that her car had been the first to lose control on the ice and apparently skidded down the slip road, spun at an angle of 180 degrees and hit the rear of an articulated lorry on the motorway. Hannah travelled that road daily and knew she wouldn’t have been speeding, especially in such awful weather conditions. The gradient on the slip road was, however, fairly steep, and the police said that even though the cars on the motorway were not speeding either, it was the domino effect of the collision which made the consequences so devastating.

In addition, when the lorry driver became aware of what was happening, he braked suddenly — a natural reaction, but one which caused his vehicle to skid towards Hannah’s car and exacerbate the impact with it. Apparently the car which hit hers first held two passengers and one of them, a woman, died at the scene. Another woman and a teenage boy had also been killed as their vehicles lost control and slammed into the mangled wreckage, completely at the mercy of the ice on the roads.

It was still troubling to Hannah that she couldn’t remember anything at all. The doctors said her recollections may yet come back, but worrying about it could have the opposite effect. Still, however, the niggling doubt in Hannah’s mind was whether or not she could have done something to prevent the accident, or worse still, could she have done something which made her responsible for the catastrophic event?

The swelling on Hannah’s leg went down considerably during her stay in hospital. It still looked grotesque, yet she felt compelled to look each time the dressing was changed. The drain had been removed and the doctor seemed pleased with the way it was healing. One thing she did find difficult, however, was hearing her leg referred to as a ‘stump’. She knew it was only a word, but such an ugly word, and yet there seemed no alternative, no sanitised medical term which would make the reality more acceptable. The physio referred to her stump when she talked about how the prosthetic leg would fit, and the doctors referred to her stump when they discussed how the wound was healing. It was just something she’d have to get used to, but she determinedly avoided using the word herself, instead saying ‘bad leg’ when it was necessary to refer to it.