When I was 17 I was a very different person, as I'm sure most of us were. Weekends were spent drinking and generally having fun with my best friend at the time, Simon. We were just two likely lads about town, out for a laugh and a bit of fun - our eyes always on the lookout for the ladies, like most typical teenagers. Our pride and joy was our hair, me dark brown and his almost blonde, but both immaculately styled into rockabilly quiffs. Oh how I miss my hair.
Not me
We worked together and come Friday afternoon we would clock off and go to his house, crank up the volume on his record player and get ourselves ready for one of our regular weekends filled with fun. We used to go to our nearest big city, Birmingham UK, and hit the rock and rockabilly nightclubs, dark dingy places full of teenage magic. My mother always worried, she feared we would get into some sort of trouble we couldn't handle but, reluctantly, she let us go on our merry way with a stern warning to behave ourselves.
This one particular weekend we decided against it. For some reason my mum had an idea that trouble would find us. In hindsight this proved to be a premonition. To ease her mind we agreed we would stay local. Our nearest pub had a small nightclub on the back and we were known as THE guys, up for fun and mischief, always on the dancefloor and always chasing girls so off we trotted with money in our pockets, our slicked back hair and leather jackets.
This night there was a rumor that a gang from a nearby town was out looking for trouble. Simon and I never looked for a fight but, if one arose, we would not back down and he in particular was quite vicious when it came to it. Sure enough, come 10 o'clock a mob of teenagers assembled outside trying to get past the security guards. A lot of the other patrons had decided that they would confront them. I thought it was a bad idea and continued supping on my beer. Without warning my friend grabbed my arm and said
'Let's go'
My initial thought was that he had decided to leave from the back door but it soon became apparent he wanted to join 'our lot' at the front of the pub. Like a fool I followed him.
We were getting taunted by the other group and insults were traded. Then suddenly Simon ran at them like the occasional lunatic he was. Before I knew it he was surrounded by at least 25 young men. I looked around me and our lot just stood there, watching.
'Well, aren't we going to do something?' I said in desperation. Blank looks and turned heads.
Something inside me clicked. This was my mate, my best mate - almost a brother. I knew he had my back and brotherhood dictated I had his. Before I knew it I ran at the group surrounding him.
I reached them quicker than I expected and promptly started pulling his assailants off him, kicking him while he lay in the middle of the road, curled up to try to protect himself. One by one they started to scatter until there was one left. He turned around as I grabbed him by the shoulder and he hit me. Ok, this is one on one, I can do this. Simon chased after the pack and my fists started flying. My attacker got in more blows. One to the face, my shoulder and upper arm. God did it hurt! Never had I been punched like that! My blood boiled. This one just wasn't going down. I struck him several more times then, in desperation grabbed his arm and swung him around, ripping his sleeve from his jacket. I will never forget the look on his face - it was fear: here was this maniac who kept getting punched who wouldn't back down, and to top it all he has just ripped my arm out of my coat. He ran.
Simon came running back down the road, slightly bruised and dishevelled. His hair was a mess.
'You see them run G?' he asked as he walked over to me.
'You ok man? You're bleeding from your mouth' The iron taste of blood was thick on my lips.
'Yeah, he got some punches in on my face, I'll be ok'. Simon got closer and put his arm on my shoulder.
'Hey thanks man, I don't know wha....whoa dude, you're bleeding!'
He took his hand from my left shoulder and stared at it in disbelief. It was covered in congealed blood.
'Oh man, you got stabbed!'
It was then the pain started to kick in. They felt like punches, strong ones but punches nonetheless. Panic started to set it.
'Let's get you home'
I was about 500 meters away from my house. I barely remember the walk and it seemed to take forever. Energy was draining from me and I struggled to remain conscious. Propping me up Simon helped me home. As we got nearer I recall him shouting.
'G has been stabbed! Get an ambulance!'
A neighbour who was a nurse came rushing out and immediately took control of the situation. She helped Simon get me to my front door and they both began knocking furiously. My mum's face when she saw me is forever etched in my mind. Usually quite stoic and in full control she became an instant wreck. I was led into the kitchen where I dropped onto a chair.
The neighbour called for towels and immediately checked me over.
'Oh God, he's been stabbed three times!'
She stuffed towels into my left shoulder, my right arm and my face. Oblivion beckoned, my vision shrank to a single point of light down a dark tunnel. This is it I thought calmly I'm gonna die. There were echoes of my mum crying, screaming for someone to do something. The screams seemed to come from the distant. I was falling, deeper and deeper into the abyss.
To this day I believe I had a near death experience. One minute all was dark and the next I was floating above my body, looking down at everyone surrounding my now unconscious form, trying to stop me from dying as they stood in pools of my blood. I saw the nurse tilt my head back. My dead eyes looked back up at me. She blew into my dead mouth once, twice, three times. Suddenly I felt myself rush back into my body, jerk forward and vomit what looked like tar. It was blood.
My journey to the hospital was a blur and I recall little of that night's events, just vague recollections of being stitched up in the shoulder and arm. My face was dressed and left for the next day - the specialist plastic surgeon wasn't on duty. I awoke the next morning in a room all by myself. I was stiff and I hurt like I had never experienced before. I struggled to swing my legs off the bed but managed to shuffle across the room to the basin. I was curious, I needed to know how bad it was. I looked into the mirror above the sink and began to peel back the dressing on my chin. The next thing I recall is two nurses picking me up from the floor, I had feinted. My face looked like that of The Predator, a great big gash from my bottom lip down my chin, open and oozing.
I lost almost half of my blood that night. The wound to my right shoulder was so deep that it missed the top of my lung by millimeters. I spent a good eight weeks in bed recovering, hardly able to move and having all my meals through a straw. The scars are still there, although faded now. It changed my life. I stopped going out, I avoided crowds and I became very introverted. My shoulder still hurt from time to time and there is still a numbness in my face even 30 years later.
Source 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
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