1. DEATH’S DOOR
"You Slag! Come on then, let's 'ave it!" I screamed. I felt the blood trickling down my head and I could also feel more blood running down my back.
I chased after him, but he ran like a little girl. "You fucking mug!" I shouted. I'd just been stabbed in the head and back, but as quick as it happened, the attacker made his escape. He obviously weren't feeling too confident. I on the other hand, was well up for it. The only problem was, I was losing lots of blood.
Winnie Hutch and Jamie Cas, two associates of mine, grabbed hold of me to calm me down, and stopped me going after the attacker.
Myself and Winnie ended-up tussling, whilst he was trying to calm me down.
As the blood ran down my face and back, I screamed obscenities. I was fucking fuming.
Winnie saw I was losing blood rapidly and sprung into action. He flagged down a passing cab, and shouted at the driver pleading with him to get me to a hospital. I was too angry to realise, but I’d been injured quite badly and the blood was really starting to pump out of me.
The driver on seeing the seriousness of my injuries, agreed. So, Winnie got me into the cab and told the cabbie to get me to Whipps Cross Hospital as quickly as possible.
When we arrived at Whipps Cross, I was quickly put on a stretcher and left. However, hospital staff noticed that I was bleeding heavily, so they immediately tended to me.
I was wheeled into a room and they started the process of stitching me up. They stitched my head, then stitched my back. But I was still bleeding internally and my skin was turning blue. I was effectively dying.
Another doctor came in and immediately recognised what the problem was. An artery inside my head had been cut, so although they had stitched the wound on my head, the artery was still pumping blood out, causing the internal bleeding.
The doctor got to work and opened the wound again, he then proceeded to stitch my artery, while another nurse held my hand tightly throughout the procedure.
Then all of a sudden, I felt my bowels relax. It felt really strange, I had no control over them whatsoever. I knew then, I was about to go.
I started thinking to myself, Fuck, I'm dying. 25 years old and I’m about to die.
A strange out of body feeling came over me. It felt as though I was floating. Admittedly, this could have been caused by the high levels of alcohol and cocaine in my system, but whatever it was, it was the strangest feeling I’d ever had.
A flash of memories consisting of regrets, why’s and how’s — whizzed through my mind. But most of all, a deep sense of failure.
I’d spent virtually all of my life fighting, but never before, had I had such the will to win this fight. There was no way I could lose this battle, so although I wasn’t moving, mentally I was fighting like I’d never fought before.
Fuck that, I ain't dying. I can’t die. For fuck sake, not now. A split second later, I felt my whole body change. I also regained control of my bowels and I immediately felt a great sense of relief.
At that moment, I realised, they’d just saved my life. Thank fuck for that, I thought.
The next day, I was on the ward with a drip hanging out of my arm, when I received a visit from Lee Richards and Jamie Clark. I could tell by the way they were looking at me that something was wrong.
"What's the matter, what's wrong?" I asked. They didn't answer me, they just mumbled something under their breath's.
"Fuck this," I said. "Get me to a mirror." With that, I pulled the drip out of my arm and got off the bed and slid into a wheelchair.
"Come on, get me to a mirror for fuck sake." I was by now irritated.
They wheeled me to a mirror and when I looked into the mirror, I was shocked. My hair was shaved from the crown to the forehead. I looked a mess.
"Fuck this, let's get out of here." I said. They looked at me shocked. Lee asked, "Where you going?" I replied, "Pub, let's go."
