The wind was rushing past my face. I clung on to the reins of the galloping horse. I could see a gatepost up ahead. But before I knew it, I felt my teeth smacking together.
It was the summer of 2019, I was 15, in the Lake District for my friend’s dad’s 50th birthday. It was a beautiful sunny day. The party was at a country house. There was a bouncy castle in the garden, and the screams of children inside filled the air. My friend and I were enjoying riding horses in a paddock.
We put our helmets on and mounted our horses, but my friend was nervous as their horse was acting strangely. In a brave moment, I swapped with them.
We then headed down a track, but my friend grew uncomfortable again, so we turned back. That was when my horse got spooked and charged off with me still on it. As it galloped on to the main road, I felt helpless; all I could do was hold on for dear life.
The horse whipped round a corner. That’s when I saw the gatepost. I tried to let go, but slammed straight into it.
I landed on the floor. I couldn’t feel anything below my nose. My first thought was that my tongue had been ripped out. The horse ran off. I got to my feet and grabbed my face, which seemed to fall apart in my hands. Miraculously, I followed the noises coming from the bouncy castle until I found myself back at the house.
I heard a gasp as people saw me. One guest was a nurse. I was given a tea towel for my face. I looked down and saw teeth and bone in the towel. “Is that my jaw?” I managed to ask. “Yes,” she replied. A first responder arrived, took one look at me and whispered, “I won’t be able to do anything for that”.
I was taken to Sheffield’s children’s hospital, as it had a surgeon, Ricardo Mohammed-Ali, who specialised in facial trauma. Taking me there in an air ambulance was too much of a risk as the hospital didn’t have a helipad, so I was taken by ambulance. “Please just tell my mum,” was all I could say, as my parents were at home, unaware of what had happened.
“You don’t do things by halves, do you,” my dad managed to joke when they arrived. They were trying to be brave. Mum later told me that she was having a panic attack in the corridor when Ricardo, the surgeon, arrived.
Ricardo explained he had a plan A, B and C to fix me, and if they didn’t work, he’d go all the way through to Z. I had more than 200 stitches on the inside and outside of my face. I’ve got three titanium plates connecting everything together. Ricardo later described my accident as one of the worst facial injuries outside a war zone, as I was only 2cm away from tearing the nerve to my brain, which could have killed me.
When I woke up, I couldn’t speak because my face was covered in bandages. I was fed through my nose. It took two weeks for me to speak again.
After 10 days, I was allowed to go home. It was difficult to get used to my new appearance. People would stare. I told myself they were staring because of my great outfit. It has taught me to look at the world more positively.
I’ve lost all feeling between my lower lip and my chin as the nerves never recovered. This can be tricky: when I’m eating hot food, I often burn myself. I ask people to warn me if I get food around my mouth. Sometimes I’ll get home after a day out and will still have baked beans on my chin from my breakfast!
I haven’t ridden a horse again – I was never a regular rider – but I wouldn’t be opposed to it and don’t carry hate with me. It was an accident.
It took three years for me to learn to smile again, and I’ve been teaching myself to be proud of my scars. I’m in my second year at university, studying English and linguistics, and hope to become a speech and language therapist. I’ve also used my experience to help raise £2,000 towards a helipad for Sheffield children’s hospital, which they’ve now built.
At 15, I was confronted with a horrible challenge, which I am still trying to overcome, but it has taught me to never take anything for granted. Life can change in an instant. But it’s also shown me that good people will always surround you when you need them most. I’m so grateful for Ricardo, the nurses and the ambulance team for the kindness they showed me.
As told to Elizabeth McCafferty
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