I hadn’t really wanted to go.

We had arrived a few days previously and brought with us our usual Welsh gift of ‘mist and murk’ to the small town in South West France. The  prospect of a French open-air market on a gloomy May morning didn’t exactly appeal. But we opted to go on the 10 mile journey to the next town, intriguingly named Condom.

Instincts are rarely, in my experience, wrong and we started our return journey about an hour after arrival. We hadn’t eaten breakfast and it was then midday. We just needed to get home. That expectation was never to be realised, well at least not on that particular day.

As we approached a hairpin bend on this narrow country lane, I wasn’t paying much attention when my husband suddenly announced, “We’re going to crash!” I remember his arm stretched across me in a vain attempt to protect me while swerving pointlessly as far as he could to the right. When I looked up, I could see a small car almost bouncing in cartoon fashion as it sped magnetically towards our vehicle. In the seconds that remained, I decided, mistakenly, to hold my breath and keep as upright and still as possible as we braced ourselves for the inevitable. With hindsight, that was the worst, most stupid position I could have chosen!

I don’t recall the actual sound or sensation of the huge impact. Just the immediate aftermath: there was smoke and dust from the airbags and an eerie silence. We were both conscious and relieved that we were still there and the crash was over. With no comprehension whatsoever of our injuries, adrenaline having magnificently kicked in, our immediate thoughts were to exit the car. Indoctrinated by the now mostly rare occurrence of cars catching fire after accidents, it had seemed the most sensible thing to do. My husband, severely winded, managed to get out, albeit with difficulty. I, on the other hand, attempted to follow suit only to discover I couldn’t move. My back felt sore and I attributed my immobility to this factor. Once again, I was to be proved wrong.

When my husband quickly returned into the car, he confirmed what, by then, I was suspecting – that, given the reportedly mangled state of his/her car, the other driver couldn’t possibly have survived. At least he would be correct in his judgement. Two ambulances then arrived and police cars, although there may have been more. And then the drilling started on our substantial tank of a  metal cage allowing fresh air to pour in and for us to pour out of its shielding confines. Carried horizontally towards some form of sanctuary, the grey sky was my only perspective. I saw nothing of the stranded vehicles around nor, Thank God, the sight of the other car.

Inside the ambulance, the young paramedics kindly fulfilled  their role, reassuring me, albeit falsely, that my injuries didn’t seem major ones. When the doctor then arrived, it was a different matter altogether. Sternly professional, she cut through my much loved trousers, cool shirt and brand new underwear (maybe a blessing but I was horrified by what I considered to be this needless vandalism!). She then obviously lied when I asked about the other driver, clearly trying to avoid any further shock (I was already prepared in any event and, feeling, frankly, more angered than traumatised at that stage). I did, however, discover that, rather than the driver being some sort of ‘boy racer’ as we had assumed, she was, in fact, an elderly woman! Our thoughts later, which had to be speculative given woeful French procedures which neither allowed for an alcohol blood test or even a post-mortem, were that she had passed out or had a stroke at the wheel. To substantiate this conclusion, we discovered from another source that she had been diabetic.

When we were delivered to a local hospital from our respective carriages, our main concern as we lay side by side was the interests of our two dogs that had, fortuitously it would seem, been left at home. Once again, I can’t extoll enough the virtues of adrenaline now combined with pain relief! In addition, my other worry of how I was going to manage if I needed a wee was promptly and satisfactorily settled by way of a catheter. Not that I had the  urge of course. My body was more concerned with tackling the assault it had unexpectedly sustained rather than worry about such mundane duties as urination!

We were then separated and wheeled off in different directions for endless examination. After a number of conflicting opinions, I was assessed as follows: shattered lumbar vertebra, fractured ribs and collar bone, punctured lung, internal bleeding and, to add insult to injury, a broken toe. My husband fared much better with fractured sternum and ribs, his better fortune attributed, inevitably, to considerably more padding, both natural and man-made! The whole of his torso was black.

So, off I went on a very hard and specially adapted gurney to Bordeaux, where I would remain for 10 days after a titanium cage was installed in my lower back. During that time I fell in love with my wonderfully handsome surgeon who visited me frequently although, sadly, my morphine-inspired hopes and desires were never actually reciprocated. I would return two years later to have the metalwork removed; and, if anyone  is questioning my motives, I can assure that cynic, it was medically advised due to ongoing leg pain! It was, of course, a great pleasure to see him again, even unclouded by any drug-induced euphoria. In gratitude, I brought him a very expensive bottle of Welsh whisky!

Finally, I need to say here that, although my experiences in hospital were, of course, not what I would have planned for, I always felt buoyant and optimistic throughout, never scared. The care I received was faultless and I didn't have one dark moment. In fact, something rather strange happened because I felt proud of myself. It wasn't entirely the drugs because I stopped the infusions as soon as possible, although I appreciate they stay in your system for some time. But, strangely, I felt pleased with myself for coping with those hurdles in a foreign hospital, in a foreign land. I was speaking French more fluently than ever before and even demanding more light and better conditions in my room! Later, with slight reservation on my part and little understanding from my sister, I admitted to her that this whole episode had been quite a turning-point in my life, a coming of age; and I wouldn't have changed a thing. Maybe, I was still in love!