I have been here before, well sort of.
Three weeks before my 30th birthday I was coming home on my Honda 50 motorbike when a gentleman coming the other way decided to turn right (remember we drive on the left here). He took off the front of my right leg, broke all my ribs and left my gut paralysed.
I wasn’t supposed to live, but I did (trouble-maker as usual).
I spent two years on crutches while first the flesh and skin grafts healed, and then the bone graft. It was hard. Most days I would come in from work with my hands sore from walking with crutches all day. Sometimes I’d lock myself in my bedroom and cry, because it was so many months and nothing seemed to change. Then I’d wash my face in cold water and get on with life.
As I went around on three legs I used to repeat a promise to myself in Welsh under my breath, “Mi gerddaf fi – I will walk”.
It took two years, but I did walk, and when I started writing I used that promise as a penname – or in Welsh you might say a bardic name, Cerddaf. I used it, slightly modified, for my articles in Freelance Informer as well, writing as A. F. Cerdd. Confused the bank manager no end when the cheques came in to be cashed.
I’m not sure what to say this time round. I could promise myself “I will eat – mi fwytaf fi”, but it doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.
But I shouldn’t forget that I’ve been here before and it was horrible last time. I wonder, is that supposed to comfort me or what?