........some days are rocks. PTSD

Good morning. This is going to be a long one or I may break it down into specific moments in my life. Moments that I buried deep in my mind, safe from my own scrutiny and which shaped me into the man I am today.

I have always felt guilty about having PTSD. I have always linked it only to veterans that have served in theatre and have suffered injury and loss. I have refused help from veterans associations because if I turned up I would be surrounded by people who I thought were more worthy than me to get help. I hadnt seen my mates getting killed by a roadside bomb, I hadnt lost a limb or had to kill anyone. However, both of my most serious injuries occurred when I was serving although both involved horses and not tanks, bombs or bullets!

Moment number 1.

I had joined the army at the young age of 16 as a Junior Leader and did my training at the Royal Armoured Corps in Bovington. I passed out as a full crewman on the Chieftain main battle tank, having achieved a 98% pass on all of my tests. I was driving a 60 tonne tank on the public roads before I had my car licence!

I joined my regiment The Blues and Royals, Household Cavalry at Knightsbridge Barracks in Chelsea. Im not going to go into great detail but I thought I was a great rider as a civilian. I was disabused of that fact very quickly. Some weeks into riding school the instructor thought it a great idea that in order to help our balance he would have us all stand up on the horses back. I was managing very well until the horse moved forward. As it did so I tripped on the back of the saddle one of my legs stood on the horses hindquarters . As I turned in mid air it hit me with both back legs. I was catapulted into the middle of the school and writhed in pain and shock in the horrible dusty peat.

Looking back I was treated appallingly after the accident. They had me walk to the medical centre where I waited for hours for the ambulance to turn up. When I eventually got to St Stephens hospital in Chelsea I was sat on a gurney in A&E waiting to be seen for what seemed like an eternity. I knew I was in serious pain and knew that I was struggling to breathe. Eventually a nurse turned up took one look at me struggling to breathe and had a listen to my chest. When a nurse exclaims 'Oh my God youre going blue' you know that things are bad. The horse had sent two of my ribs into my right lung and had punctured it. The technical term for the injury is a Pneumothorax. This is where the air you are breathing in escapes from the puncture and ends up in the cavity between your lung and the chest wall. My right lung had collapsed and I had spent hours trying to breath on one lung. The next thing I know I am shoved down on the gurney and straight into theatre. There was no anaesthetic, not even a local one but only four nurses holding me down whilst the doctor cut into my chest just below my right armpit. He then proceeded to push a pipe down inside my chest and although I was in severe pain and could feel the pipe sliding in, the relief was immediate. All the blood that had built up around the injury over the past hours was released in a pressurised gush. I spent a number of weeks attached to a demijohn which was emptied frequently as my lung healed itself. No therapy afterwards but straight back into riding school. Thats when the more serious accident happened..........