I’m dismayed at how quickly my memories fade. It’s one of the reasons why I can’t cancel my Facebook account, my memories, that show up everyday, are my reminder of my time with my kids, my friends, my family. Otherwise it would all be gone, leaving only what I managed to capture in photographs and videos.

The memory of those slippers however, never fade. I remember those slippers so vividly, the slip on, backless, grey and cream pair that I had in 2016. The ones I wore on that day. With my blue leggings and tie died blue top. The one I could only wear on the unusual occasion when my stomach was flat.

Those slippers never stayed on. With my abundance of energy I scuttle around the place pottering, whizzing from one task to the other. They would fall off all the time. It used to annoy the hell out of me. Almost pointless wearing them.

Not that time though. I don’t understand it. It’s a big hill we live on, big as in steep, rather than long. Like a lot of hills in Wales. I’ve tested it in the car. If I roll down from a standing start, I will be doing well over 20mph by the time I reach the main road at the end. It scares me when I do that. But of course, cars are much heavier, much heavier than a boy on a bike, so it will pick up speed faster than Ted did. I don’t have the guts to try it on a bike. I’ve started to a couple of times, but I lose my bottle half way. Anxiety takes over me and I push the idea to the back of my mind. Stay safe. Don’t try and re-create the time you nearly lost him.

On the day, we had just had tea. I was sat at the kitchen table doing homework with my eldest son Scott. It must have been Scott as my youngest Sebbie had gone out to find his friends and that’s why Ted went after him in a hurry. Yes, it was Scott, as when we heard Mark outside shouting “Brake, BRAKE!! BRAKE!!!!” we looked at each other and Scott got up and went to the front door.

I didn’t get up right away, thinking nothing of it, but curious enough to watch what Scott’s reaction was. When I heard the bang, that’s when I got up. That’s strange also, there wasn’t a screech, just a bang. I suppose the lady whose car Ted collided with wasn’t going so fast as to make a screech. Small mercy. Big mercy.

I got up, kicked my chair back noisily behind me, and in those stupid slippers, hastily made my way to the front door. Scott was stood on the balcony just outside looking down the hill. He looked at me worried. “My phone’s on the table, call an ambulance” I said as I rushed past him. Why did I say that? I didn’t know what had happened. We couldn’t see what had happened as Ted had turned at the bottom of the hill and the incident was around the corner of the garden wall there.

My brain did this zoning thing. I had pure clarity all around. Everything was being recorded in bright colour and the sights and sounds were crystal clear. I ran down the hill and those slippers didn’t fall off. I remember thinking, why aren’t my slippers falling off? I wasn’t thinking about what had happened to my son, I think I was scared to. I almost didn’t want to go around the corner as I didn’t want to see it.

I can see the bounce in my vision with every step I ran. I was hitting the ground hard as I ran and the impact wobbled my vision and all that was recorded. Recorded in my useless brain that usually forgets everything.

Here it comes, here comes the corner. Let him be in one piece, let him be breathing. Everything else we can deal with.

I saw Mark first. Mark was stood in the middle of the road stopping the cars from coming. He looked at me. A look of terror on his face. My vision was still bouncing as I ran in those crap slippers around the corner and Ted came into view.

He was face down, not moving, there was so much blood it ran down the road in ribbons. There was a shoe over the other side of the road and I couldn’t even see where his bike was. He wasn’t wearing a helmet and his head was bloodied.

That’s when I screamed. No, it wasn’t a scream. It was a roar. It’s the type of roar a woman gives when she’s on the final push of childbirth. The one that takes all of your energy, your soul, your entire spirit and fires it out from your chest. Explodes it out, like a nuclear bomb. It’s the sound that stops the world dead, makes time halt and everyone stand still.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

I threw myself to my knees at his side. He was on his front. He was unconscious, I couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

At that point, all first aid training went out the window. I reached for him and my mum screamed from behind me “DON’T MOVE HIM TRINA!”

“Ted?” I touched the side of his face, I moved some blood covered hair from his eye. “Ted?!”. What could I do?! There was blood covered white bits on the tarmac. I wondered if it was bits of his skull. So much blood.

Fuck it. I put my hand under his head and pulled on his shoulder to try and turn him towards me. I need to hold him. Once I’m holding him, it will be fine. I’ll have him in my arms, my 10 year old boy will be in my arms, covering me in his blood, but he will be fine once I’m holding him.

He groaned and then cried out. Cried out in agony. He turned on to his back and yelped and moaned, all confused. I have never been so happy in all my life to hear my child scream in agony. If he is crying, he is alive. If he is in pain, he is breathing. If he is breathing, we can deal with everything else.

People around me, on the phone, calling the emergency services. A woman with a shocked expression on the side of the road. Boys gathering up his shoe, his phone and his bike to clear the road. A lady bringing out a blanket to cover him.

“What’s happened here then?” A woman in green was walking up the road. She was a Paramedic and she was on her way home. What are the odds? She knelt down at Teddy’s head and put her hands either side of his head to hold it still. Or was she holding his skull together? I didn’t know. So much blood.

I could see that Ted’s wrist was bruising and swelling. He couldn’t move his hand. I held his forearm so his hand and wrist were immobilised against my arm. He was still crying and wailing. Keep crying Ted. He was writhing in pain. The Paramedic asked him to try and stay still. She was talking and I think I was answering. I think I told her that he hit a car. Mark said Ted’s bike brakes failed and he couldn’t stop. He went into the main road and hit a moving car. My voice was shaking. A lady was at the side of the road shouting “He just came out of nowhere! I stopped as soon as I saw him and he hit my car!”

“Not now!” I shouted to her. “I’m sorry, I need to deal with my son first, I can’t deal with you now!”. I feel bad for saying that. She must have been shocked. Mark went to talk to her, to calm her down and take her away from me.

A car skirts around the side of us as we are causing an obstruction in the road. People move to let the car by.

Where is our ambulance? The Paramedic is talking to the Police who are here now. They offer her some latex gloves. She says “It’s too late now” showing how much blood she has on her hands and arms.

The white bits on the road aren’t bits of skull, they are just bits of stone in the tarmac. Ted’s head seems intact, just bleeding heavily but now clotting in his hair, clotting over a massive lump forming on his head. Like in a Tom and Jerry cartoon. But with gore.

His face is bleeding, above his eye, on his cheek. He is moving his legs up and down and I can see skin abrasions on his hip and his tummy. He has blood in his mouth but I can’t see if he still has all his teeth. He has lost a shoe. How do you lose a trainer? How does a lace up trainer come off your foot on impact?

Still no ambulance. He has been lying on the cold tarmac having his head and arm held for 10 minutes now. Where is our ambulance?.

The Paramedic is still holding Ted’s head and talking to the police. They ask us if we can move him. “Can you move your head Teddy?” She asks. He slowly lifts his head. She helps him up and I keep my arm splint in place to try to ease the pain of his broken wrist. I hand the blanket to someone. We help Teddy get to a bench on the side of the road and the ambulance lady pops off to move her car I think. I think she went, I can’t remember.

The police bring a big first aid kit out, but it looks like the bleeding is stopping. They are chasing for the ambulance over the radio. Teddy is still crying in pain and we don’t know what injuries he has internally. Keep crying Teddy, that way I know you are still with me and not dying of internal bleeding. I was comforted that he could hobble his way to the side of the road, at least his brain is still moving his limbs, to a degree.

I sit on the bench with Ted, one arm around him, the other arm still being his splint. I put my head to his head. I have his blood all over my face and in my hair. I wear it like war paint. This is a battle for my son and I’m not letting him go.

I lose it then. The bouncing vision of rounding the corner and seeing Ted lying face down in the middle of the road, his limbs spread-eagled and ribbons of blood running down the road from his head. I thought he was dead. I cry in relief. I cry in fear. I hold him and I cry.

“Not now Trina” my mum says and I say “I know mum but he nearly died! I never want to go through anything like this again! I wouldn’t wish this on anyone!” And tears come to her eyes and she says “We’ll cry later” and holds my hand on Ted’s shoulder.

People are talking around us, in hushed tones. The policeman is getting quite angry down the radio now. Still no ambulance. I ask mum to get me some shoes. She goes up the hill and returns with blue lace ups. She takes my stupid slippers off and puts my shoes on me. I’m shaking and Ted is still moaning and crying. I’m holding him tightly. Mum carefully takes his other shoe off making sure he doesn’t wince from an injury there.

Another police car turns up, a big highway one, and a Policeman in a big high-viz jacket walks over and crouches down in front of us.

“Hello Teddy” he says “I’m Simon, I’m going to take you to the hospital because I’m a really fast driver”. “Ok” Teddy says quietly. We help Teddy up and we hobble over to the back of the police car. I rely on mum and Mark to sort out the other kids and the house “We’ll see you there” they say. I’m dazed. “Ok” I reply “Bring…….stuff”. Stupid brain.

People are wishing us well and seeing us off. They are sorting out Ted’s broken bike and taking it back up the hill. We’ve not been in this street for long, only 3 months, and we don’t really know any of our neighbours, but they all help.

I forgot to say thank you to the Paramedic and the Police men. I didn’t say sorry to the car driver. Did I ask mum to clean Ted’s blood off the road? Did I ask for clean clothes? Turn the stove off? Feed the dog?

The journey to the hospital was fast. I could only just hear the sirens, which was strange, considering how loud they are when you hear them outside. The daylight was fading enough to see the reflected flashing of blue lights on the central reservation and the cars we pass. I whisper to Ted constantly to make sure he is still with me. He doesn’t say much back. I worry that we are getting blood on the nice Policeman’s car seat.

My brain is done in. I remember my arms holding my boy. That was keeping him safe. I didn’t need to think. I just remember my arms around Ted.

We get to the hospital and there are so many ambulances there. WTF??!!

Simon comes round the car and opens our door. He has a clipboard and needs some details. Can we do this later? I think, but he got us here so a few more minutes won’t hurt I’m sure. Are people going to come out with trolleys and green uniforms to usher Teddy away for treatment and assessment like they do in the movies? I don’t know how much brain damage or internal bleeding he has! But it’s quiet outside and no one rushes out. I answer Simon’s questions with my shaky voice whilst holding my son’s arm together. I don’t know how long it took, but it seemed like forever. It was probably 30 seconds but right then, I had more pressing things to be getting on with. Just answer quickly and concisely, I think, keep it simple, get it done.

Simon pointed me to the door where we needed to go in. Teddy and I stumble through the door, hunched over and bloody. The waiting room is crowded. There is a lady at reception and Teddy and I hobble towards her, covered in blood, me holding him together and I cry “There were no ambulances!”.

The lady got up from her seat really quickly, which surprised me as she was quite old. She went through some doors and moments later, two young people in green uniforms and a wheelchair came back through and towards us. Our rescuers!

The two nurses chatted away to us, asking Teddy questions as they gently sat him down and I crouched over to keep my arm as his splint. We walked slowly towards the double doors being watched by the people waiting in the waiting room. I hate queue jumping, but right now, you will all have to wait a little longer as my Ted has earned this.

I’m still bent over holding Ted’s arm as we are wheeled through corridors and around corners and the two nurses pushing the wheelchair are introducing Teddy to the doctors and other staff. They are upbeat, calm and friendly and they put us at ease.

We were given a cubicle and they got him on to a bed. They cut off his clothes and a stream of doctors and nurses came and examined him. It all happened so fast. I was nervous to find out what they would discover. He had a laceration to his head, double fracture to his wrist, some internal bleeding and grazing to his face and body. But he would live. He swore out loud when they moved his arm, my ten year old boy swearing like a trouper! They gave him morphine for the pain. He liked that. I apologised for his profanity.

The family arrived at that point. Ted was in a hospital gown with his broken arm on a pillow and his head being glued by a nurse. We were all interested at the size of the cut on his head and marvelled at the fact that we could see his skull through the swelling. I chastised him for going off without his helmet. He said he couldn’t find it and was trying to catch up with Sebbie. I still told him off.

Teddy went for X-rays and an MRI. While he was gone my mum got a cloth and washed the blood from my face. Then we cried.

I was told later that the ambulances were all stuck at the hospital due to ‘bed blocking’. There was nowhere for the ambulance staff to discharge their patients to, so they have to wait at the hospital, meaning they are unable to attend other calls. It had taken us 50 minutes to get Ted to Accident and Emergency. Other people fare worse I hear, but most of the time, the system works well.

Teddy was out of hospital 3 days later and after two operations, has made a full recovery.

We bought him a puppy.

I threw away those slippers.