Hit by a tram!
Saturday 21st June 2008
It was a typical Friday night out in Manchester — bloomin' cold!
'Wish we were back in Barcelona,' I shivered to my mate, Imogen Beazley, 26, as we headed across St Peter's Square.
Imogen and I had met at Manchester Uni, back in 2003. The moment I'd clapped eyes on her — wearing a tiger suit, collecting money for charity — I'd known we'd get on like a house on fire. Five years on, we were still close.
After graduating, I'd moved down to London to work in advertising. But my boyfriend, Darren Bayliss, had stayed up north, so Imogen and I still saw each other all the time. Just weeks earlier, we'd gone on a girls' holiday to Spain. Now, at 12.30am, on 25 January 2008, we were going our separate ways after celebrating Darren's 25th.
'You'd better catch up with the birthday boy,' Imogen laughed, giving me a goodbye hug, before I hurried off to find Darren and our other mates. After a few steps, something made me turn back. And what I saw will haunt me forever. Imogen was waving at me as she stepped onto the crossing — straight into the path of a tram.
'Imogen!' I shrieked, as the tram's horn blasted.
There was a deafening squeal as the driver slammed on the brakes. But it was too late.
The tram smashed into Imogen, throwing her up in the air. She flew three metres along the ground before stopping, face down on the road...
She's dead, I thought.
Before I could even take a step towards her, a paramedic was at her side. By sheer good luck, he'd been just feet away, in his rapid-response vehicle. I tried to go to them, but someone held me back. In shock, I felt my phone ring in my pocket.
'Where are you?' asked Darren.
'Imogen's been hit by a tram,' I sobbed. 'Don't tell anyone. I don't want a crowd here, but please come.'
Within five minutes, I was crying into his coat as paramedics lifted Imogen onto a stretcher.
'I can't believe it,' I cried. 'Ten minutes ago, we were having a laugh. Now look at her.'
Things got worse as the paramedic, Robert Jones, 32, gave us a lift to Manchester Royal Infirmary.
'It doesn't look good,' he admitted gently.
I didn't know Imogen's parents' number. All we could do was wait in A&E while she
had a brain scan. Finally, a nurse came in. Before she even spoke, I knew it was bad news. Imogen had multiple skull fractures and a smashed cheekbone. Her jaw and nose were broken, and she had internal bleeding.
'She's going to be transferred to the specialist brain unit at Salford Hope Hospital,' the nurse said.
'Will she be OK?' I pleaded.
'Her injuries are serious,' the nurse replied. 'Only family can go with her and her parents are on their way. Would you like to see her?'
I nodded. But when I saw her in bed, her brown curly hair matted with blood, her face puffy, and her hands bruised and grazed, I burst into tears. At 3am, Darren and I went back to his flat. I tossed and turned until 8.30am, when Imogen's mum, Pam, and dad, Mike, both 57, called me. They'd been warned if she survived, she may be brain-damaged. Tears rolled down my face when I saw Imogen again in hospital.
Tubes had been inserted to drain the bleeding on her brain, and shards of shattered bone had been removed from her eye sockets, which were bruised and swollen.
Her hair had been shaved off, and metal bolts had been used to close her skull. A line of ugly metal staples snaked from ear to ear over the top of her head, and her face was covered in stitches.How could she pull through this? But amazingly, just two days later, she was chatting away.
'I'm going to need plastic surgery,' she told me. 'A metal plate will replace my left cheek.'
'About time they sorted your face out!' Darren joked.
'No amount of surgery would do you any good!' she teased.
She was back!
Just three weeks after the accident, on 13 February, Imogen was home. Four months on, her vision is fuzzy, and her cheek is sometimes sore. Nerve damage means she's lost the feeling in her nose. But she's kept her wonderful sense of humour, and managed to return to work as a youth charity worker in early May. I'll never forget the moment I saw the tram hit her. For a while, I really thought I'd lost her. But
I should have known it would take more than a tram to stop Imogen!
Imogen says: 'I stepped out in front of the tram without looking. The next thing I knew, I was coming round in hospital with Emily crying at my side. The experience has made me realise just how supportive my friends and family are, and how many caring people there are.'