Terror on the toilet
Wednesday 25th February 2009
It's not exactly the most glamorous position in the world, but we've all got to do it. Sitting on the loo with my pink pyjamas round my ankles, I tried to calm myself down.I'd just had an almighty row with my fiancé, Neil Jenkinson, 41, and after drinking nearly a whole bottle of white wine, he'd stormed out of the house to get more.
'You're not fit to drive in that state!' I'd shouted as he'd slammed the front door behind him.
It was pointless trying to stop him when he was in one of his jealous rages. We'd had an on-off relationship since 2004, because he was so possessive and insecure. When we'd separated in the summer of 2007, I'd gone on holiday with my mate, Richard, who I worked with as a medical records clerk. After that, Neil and I had got back together, but since then, his jealousy had been worse than ever, and he'd convinced himself I was having an affair.
He'd worked himself up into such a state about it that his doctor prescribed antidepressants and sleeping tablets.
So tonight, when I'd noticed that Neil had got through nearly the whole bottle of wine while I was still on my first glass, I'd been worried.
'Should you be drinking that much with your medication?' I'd asked.
'I'm going for another bottle,' he'd slurred, pushing me aside as he'd headed for the door.
So I'd gone upstairs to the loo and here I was, thinking what a shame it was that Neil was so jealous and that it led to so many rows, when suddenly, the bathroom door flew open and he barged in, his blue eyes wide. What the…?
Before I had a chance to speak, he lunged forward and punched me hard on the forehead.
The room started to spin, and as the white tiles blurred, I tried desperately to focus as a deafening scream echoed round the room. For a split second, everything went black. When I came to again, I realised it was my voice screaming. And now, it wasn't just my head that was hurting, my stomach was in agony, too. He must have punched me there when I was unconscious. Neil stepped back and stood in the bathroom doorway, a sick smirk on his face.
Then his eyes flickered down towards his jeans pocket. As I followed his gaze, I gasped.
A knife. My wooden-handled chopping knife from the kitchen.
Heart racing, I tried to think fast. Was he about to stab me as I sat here on the loo? Before I had time to do anything, I spotted my son, Liam, 11, standing behind Neil, tears running down his cheeks. He'd been asleep in his bedroom next door, but all the noise must have disturbed him.
'Don't do this in front of Liam,' I pleaded. 'He loves you so much.'
I had to stop him. It wasn't easy, though, because I still felt dizzy from where he'd punched me and my stomach was throbbing in agony. In a daze, I hauled myself off the loo, bent down to pull my pyjama bottoms up and then everything blurred. Tiles… Sink… Liam's terrified face… Neil's sick smirk…The room span as I staggered forward, something hot and
sticky trickling down my legs. When I looked down, I saw it was blood. Thick, dark blood.
My pink pyjama top was completely sodden too, and it clung around my chest as I slumped to my knees in agony. A puddle of blood started spreading across the wooden floor and had already splattered over the white tiles.
Gasping in pain, I looked over at Neil, standing at the top of the stairs in silence, his beady eyes staring straight at me.
'W-what have you done?' I stammered, my voice shaking as I felt a huge gaping hole in my pyjama top. It just didn't make sense.I hadn't seen him lunge at me. I hadn't felt him stab me. But slowly it dawned on me that when I'd blacked out, he must have stabbed me.
And judging by Liam's terrified sobs as he stood in my bedroom doorway, he'd seen it happen.
'Call 999,' I panted, summoning all my strength as my blood pumped onto the floor.
'Leave Mum alone!' Liam yelled, as he pushed past Neil and raced downstairs to the phone.
In silence, Neil ran down after him and I heard the front door slam.
Then I lay there, with just the sound of myself gasping for breath.
'My mum needs an ambulance,' I heard Liam say. 'Come quickly…'
Next thing I knew, he was crouching down beside me, pressing a turquoise bathroom
towel to my stomach.
'The lady on the phone said this would stop the bleeding,' he sobbed, tears streaming down his cheeks. My poor, poor baby. He was only 11 years old. He shouldn't have to see his mum in a state like this.
By now, my eyelids were flickering closed as I started to lose consciousness.
'I'm here, Mummy,' Liam whispered. 'You're going to be OK.'
Part of me just wanted to close my eyes and let the pain disappear, but as Liam's voice echoed round the room, I fought desperately to keep them open. I felt myself getting weaker. Then everything went blurry. I remember seeing the flash of green jackets as the paramedics raced in and then being carried down the stairs and into an ambulance. I cried out for Liam, and a police officer told me he was in safe hands. The next thing I knew, I woke up in a hospital bed with my mum, Jacqueline, 57, beside me.
There were machines bleeping at my bedside and tubes and wires all over me.
'You're in intensive care,' Mum said. 'You've had a very lucky escape. Neil stabbed you three times. Thirty minutes more and you'd have died.'
'Where's Liam?' I croaked.
'The police took him to Janine's house,' she reassured me.
I knew he'd be safe with my sister, but as for me, I wasn't out of the woods yet. I slipped in and out of consciousness as doctors battled to save my life. The knife had caused aneight-inch wound to my stomach, and nicked my spleen and main aorta.
'A few centimetres either way and you'd have died,' the doctor said.
I'd lost so much blood, I needed two blood transfusions and had to have my lungs drained.
On top of that, I had two operations and 40 stitches to join my stomach back together. It was a week before I was well enough to see my wounds for the first time.
'Oh my God!' I gasped, as the nurse peeled the bandage off my stomach to reveal a scar as long as my foot.
'I look like I've been savaged by a shark,' I said.
But I was alive, and that was all that mattered.Neil had phoned the police and handed himself in within 24 hours of the attack. That's when it really hit me. He'd attacked me so viciously, he'd nearly killed me.
My injuries were so severe that it was five weeks before I was allowed home, still unable to walk, and six months before I could return to work.Shortly afterwards, Neil appeared at Preston Crown Court. He denied attempted murder, but pleaded guilty to wounding with intent and was sentenced to nine years in prison. I couldn't bear to go and relive that awful night, so Mum went for me. Afterwards, she told me that Judge Anthony Russell QC had told Neil: 'You could have easily killed her.'
'Too right he could have done,' I said. 'If it hadn't been for Liam's quick thinking.'
Not only had Liam stemmed my bleeding with the towel and dialled 999, but when I'd blacked out after Neil had stabbed me, Liam had pulled him off me. So brave.
I'm still on painkillers and antidepressants, but with Liam to keep me going, I'm trying to
focus on the future. As for Neil, I don't hate him for what he did. In fact, part of me feels sorry for him. It it hadn't been for the sleeping tablets and antidepressants, I wonder if he'd have let his jealousy get so out of hand. Who knows? What I do know is that I had a lucky escape. Although whether I'll ever be able to relax on the loo again is another matter!