Being a volunteer for Mountain Rescue myself, I knew it was going to take time to extract me and I knew I was going to become hypothermic very quickly. It’s early March, in Ireland, in the mountains, it was beginning to rain lightly and I’d just come through a river in a t-shirt and running shorts. My feet were soaked. The heat I’d generated from running was seeping out of my body into the cold, wet ground below.
I was lucky.
The runners in front heard my cries for help and came running back to me. Those lovely men, whose names I didn’t get, were my angels. One held my head, while the other ran back towards the nearest marshal, shouting for help. My head pulsated and with the heat of the left side of my face, I assumed I was bleeding badly. I didn’t want to look at my hand, I kept it pressed to my face as though my face would fall off if I let go. My right knee also throbbed painfully, I was still crying out although there was no longer a need to raise the alarm. Now it was just pain. I sucked in some deep breaths to calm myself, I’d need my strength for the wait ahead.
The Search and Rescue Dogs Association just happened to be training on the mountain below me. Another stroke of good fortune! Their EMT was with me within minutes, as was the second runner with the marshal. It was 12:19 when I fell, it was less than 8 minutes later that Mountain Rescue were alerted and mobilising to come to my aid. In the meantime, I was fortunate enough to have experienced people look after me until the stretcher reached my location. It was only during Dorothy’s examination of me that I realised I’d also hurt my left shoulder. I could tell she downplayed it as she cleaned it gently. I wasn’t too concerned. My head was my primary concern. My knee pain had begun to ease, but the cold was now beginning to envelop me.
Ever the rescuer (and some might say, control freak!) myself, I requested that something be put underneath me and that a group shelter be put over me to help insulate me from the elements. My will to survive overrode any pain I felt. I knew it was going to take time for Mountain Rescue to get a stretcher up to me. I couldn’t afford to wait. So we improvised a little.
A SARDA volunteer placed a buffalo bag under me, several jackets and a foil blanket were wrapped around me, Garry, the marshal was leaning in beside me to support me and Simon from SARDA held my head in support. Including the medic, four of us huddled under that group shelter, but I still couldn’t maintain much warmth.
Dorothy and Garry were so kind.
My clothes were damp with a mixture of sweat, rain and groundwater and my running shoes and socks were saturated with river water from my recent crossing. Dorothy sent one of her volunteers off to search his nearby vehicle for dry socks and a towel. When Jimmy reappeared outside the group shelter with both in hand, I almost wept. The kindness shown to me in the simple act of removing my wet shoes and socks, drying my frozen feet and easing on oversized men’s woolly hiking socks felt overwhelming. Dorothy did one foot, Garry, the other. I felt more comfortable immediately. I didn’t warm up much, but I was no longer losing heat through my feet.
Being moved from my little cocoon to the stretcher was deeply uncomfortable. As soon as the group shelter and jackets were removed from me, I began to shiver uncontrollably, involuntarily. I was zipped into a casualty bag which took the place of those other items and was assured that I’d be warm again soon. As my teeth chattered in my head, I hoped that was true. The air was sucked from the vacuum mattress which MR volunteers had formed around my casualty bag and I was cocooned once more. Only my eyes and nose remained uncovered.
The stretcher carry was short and swift, I wasn’t far from the Wicklow Gap Road. We continued our wait for the ambulance in the roadside carpark. None was available from County Wicklow and it transpired that the one which did finally arrive was from Blanchardstown and was on the M50 when it was tasked to assist me. It was a long wait for wet, cold, injured me. Luckily I didn’t seem to have neurological or spinal problems, I was just cold and in pain. I’d rather not think about the consequences of such a delay if the situation had been more serious.
Fractured skull.
The heat I had felt in my head at the moment of impact wasn’t blood pouring from an open wound, but the bone underneath caving in and I suppose the beginning of the bruising and swelling. The Friday after the fall, I had surgery on my fractured zygoma (cheekbone) in St. James’s Hospital. Thankfully my other injuries were relatively minor and I wonder if my cheekbone breaking actually did me a favour by absorbing the shock of the fall. I feel incredibly fortunate that I’m still here, can still walk and talk and see with both eyes!
So…. when can I start running again?
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