So Proud Of My Hero Hubby
After surviving war zones, a freak accident almost killed Claire’s man...
Tuning into the news, my heart was thumping, my stomach churning. ‘Royal Marines invade Iraq,’ said the reporter. It was March 2003, and my husband, Lee, 34, was a corporal in the Marines – and part of the 3 Commando Brigade that’d been shipped out to the Middle East, waiting for orders.
It had all been top secret.
When he left, we’d had no idea if there would be a war.
But now I knew. My husband was in a war zone.
I’d met Lee at a youth club when we were both teenagers.
He’d joined the Marines aged 23, just before we married.
In 1994, aged 25, he’d completed his first tour of duty over in Northern Ireland.
And, by the time he was deployed to Iraq, we’d had Harriet, then 8, and Billy, 6.
‘Daddy’s away with work,’ I told them, smiling.
I didn’t want to scare the kids, but I was worried sick.
Then, the morning after the first strikes, I heard a helicopter had crashed.
‘Is it Lee?’ I pleaded down the phone to welfare officers. It wasn’t. But a woman down the road had just lost her husband…
Communication was sparse, with crackly calls on a satellite phone, a letter from time to time.
I’m fine, he wrote, along with a list of phone numbers for the mums of commandos in his unit.
Tell their families they’re OK, he added. He was always looking out for others.
Lee made it home safely, and, by 2012, he’d also done three tours in Afghanistan. We missed him like mad. Yet our brave hero always returned unscathed.
Then on 5 January 2014, after spending Christmas at home with us, Lee set off back to his post in Bedford. But, not long after he left, he rang me. ‘I’ve got a flat tyre,’ he moaned. It was cold, rainy and dark, but, despite that, Lee managed to change the tyre. He posted a photo to his Facebook page: Could this journey get any worse? was his jokey comment.
I didn’t want to scare the kids, but I was worried
But, at 11.50pm, he rang again. ‘I’ve been in an accident, I’m on the M3,’ he stuttered, before hanging up. What? Trying to stay calm, I called him straight back… No answer. Panicking, I dialled 999. The operator told me that they would investigate.
Five minutes later, I finally got hold of Lee.
‘What’s going on?’ I cried.
‘I’m badly hurt. An ambulance is coming,’ he stammered.
Frantic, I started packing a bag, ready to go to Lee.
At 1.30am, a police officer phoned me with more news.
‘Your husband’s leg is badly damaged,’ he said.
Lee had been airlifted to St George’s Hospital in Tooting, south west London.
LEE HELPED US STAY STRONG
There was a bang, and something slammed into him
Jumping into the car, I told Harriet, then 18, and Billy, 16, I’d update them as soon as I could.
Six anxious hours later, I arrived at the hospital. Lee was still in surgery. ‘We couldn’t save his right leg,’ the doctor told me gently.
It’d been amputated below the knee. His left leg was dislocated, too, and had to be completely reconstructed. I was devastated for Lee.
He loved running, and had just raised £11,000 doing back-toback marathons in aid of a paralysed marine.
How will he cope? I worried. Lee was heavily sedated, but, next morning, he was awake. ‘I can remember it all,’ he said. He explained he’d been driving through Surrey when he’d spotted a BMW that’d crashed into the central reservation with its hazard lights on.
The BMW was partially blocking the road, and it was so dark and wet, that another car could’ve easily hit it. So Lee pulled over to help. He checked the passengers, moved them out of danger.
Then he walked up the hard shoulder to warn other drivers that there had been an accident.
Next, there was a loud bang, and something slammed into him, flinging him over the barrier on to the grass verge.
A car had smashed into the wreckage at speed, and the force of the impact had sent the BMW’S engine flying into Lee.
‘I looked down and saw my left leg was sticking out at an angle, and my right one was hanging off. I knew I’d lost it,’ he said.
Lee’s marine training kicked in and he shouted for a medic. He was bleeding to death. ‘I knew I only had four to six minutes,’ he said.
He felt his body going into shock. Cold, shaking.
Thankfully, people from other cars stopped and raced straight over to help him.
Lee instructed them in how to tie a belt around his leg as a tourniquet. He even got one to stand on his femoral artery in order to stem the bleeding.
Once he was in the air ambulance, he was sedated.
He’d saved his own life – and was trying to save others.
‘Why on earth did you phone me?’ I gasped.
Lee explained he’d thought he was a goner, and had wanted to warn me himself.
‘I didn’t want you to get a knock at the door,’ he said. It was unbelievable. My hubby had managed to survive war zones.
But a freak accident had left him an amputee.
I stayed with Lee for five weeks while he was in hospital.
He had six surgeries, but was desperate to start physiotherapy. So brave.
The fighting spirit that saved his life helped me and the kids stay strong too. And he has no regrets. ‘I wouldn’t do anything differently,’ he said.
Lee spent months in rehab at the Devonport Naval Base’s Hasler Company – a unit dedicated to injured Royal Marines. He was fitted with a prosthetic. And in February this year, he and a team of injured servicemen – all amputees – successfully rowed an incredible 3,000 miles across the Atlantic for the charity, Row2recovery. My hubby truly is a hero. And totally unstoppable!