Dirty Danc­ing Dis­as­ter

Cerise just wanted to get hitched with­out a hitch

Pick Me Up! Special - - News -

TCerise Snell, 28, Bas­ingstoke he song was known the world over. ‘Now I’ve had the time of my life...’

My part­ner, Mike, 36, grabbed my hand and dragged me to­wards the dance floor.

‘It’s our song,’ he shouted over the mu­sic.

We drunk­enly belted the lyrics to the Dirty Danc­ing track and danced like we al­ways did. It was cheesy but we loved it. At 6ft 3ins, Mike would even scoop up my slight frame and re-cre­ate the fa­mous lift - with a bit of a wob­ble.

‘We’ll have to re­quest this track when we get mar­ried,’ I teased.

To­gether for 13 years, Mike had never of­fi­cially pro­posed. He wasn’t the ro­man­tic type.

Af­ter hav­ing four chil­dren to­gether, we had talked about it, but some­thing would al­ways come up and throw a span­ner in the works.

We con­sid­ered a wed­ding in Ja­maica, but my dad didn’t want to fly that far. So we’d booked a venue close to home. But they can­celled us af­ter a dou­ble book­ing. ‘Third time lucky, eh?’ Mike soothed, as I sobbed, frus­trated.

We’d known each other since we were chil­dren as our par­ents lived next door to each other.

At 13, Mike was seven years older than me. He found me an­noy­ing and pre­ferred to be with his mates on his bike, but when I hit my teens, Mike saw me in a dif­fer­ent light.

We got to­gether when I was 17, and I quickly fell preg­nant with our first child.

Our son MJ, now 11, ar­rived and soon af­ter, an­other boy, Tay­lor, now 10, fol­lowed.

I was truly out­num­bered when we added to our brood with Rocco, eight, and Lo­gan, four.

I gave up work to look af­ter the boys, while Mike pro­vided for us, work­ing as an elec­tri­cal en­gi­neer.

De­spite no en­gage­ment ring on my fin­ger, mar­riage was al­ways

on the cards. By 2013 we were liv­ing with Mike’s par­ents so we were able to save up enough to book our big day.

‘This time there will be no set­backs,’ I said de­fi­antly.

Mike and I chose a dusty pink and grey colour scheme, we drew up a guest list of 50 peo­ple for the cer­e­mony with an added 150 for the re­cep­tion, and went back to the ho­tel to re-book our date.

I found my per­fect dress while Mike and the boys or­dered match­ing grey suits. I’d found cream gowns for my brides­maids - my nieces, Court­ney, 12, and Scar­let­trose, three.

‘Maybe this will be third time lucky,’ I said, ex­cit­edly.

When our day rolled around, I hadn’t ex­pected it to go with­out a hitch, so when the pho­tog­ra­pher for­got the kit and had to dash back for it, I just laughed. Mike and I fi­nally be­came man and wife in an in­ti­mate cer­e­mony in front of our fam­ily and friends. At our re­cep­tion, our first dance was ‘Love you to the end’ by The Pogues, from the rom­com P.S. I Love You - one of our favourite films. We’d hired a DJ for the evening do and af­ter a few hours, Mike marched up to the booth to make a re­quest hop­ing for a ro­man­tic dance with his new wife. I was out­side chat­ting to guests when I heard ‘Time of My Life’ come on – fol­lowed by a loud shriek. ‘What’s go­ing on?’ I thought, quickly head­ing in­doors. I found Mike on the floor be­ing helped up by friends.

Some­thing al­ways went wrong

Mike heard the snap MY GROOM AL­MOST DIED

On hear­ing the song, my ex­citable work col­league, Gemma, un­ex­pect­edly bounded to­wards him.

She thought he would lift her up just like Baby in the 1987 movie.

But he wasn’t pre­pared and his arms gave way, caus­ing the pair to fall to the floor, and his knee to bend sharply in the wrong di­rec­tion.

I dashed over. ‘What are you like?’ I gig­gled, not re­al­is­ing the sever­ity of his in­juries.

‘I re­ally hope some­one caught that on cam­era.’

Poor Mike hob­bled off to the bar and numbed the pain with count­less drinks. I called it a night early on. Un­able to get out of my wed­ding dress, I fell asleep on the bed in it.

Mike’s friends helped him up­stairs at 5am. His leg had dou­bled in size and he couldn’t even get his trousers off, so we both slept fully-clothed. The next morn­ing, I rolled over to find Mike groan­ing in pain. ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked. ‘It’s my knee,’ he winced.

Glanc­ing down, I no­ticed it was three times its nor­mal size.

I col­lected our things to­gether and helped him out of the ho­tel and into our car.

I drove him straight to A&E at North Hamp­shire Hos­pi­tal, grabbed a wheel­chair and pushed him in­side.

An x-ray showed no bro­ken bones, but medics di­ag­nosed frac­tured or snapped lig­a­ments - in­clud­ing the an­te­rior cru­ci­ate, menis­cus and me­dial col­lat­eral. ‘I’m afraid ev­ery­thing that could have gone wrong, has gone wrong,’ the doc­tor told us.

Mike’s leg was put in a brace to keep it straight and he needed it to be el­e­vated too.

He was sent home with painkillers and crutches and told to get plenty of rest.

We had plans to fly off to Ja­maica in a few days.

But that wasn’t go­ing to hap­pen any­time soon. ‘I guess that’s our hon­ey­moon out the win­dow then,’ I sighed, dis­ap­pointed.

Mike had to have hos­pi­tal treat­ment ev­ery two weeks for three months to re­duce the swelling.

He had phys­io­ther­apy ses­sions, but af­ter no im­prove­ment months later, the con­sul­tant ex­plained Mike would need re­con­struc­tion surgery.

They re­built his en­tire knee dur­ing a four hour op­er­a­tion, which in­volved drilling metal into his bones, and mak­ing new lig­a­ments from his left ham­string.

The op­er­a­tion was ini­tially a suc­cess, but just a month later he was rushed back to hos­pi­tal with an ex­treme in­fec­tion.

It was so se­vere that he nearly died from blood poi­son­ing and he had to have a se­ries of op­er­a­tions to flush it out. Medics told me the in­fec­tion was so bad that if Mike had been an older man he wouldn’t have made it. We thought he was on the mend, but a few weeks later we found out the in­fec­tion had eaten away some of Mike’s re­placed lig­a­ments, putting him back in hos­pi­tal again. He was re­leased - just in time for our first wed­ding an­niver­sary on 20th June - but he soon faces hav­ing an­other re­con­struc­tion. More than year af­ter the mishap, Mike has only just got back on his feet. We’re not an­gry with Gemma at all. It was just an in­no­cent ac­ci­dent and we’re sure she didn’t mean for all of this to hap­pen the way it did. If I had any ad­vice for wed­ding guests it would be to leave the groom to his bride - and the moves to the pro­fes­sion­als!

It was our song

Fi­nally Mr and Mrs

Not the time of our lives

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from UK

© PressReader. All rights reserved.