ON The Cover
After hitting rock bottom, Christen Mcginnes, 47, made a drastic decision that would change her life
Christen’s horrific injuries ‘I felt absolutely nothing’
As I sat on the balcony watching the sunrise, I was engulfed with a sense of calm. It was 7am and, closing my eyes, I savoured the sound of the birds singing and the gentle breeze on my skin. It was a serene moment, one which may ordinarily have made someone feel grateful for being alive. But, for me, it felt like the perfect moment to end my life.
A year earlier, in 2009, I had everything to live for. I was 38, had a good job as a data specialist and a partner I adored.
Our carefree days were filled with dinners with friends and long walks with my beloved dog Sandy.
But, within just a few months, my whole world fell apart. I was made redundant, my best friend Romona died from cancer and Sandy suddenly passed away. With my heart already broken, my boyfriend dumped me.
Everything I loved seemed to disappear overnight and, not wanting to burden my family and friends, I shut myself away in the flat I rented in Virginia, USA, drinking to numb the pain.
With no job, my savings ran out fast and I was soon served an eviction notice. I was too ashamed to tell my roommate and, spiralling into depression, spent sleepless nights with a crushing feeling in my chest.
On 22 October 2010, after another restless night, I woke up in the morning feeling utterly hopeless.
‘This will never get better,’ I thought. ‘Just kill yourself.’ I was only 39.
I couldn’t see any other way out, and a strange calm took over me. I reached into my bedroom drawer and retrieved the handgun an ex had bought me five years previously so I’d feel safe. Living in America, many people kept a gun for protection.
Sitting on my balcony, that’s how I found myself about to take my life.
I’d never used the gun before, and though my hands shook as I loaded the bullets, I felt light and free. Lifting the cold metal to my chin, I told myself, ‘Things will be better soon.’ And then I pulled the trigger.
The explosion was like a bomb and I felt absolutely nothing, not even pain.
I remember hearing screaming as I collapsed, and realised it was my roommate. I didn’t know he was home.
Sirens wailed. Then, a voice said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got you,’ before I blacked out.
I woke feeling groggy and disorientated. Through bleary eyes, I saw my dad, Paul, then 63, and my mum, Marilyn, 63, staring at me in anguish.
I had no recollection of what I’d done, and tried to speak, but
couldn’t. Confused, I realised my face felt like it was covered in padding. I was given a white board, and slowly wrote, ‘What happened?’
‘Honey, you shot yourself,’ Dad said gently, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Suddenly, I remembered everything. The gun, the deafening blast, the sirens…
‘But you’re going to be OK. All you need to do is heal,’ Dad said, squeezing my hand.
I was so heavily drugged I just felt numb.
But, over the next few days,
as the medication wore off and I became more coherent, I was told about my condition. I’d been in a coma for three weeks, and had already undergone 14 operations.
I’d lost my right eye, two thirds of my teeth, the right side of my face and a third of my tongue.
Now, the pain hitting, I couldn’t talk, eat or drink. I had a tracheotomy and a feeding tube and was so weakened by the surgery I couldn’t walk. As I lay bedbound in hospital, covered in bandages, I wished I’d died.
So concerned about the effect my injuries would have on my fragile mental state, the doctors wouldn’t let me see my reflection. In the dark recesses of my mind, I imagined myself as an unrecognisable, mangled mess.
I tried to gauge my appearance from the reaction of friends and family. But, instead of shocked gasps, I received an outpouring of love. The support was overwhelming as my room filled with flowers and cards.
After three weeks I urged nurses to let me see the damage. Relenting, they helped me to a bathroom mirror.
All of my life I’d taken my good looks for granted. I’d been blessed with long auburn hair, striking blue eyes and a beaming smile.
But, stealing a glance at my reflection, my body shaking, it looked like I was wearing a Halloween mask.
My right eye was missing, and my remaining eye peered out from a grossly swollen face. My skin was dotted with stitches and zigzag scars. I was in so much shock, I couldn’t even cry. My face was so ravaged, so lop-sided, I didn’t recognise myself. But, through the darkness, my dad’s words sprung into my mind.
‘You’ve been saved for a reason,’ he’d kept telling me. And in that moment, something fundamental in me shifted. I resolved to accept what I’d done and be thankful to be alive. With this new wave of optimism, began a gruelling road to recovery.
Over the next two years, I underwent multiple surgeries as doctors used tissue from my breast and hip from my bone to rebuild my face. I was also given an artificial eye.
Their skills were nothing short of miraculous, but still, there were many dark days where I grieved for the woman I once was.
When I ventured outside, people would stare. And, yet, slowly, with the help of counselling, I started to adjust to this ‘new me’ and ‘new life’. My days were now filled with hospital appointments and therapy to help me walk, talk and eat.
In October 2012, a nurse I’d become friends with invited me to a party. She thought I deserved some fun, but I was worried how her friends would react when they saw me.
But she insisted it would be good for me. So, mustering all my courage, I went along and she introduced me to a gorgeous man called Dave.
‘Hi,’ I said shyly, my speech slurred. ‘Hello,’ he replied, smiling.
Dave already knew about what had happened to me, but didn’t treat me any differently. With my lopsided smile and wonky eye, I never imagined a man would ever find me attractive. But, as he made me laugh, I couldn’t deny the chemistry.
I’ve found happiness
At the end of the night, Dave looked at me like I was the most beautiful woman in the world and kissed me. After that, we grew close and Dave became my rock – and still is today.
I’ve had 49 operations to date, and will need several more to replace missing teeth and help with painful scar tissue. Even then, I’ll never look like I did before.
But Dave has taught me to see past the scars to the strong person I truly am. I am lucky to have now found happiness, and regret what I did. For anyone who feels as desperate as I once did, reach out to someone who cares. Help is out there and it’s worth it. Life is worth it.
‘I didn’t recognise myself’