Miracle Aussie: Shot in the head and I survived

Determined to inspire, Daryl’s on a mission to help others

Daryl Green, 48, Brisbane, Qld

Sitting in the back of the police car, I listened to my colleagues talk on the phone and radio.

It was around 3am, and, aged 27, I was on duty with my fellow police of cer, Sharnelle Cole, and our supervisor, Christopher Mulhall.

We’d been called out to a residential area following reports of a man threatening to kill someone, and it was claimed he had a gun.

Now, Sharnelle and Chris – who were in the front seats – were running background checks.

The car doors were still open, and it was pitch black outside. For some reason, something about the situation felt ominous.

Hearing a pat, pat, pat, from the darkness, I looked to my left.

The next thing I knew, I was lying across the back seats.

Putting my hands to my mouth, I felt them ll with teeth, bone and blood. I’d been shot in the face! Because of the adrenaline, I didn’t feel any pain.

Then, I saw Sharnelle curled up.

‘Save me, save me,

I’ve been shot in the arm,’ she cried.

Chris was missing.

I had to nd him – and the gunman.

‘Get help!’ I shouted to Sharnelle, somehow managing to shout despite my injuries.

Pulling out my gun, I got out of the car and searched the cul-de-sac.

When I couldn’t nd them, I went back to guard Sharnelle.

Then, the pain kicked in. As blood gushed from my mouth, I used my left hand to stem it.

Hearing sirens, I felt euphoric knowing help was on its way.

When the ambulance arrived, I insisted that Sharnelle went rst.

It turned out it was Chris who’d called emergency services from a nearby house, after being shot twice himself.

Getting in the next ambulance, we then picked him up.

‘Greeny, can you believe this?’ he panted.

‘No, I can’t mate,’ I replied, stunned.

Covered in blood, my left arm and mouth were in agony.

At Royal Brisbane Hospital, I learned that I’d been shot twice, too – once in my head and once in my left shoulder.

The rst bullet had smashed my upper jaw bone, shattering ve teeth before becoming lodged in the back of my throat.

I’d also lost a huge

My left arm and mouth were in agony

amount of blood.

‘If the bullet had landed two inches higher, you’d be dead,’ the doctor said.

My parents, Alan and Eileen, arrived at the hospital.

‘I’m so happy you’re alive,’ Mum cried, tearfully.

Still in shock, I was rushed for emergency surgery, where they managed to extract the bullet.

Thankfully, Chris and Sharnelle, who had also been shot in the face, were recovering well.

After a week, I was discharged and went to stay at Mum and Dad’s.

Meanwhile, police were trying to track down the gunman, who had been identi ed as Nigel Parodi, 32, a psychopath who had fantasised about killing.

We found out that, standing about one metre from the car, he’d lifted his sawn-off ri e and pumped multiple rounds at us.

After a three-week-long manhunt, they found Parodi’s body in bushland. He’d died by suicide.

I still had a long road ahead. I was left with minimal scarring on my face, but I needed reconstructive ops to repair my shattered mouth, and rebuild my gums and teeth. For months, I couldn’t chew food and was only able to drink liquids with a straw.

The pain was unbearable and I was utterly miserable.

Returning to work in a different department, I hoped it would help my low mood, but it didn’t. I suffered from horrendous nightmares, and even a door slamming scared me.

Feeling depressed, and experiencing chronic post-traumatic stress disorder, it was only my parents’ support that kept me going.

‘You can’t bottle this up,’ Dad said.

So, I started speaking to a psychiatrist.

‘The gunman is winning,’ he told me.

That’s when it hit me

– I wasn’t going to let that happen.

Deciding to face my fears, I became a

rearms instructor.

It wasn’t easy – at times I struggled with ashbacks.

But I was determined, and by the end, I wasn’t scared of rearms anymore.

It was soul-restoring. In 2006 – six years after the incident – I spoke to a group of police recruits about my story.

It felt so empowering.

And when I was asked to talk at a corporate team-building day, I jumped at the chance.

Since then, I’ve travelled around the country as a motivational speaker, sharing my story to help others.

I’ve endured so much, and picked up some valuable life lessons over the last two decades.

I believe I was meant to survive to share these lessons with others.

Through my motivational speaking, I’ve won awards and even become a Lifeline ambassador, which was a huge honour.

I’ve also set up a website, twiceshot.com, to spread my message of hope.

By speaking out, I want to break the stigma that surrounds mental health.

It’s not something to be ashamed of – speak up and get help.

Nothing lasts forever and there is always hope.

It may not be an easy journey, but you have it in you to make it through. ●

Nothing lasts forever and

there is always hope