Throat Slashed After Do
Festive ‘do’ after some tough years Brutal attack by a drunken thug Lucky escape from bomb blast
Iwas like a cat with nine lives. That’s what my husband Carl, 44, called me. I’d had a run of bad luck, one thing after another.
It started in 2011 when I was diagnosed with incurable inflammatory breast cancer.
Just 37, I had two daughters, Lois, then 5, and Darcey, 4. Cancer. So cruel.
I had chemotherapy and a mastectomy on my left breast.
But the cancer returned in my skin and I had to have radiotherapy.
I knew my cancer would never go away completely, but I learned to live with it.
Three years later, in 2014, my strength was tested again.
My cousin Donna was visiting from America, and my dad Brian drove us to North Wales to see the sights.
But as I dozed in the back, there was a huge smash.
Pain tore through me and everything went black.
Turned out Dad had passed out at the wheel due to a blood clot travelling to his lung. He’d veered off the road and we’d smashed into a tree.
Dad had fractured his spine, but doctors were confident that he would be OK.
I’d suffered major head injuries and two bleeds on the brain.
‘You’re lucky to be alive,’ the doctor said when I came round.
Over the next few months, I made a good recovery, learning to walk and talk all over again.
I’d had another lucky escape.
Life settled down once more.
I even started a clinical trial to treat my cancer.
Soon, incredibly, tests found no more traces of the cancer.
‘Our luck’s finally changing,’ I told Carl.
So, in December 2016, I really wanted to celebrate.
Carl and I ran a hair salon and we planned to take our staff out on a festive knees-up. ‘After the last few years, we deserve a bit of fun,’ Carl said.
We had a great afternoon, shopping at the markets in Manchester, and then we hit a karaoke bar.
Everyone was in good spirits.
‘Happy Christmas, darling,’ Carl said, pulling me in for a kiss.
By 10.30pm, we caught the last train back to Warrington.
Next to the station, I spotted a takeaway. ‘You wait at the taxi rank, I’ll get some chips,’ I said.
As I queued at the takeaway, I heard a commotion outside.
Thinking it was the usual Christmas chaos, I ignored it.
Race to hospital
A few minutes later, I emerged, but there was no sign of Carl.
Our friend Nic came rushing over to me.
‘Carl’s had to go off in a taxi. He’s hurt,’ she cried. ‘What?!’ I shrieked.
I jumped in the next cab and raced to hospital.
What’s happened? Is Carl OK?
When I finally saw him in the treatment room, I almost choked.
There was a gaping hole in his neck, I could see his flesh and there was so much blood.
So horrific,
There was a hole in his neck ...and so much blood
I could barely look.
‘I’m OK,’ he croaked.
But he clearly wasn’t! He explained that a total stranger had taken offence at one of our group for laughing at him throwing up.
He’d attacked Carl, completely unprovoked, ramming a bottle in his neck.
Doctors told us that the bottle had missed a major artery by just one millimetre.
If that had been cut, he would likely have bled to death.
Thankfully, he’d make a full recovery.
But realising how close
I had come to losing Carl was terrifying.
After two days, Carl was allowed home, with 12 stitches in his neck.
But we both struggled to put the attack behind us.
Our lovely outing had been ruined by one violent brute.
I couldn’t let him destroy the rest of our festivities though.
I was determined to have a good Christmas for the girls. We had an extra-special gift for them – tickets to see Ariana Grande at Manchester Arena the following May. They couldn’t wait.
‘It’s going to be so cool,’ Lois, 12, grinned.
When May came around, we were excited.
Carl was still suffering flashbacks and anxiety, but we wanted to forget our troubles for a night.
And the gig didn’t disappoint – the concert was brilliant and the girls were buzzing.
But, as we gathered our belongings to leave, there was a deafening bang.
The whole place seemed to shake.
‘Probably just a blown speaker,’ Carl reasoned, trying to be calm.
Then we heard people screaming and falling over each other to get out. Panic set in as we queued for one of the exits.
Outside, there were police cars everywhere.
‘Let’s get to the car,’ I told Carl and the girls.
Terror attack
When we put the radio on, we heard the terrifying news that a bomb had exploded in the foyer of the arena.
It was a terror attack and we had escaped, unlike others. We’d cheated death again. All I could think of were the 22 people who lost their lives.
‘We must have a guardian angel watching over us,’ I said.
In September, Carl’s attacker, Josh Murphy, 22, appeared at Liverpool Crown Court.
He admitted to wounding and was jailed for 20 months, with the judge telling him that if he’d hit an artery, he could have faced homicide charges.
Carl still suffers from a dull ache at the side of his face.
The damaged muscles and nerves will never fully repair.
And he’ll never forget that vicious attack.
But, after everything we’ve been through, we’ve got a lot to be thankful for.
Life has thrown us some curveballs, but we just keep batting them away.
As a family, we’re stronger than ever.
And, after several years of rotten luck, we’re hoping next year will be our year.
So, here’s to 2018!
A special gift – tickets to see Ariana Grande...