Help Brain Injury Patients

My name is Jasmine, I'm 31 years old and live in Chesterfield with my partner Harry, and our darling son, Teddy. Our family are raising money for the Air Ambulance and Neurocare following a family trauma. This is our story.

On 9th December 2021 at around 16:45, our Dad, Ian, was walking home from the supermarket when he was hit by a car. Dad sustained a catastrophic brain injury, brain haemorrhage, skull fracture, several broken ribs, and multiple fractures including to his neck, shoulder blade and jaw, and a contusion to his lung. Emergency services, including the Air Ambulance, attended the scene within minutes of him being hit, and he was transferred to Sheffield Northern General Hospital. We are raising money for the Air Ambulance and Neurocare, in honour of the amazing care Dad has received. It is thanks entirely to the staff in our amazing NHS and Air Ambulance that Dad is still with us today.

From Harry:

On the night Dad had been hit by the car, Mum and I were transported to the hospital on blue lights in a Police car because Officers had been told Dad was probably not going to survive the night and that they needed to get his family there quickly. When we arrived at the hospital, we were taken into the family room by a doctor and told that Dad was very likely not going to survive. When I asked for a percentage for his chances of survival, I was told he had a 12% chance, and that even then, he still would probably not wake up and we would have to commence palliative care. I had to call my twin brothers, Jack and Tom, and my Dad's brother (my Uncle Steve) to tell them what had happened, and that Dad wasn't going to make it. Having to make that call will never leave me. Tom lives in London, so had to scramble to get a train home to say goodbye to his Dad, and Jack and his partner, Amelia, weren't even allowed to come and say their goodbyes to Dad because they were at home, isolating with COVID. By 10pm, me, Mum, my brother Tom, my partner Jasmine, Uncle Steve and Auntie Margaret had all come to sit with Dad, hold his hand and tell him that we love him, and effectively say goodbye. We thought we were never going to see him again.

That night, the staff had a meeting about Dad and one of the consultants made the decision that they needed to give Dad a fighting chance to survive. We will be forever grateful for that decision. Dad was placed into a medically-induced coma and had an intracranial bolt fitted into his head, which was effectively like a screw drilled into to his skull to measure the pressure inside his head from the brain injury and bleeding. He remained in his medically-induced coma for the next 5 days, during which time we were still not expecting him to survive, and every day he was still with us was a blessing. On the 5th day, the doctors wanted to stop the sedation and see if they could get any response from Dad. We were hoping and praying for him to wake up and show some signs of life. A scan showed that Dad's brain injury was so extensive, they did not expect him to wake up or show any signs of consciousness at all. The outlook was very bleak, and we were still prepared for the worst. Every day that passed felt like a month.

In the coming days, Dad still did not show any signs of life despite having his sedation removed and the staff working tirelessly to try and get him to respond. He was assessed and given a score of 3 on the Glasgow Coma Scale, which to ordinary people like you and me, means that someone is likely to suffer imminent brain death and suggests almost no chance of survival. The staff still persevered with Dad, and what was to come in the next few weeks was nothing short of a miracle.

The care Dad received at the Northern General was second to none. The staff there did everything they possibly could to get Dad to wake up and respond. Because of the COVID restrictions and the fact that everyone on the HDU is so vulnerable, only one visitor was allowed in to see Dad each day, and it had to be the same person every time, so that visitor was my Mum. She was allowed in for just one hour each day. I drove her from Chesterfield to Sheffield every single day, and she had to go in completely by herself, put on her mask, gloves and plastic apron, and sit at Dad's bedside while he was hooked up to machines and full of tubes. She read letters from us all, played voice notes that we had recorded, his favourite music, and recordings of our dog, Honey, barking - anything to try to elicit a response from Dad in case he could hear us.

By 20th December the pressure inside Dad's head had reduced, and his condition began to stabilise. We still hadn't had any response from him other than the odd spontaneous cough and twitch of a finger, but we were told these things still didn't indicate any consciousness. On Christmas Day, he finally started to flicker an eyelid. In the coming days, he opened his eyes, but we were still being told by the medical staff that even if Dad came through this, there was a very strong possibility he would be in a vegetative state for the rest of his life and would need 24/7 care and to be fed through a tube. We knew Dad would never want this life for himself, and that there may be some difficult decisions on the horizon for us as a family.

On 27th December, Dad had started to move his eyes and try to track people across the room, which to some people might not mean much, but to us it was huge. The team on the HDU were able to remove him from his bed, and have him sitting up in a chair, much to Mum's surprise when she arrived to visit him that day. On 29th December, Dad was taken off his ventilator, and he spoke for the first time. A member of staff at hospital explained to Dad that he had been in an accident and that he was in hospital, and he whispered back to her "hospital". The staff were so invested in Dad and his recovery, that they became emotional when he spoke, because they just weren't expecting him to survive, let alone wake up. None of us could believe it.

This was the beginning of a super-speed recovery for Dad. Within a week, he had started to form sentences, recalled that he used to be a science teacher, had given mum a kiss and waved to her when she came to visit one day, and had even managed to eat and drink something for the first time in weeks. We were so happy. He was transferred from Northern General to the Hallamshire on New Years Eve, and it was from then on that the COVID restrictions were brought into the Sheffield hospitals, meaning that no visitors were allowed at all. This hit us really hard as a family, because Mum's visits were the only thing that brought us any comfort each day, with updates from the staff and photos of Dad looking slightly better. We wondered how it was going to impact his recovery, not being able to see Mum, and we were worried that he might not continue to get better with these visits and messages from his family.

Thankfully, we were able to FaceTime Dad once a day while he was on the neuro ward in the Hallamshire, and this was the only contact we had with him. We had no idea if he was going to remember who we were, if he was going to remember his 5 month old grandson, Teddy, or if he would be able to hold a conversation. The doctors told us there was no way they would be able to predict Dad's abilities and function going forward, but the whole time they were not hopeful or optimistic at all, given the sheer extent of his brain injury. Some of the calls were really difficult, and we would just be talking at Dad, hoping some of it was going in and that he could hear and understand us. As the weeks went by, he gradually became more responsive, and he would be able to hold a basic conversation with yes and no answers. By the time Dad was moved to Chesterfield & North Derbyshire Royal Hospital on 19th January, he was able to walk around the ward. We sent an iPad from home for him to use and he would FaceTime us every day saying he wanted to come home, and asking about our dog, Honey.

As I write this today, I can still hardly believe that Dad is back home with us. He spent 43 days under the care of our incredible NHS as an inpatient, and with every day he seems more and more like himself. We are thanking our lucky stars that not only has Dad survived, but he is walking, talking, and back to cracking terrible "Dad jokes". There is still a long road to recovery for Dad, but the very fact that he is back where he belongs is nothing short of a miracle.

We can never repay the kindness and dedication of the people who have helped Dad, but we want to raise as much money as we can to help any families going through similar situations with their loved ones. Thank you so much for reading our story.

The Rickels family x