It sounds hopelessly melodramaric to say that this week as been one of the most challenging of my life, and almost certainly one which at its end my family will never be the same again, but I can not think of any other way of describing it. Sunday night my dad was in an accident, one which he was more than lucky to come out of alive. Someone was truly watching over him that night, and despite the fact that this is a truly life changing accident, whoever that was saved me from loosing my dad that night. Sunday evening mum had a phone call. I quite often over hear her on the phone, if she hears bad news we get the standard 'Oh my god! That's awful, keep me informed won't you?'. It's normal for mum to get calls like that, working with the elderly, death and illness are part of the job. But something was different, I felt some seance of foreboding about this phone call and I didn't know why, until ashen faced mum came down and told me that dad had been in an accident and broken both legs. I was worried for my dad and I was upset that he must be in a lot of pain, but people break legs all the time, two broken legs, though horrible can't be that bad can they? But it wasn't just broken legs, plaster casts and pain killers were going to do nothing for him. I arrived at the hospital, and when I saw all of my dads wives family in the waiting room suspected that this was more than a couple of breaks. When I was walked around to resus my suspicions were confirmed. He looked so vaunerble, my dad, my strong, proud, bulletproof dad was laying there broken and in pain - and I couldn't do anything about it. I'll never forget the look of confusion and pain in his eyes, he didn't know what had happened to him. He didn't know where he was. All he knew was that he was hurting, and he was scared, and at the point in time I would have done anything, anything I could to have removed that pain and that fear. Over the next few hours I realised just how lucky I was to be standing there holding his hand, and having him looking back at me. I was so close to loosing my dad that night, so close to not having a father to walk me down the isle, and nothing can prepare you for that. I was soon to learn that he had collided with a 4x4 whilst out on his motorbike, and air lifted to the nearest specialised trauma centre they could find. There he was diagnosed with two badly fractured femur's, a broken wrist, a broken arm, a dislocated shoulder, broken nose, broken sinus bone and widespread brusing. The next day they added brusing to the skull to that list. The next day I arrived to find him pale and exhausted, and was informed that over night he had taken a turn for the worse. His sats were worryingly low, when he took his mask off to have a sip of water they promptly dropped to 75%, they suspected that his lungs had been damaged in the accident, and we're ready to move him from ITU to NCCU - but our prayers were answered, and now he is picking up a little. Right now we are all struggling to come to terms with the fact that my dad has been in a life changing accident, that he may never be able to do all the things that he used to do. He's struggling to come to terms with the fact that this is going to be a long, hard road to journey up. I still have my foolish moments, the points in the day where I shut my eyes and tell myself when I open them it will all be over. Or when I'm walking to the bus I catch a glimpse of someone who looks a little like him, and my heart starts for a second, as a glimmer of hope makes me believe the whole thing was a bad nightmare. I'm finding myself clinging on to the last day that we spent together, him walking along, darting out of my was as I go to hit him for some tasteless joke. I wonder if he will ever dart away like that again? I am getting into what now feels like a routine of waking up wishing, going into a long crying jag, stemming my tears long enough to eat and then crying some more before pulling myself together and going to the hospital. The six hours there are painfully slow, and yet the look in my dads eyes when I have to leave him make me wish I never had to leave.. But I have to, and so I go home, cry some more, and fool my body into a chemically induced sleep. I know this routine is going to be my life for a long time, and though I feel selfish for saying so, I don't know how much more of it I can take. I just want my old daddy back, the one who spent most Sundays whiz zing around the countryside on his pride and joy, the dad who would spend hours with us playing tigers and lions, just to keep us amused. I want him well again, and not being able to make that happen makes me want to hide in my little world where nothing is impossible and nothing will cause me sadness.