ianstone
06-03-2010, 10:10 PM
Mum, I really need a hug:
One mother tells the moving story of her injured son returning from Afghanistan;
When our soldiers return from Afghanistan with terrible injuries, most are cared for by their wives or girlfriends. But many are so young it's their mothers who look after them.
Cheryl Edwards, 44, is one such woman - and she has been helped by funds raised by Daily Mail readers to aid families of injured soldiers. Her son Joe, 19, suffered severe spinal injuries in Afghanistan. Here, she describes how these women face the reality that their little boys have become severely injured young men...
Back then, most days were coloured by the low hum of anxiety. It's a feeling that other mothers of soldiers at war will recognise. You go about your daily business, but every so often the thought that your child is at danger bobs to the surface and fear pulses through you.
That day last July was no different in that respect. But then, at 9.30pm, I was sitting in the living room with my husband Arwel when I noticed a man strolling down our driveway. Immediately I thought the worst and my heart froze. Arwel, 47, hurried to the front door and I followed close behind him.
'What's happened?' I stammered. 'Joe's alive,' came the reply, 'but I'm afraid he's been seriously injured.'
http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2010/06/02/article-0-09C09C3D000005DC-778_468x544.jpg Constant carer: Cheryl Edwards's life was turned upside down when she received news that her son Joe had been seriously injured while serving in Afghanistan
Gently, Arwel led me back into the living room where I sat helplessly, head in my hands.
Tim, the family liaison officer, told us the information he'd been given by camp Bastion, the army base in Afghanistan where Joe had been serving for two-and-a-half months.
Apparently, Joe had been on a resupply mission with his fellow soldiers, driving along a road in Helmand Province when an IED (improvised explosive device) had exploded, destroying the Viking armoured truck they were travelling in.
As far as Tim knew, only Joe had been injured. He was to be flown to Britain and taken to Selly Oak Hospital in Birmingham.
Given the extent of the injuries, I found it hard to believe Joe could have survived at all: broken pelvis, shattered left leg, shrapnel wounds to lower calf ... the list seemed endless.
What I wanted more than anything was to be with my son, to hold him and comfort him and tell him how I loved him.
Tim gave me his numbers, assuring me I could call day or night with any questions.
When he'd gone, Arwel put his arms round me and I started to cry. I kept thinking back to all those times I'd been worried before, how anxious I'd been since the first day Joe told me, at the age of 13, that he wanted to join the army.
Although we're not a military family, I did have two cousins who had served in Northern Ireland and knew how dangerous it could be. But at the same time, I knew that if it was to be my son's career choice, it would be unfair to try to stop him.
Instead I made up my mind that I'd just have to stand by and support him. After joining the air cadets at 13, Joe did a week's work experience at a base in Shropshire two years later.
http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2010/06/03/article-1283541-09C28B62000005DC-422_468x607.jpg Not bitter: Joe was severely injured serving his country and requires further surgery on his spine
At 16, following an army preparation course, Joe went to Bassingbourn in Cambridgeshire, before completing his training at Catterick. In spite of my fear, I was thrilled when I heard he'd joined the Welsh Guards.
But that didn't stop me fretting when Joe announced in June 2008: 'Mum, I'm being sent to Afghanistan!' In spite of my immense pride at the sight of Joe in his red uniform, my first thought was: 'No, you're not!' Yet again, I had to force myself to stay quiet.
That Christmas I organised a big family get-together, in case the unthinkable should happen and we didn't get the chance to say goodbye properly.
The weekend before Joe's battalion was due to leave for a six-month tour of Helmand in April 2009, Joe and I talked a lot together, but never about what might happen to him there.
I watched the news on television about the increasing number of fatalities in Afghanistan with terror in my heart. After Joe had finally left, I thought about nothing else, waking up at night in a panic and finding my concentration constantly wandering at work. at this point, I didn't know any other mothers of soldiers, so I didn't have anyone else to share my anxiety with.
When he first arrived at the base in Camp Bastion, Joe was able to phone and email us twice a week, sounding cheerful. But once his battalion was posted out to different bases, and he saw action for the first time, I noticed a change in my formerly lively son. He sounded scared.
'I watched the news on television about the increasing number of fatalities in Afghanistan with terror in my heart'
Even though he'd been prepared for battle by his training, I think seeing it for himself came as a terrible shock. After this his conversation became much more guarded, restricted himself to asking about the food parcels, tubs of jelly, Fruit Pastilles and Angel Delight which I sent out to him twice a week.
He loved receiving letters and silly games. Anything that reminded him of home was good, even his favourite aftershave.
And then last July my worst nightmare became a reality. Yes, Joe was returning to me, thank God - but possibly disabled for life.
I realised how much I had to do before leaving to be at his side. After calling my daughter, Sarah, Joe's older sister, I broke the news to the rest of the family as gently as I could.
I tried to be calm, but it was hard to be strong when inside I was so scared. I still remember how grateful I was to my boss at the finance company where I worked - we are only a small company, but he gave me four months leave.
Following a sleepless night, I phoned Tim at 7.30am, asking him to run through Joe's injuries again. This time I wrote them down, including all the medical terms I didn't understand so I could look them up later.
Googling 'clamshell thoracotomy' with Sarah, I almost wished I hadn't, as this turned out to be a massive incision into the chest, indicating yet again the severity of Joe's injuries.
More...
Bomb disposal hero's George Cross collected by widow from the Queen (http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1283406/Bomb-disposal-heros-George-Cross-collected-widow-Queen.html)
Family pay tribute to 'outstanding' Royal Marine commando killed in Afghanistan (http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1283186/Family-pay-tribute-outstanding-Royal-Marine-commando-killed-Afghanistan.html)
Tim returned later that afternoon to introduce us to our 'visiting officer', Norman, and let us know that Joe was due to arrive in Selly Oak that evening.
I longed to be with him as soon as possible, and Arwel and I left our home in Colwyn Bay, Wales, to drive to Birmingham immediately. We arrived at Selly Oak at 8pm to be met by a welfare officer. He took us to the family quarters of Royal Centre for Defence Medicine.
Although Joe had rallied during the flight, we still had no idea of the extent of his injuries. We were finally allowed to see him at 11.30pm.
I had never been into an intensive care unit before, but the doctor warned me that much of the room would be in darkness and that Joe, who remained unconscious, would be wired up to machines monitoring his heart and blood pressure.
It's impossible to describe the mixture of dread and muted excitement I felt walking towards Joe's room.
To my relief, his face was not disfigured. His eyes were shut and apart from a small scar on his chin, he did not look as if anything had happened to him.
But then my eyes fell from his face to his body and I flinched. He was covered in bandages and hooked up to a ventilator. A huge metal frame held his pelvis together. It was heartbreaking not to be able to get properly close to him.
Joe was kept sedated for the next four-and-a-half weeks, going into theatre almost every other day for further operations. Particles of shrapnel remained in his body. He had lost most of his right calf and his left leg was covered in wounds.
After contracting an infection to the large wound in his pelvis ten days after his arrival in hospital, his doctor told us she had to remove most of his left hip.
By this time, Joe's kidneys had failed, so there was a possibility he could die on the operating table. I don't think I have ever been so afraid in my life as I was then. We were warned that the surgeon needed to operate immediately to try to save Joe, but that even if he did survive, he might have to lose his leg.
Looking back, I don't know how I got through the five hours it took for Joe to come back from theatre. I shall never forget the phone call from the surgeon to tell us they had managed to cut away all the dead tissue without amputating his leg. The next 48 hours were critical.
But slowly, Joe did start to rally, and after a further two weeks was out of danger and beginning to become aware of his surroundings. Although he was not sufficiently conscious to speak, his eyes were open and we were able to talk to him. Over and over I tried to reassure him, telling him where he was, what had happened and most importantly how much I loved him.
'It was five weeks before they removed the tube helping Joe's lungs and he was able to speak. He would deny it now, but his first words were: "Mum, I need a hug"'
The hardest part for me was trying to sound positive.
It was five weeks before they removed the tube helping Joe's lungs to inflate and he was able to speak. He would deny it now, but his first words were: 'Mum, I need a hug.' I carefully put my arms around him, trying not to interfere with the medical equipment.
Once Joe was fully conscious, the doctors were able to reassess his spinal injuries, removing his protective neck collar, but discovering that he was paralysed in his left leg.
Joe remained at Selly Oak for the next four-and-a-half months. Thankfully, I was able to stay in the nearby family accommodation, Norton House. During that time, Joe underwent a further 29 operations on his pelvis and spine.
Even though I had been describing Joe's injuries to him from the start, I don't think he took these in for about six weeks. Only then, when he realised he could not move his left leg, did he start to feel the full frustrations of his loss of mobility.
Ever since he was a small boy, Joe had loved football and rugby, and like any 18-year-old, he wanted to be back on his feet as soon as possible. He needed reassurance about everything, asking me to repeat his injuries to him, and in particular wanting confirmation that his friends had survived the attack.
It was an exhausting and emotional process for us, and I was immensely grateful to the staff at the hospital and the families at Norton House for helping me to get through it. It was wonderful to see other young men getting better and leaving, but poignant that Joe's recovery seemed to be taking longer.
By November 2009, four months after being injured, Joe was moved to the rehabilitation centre at Headley Court in Surrey. Although I initially went there with him, my period of compassionate leave from work was coming to an end.
So I travelled every weekend to visit Joe, where he was allowed occasionally to stay overnight with me in the accommodation provided by the Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Families Association (SSAFA).
It was that I got to know some of the other mothers. They were a huge support because we could all empathise with how each other felt. I remain in touch with four of them.
Two months later, Joe was allowed home for the first time, spending two weeks over Christmas with us before returning to Headley Court. We realised we would have to modify our home to provide wheelchair access and a bathroom for Joe on the ground floor.
By March, Joe was allowed home for three weeks. But we have since been told he requires more surgery on his spine.
Now, Joe is living with us until he goes to Stanmore Hospital in London in a few months. And he is desperate to claw back some of his independence.
He knows he is never going to be the way he was before he went to Afghanistan, but has been incredibly heartened by the hope he will be able to stand again, and perhaps even walk with a leg brace.
He has good days where he feels well and optimistic, but others when he is incredibly frustrated and low.
He is not bitter about what has happened, accepting he could as easily have been killed. But as his mother, I do wonder why we are in Afghanistan at all.
I can see what we are trying to do, but have my doubts as to whether we can do it. And if we can't, is Afghanistan worth all the suffering it is causing to boys like Joe?
Not to mention the families and friends who love them so much.
SSAFA would like to thank Daily Mail readers for the £568,000 donated for last Christmas's Daily Mail campaign.
Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1283541/Mum-I-really-need-hug-One-mother-tells-moving-story-injured-son-returning-Afghanistan.html#ixzz0pqTRkGN1
For our American friends, S.S.A.F.A. The soldiers, sailors,air force, families association, is an underrated and underfunded, forces charity past and present service personnel. My Brother in law who is in the services has worked tirelessly to help servicemen for over,10 years I'm proud of the charity and I'm proud of him. as a high ranking NCO and family man, he walks the walk. He cares about looking after servicemen
One mother tells the moving story of her injured son returning from Afghanistan;
When our soldiers return from Afghanistan with terrible injuries, most are cared for by their wives or girlfriends. But many are so young it's their mothers who look after them.
Cheryl Edwards, 44, is one such woman - and she has been helped by funds raised by Daily Mail readers to aid families of injured soldiers. Her son Joe, 19, suffered severe spinal injuries in Afghanistan. Here, she describes how these women face the reality that their little boys have become severely injured young men...
Back then, most days were coloured by the low hum of anxiety. It's a feeling that other mothers of soldiers at war will recognise. You go about your daily business, but every so often the thought that your child is at danger bobs to the surface and fear pulses through you.
That day last July was no different in that respect. But then, at 9.30pm, I was sitting in the living room with my husband Arwel when I noticed a man strolling down our driveway. Immediately I thought the worst and my heart froze. Arwel, 47, hurried to the front door and I followed close behind him.
'What's happened?' I stammered. 'Joe's alive,' came the reply, 'but I'm afraid he's been seriously injured.'
http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2010/06/02/article-0-09C09C3D000005DC-778_468x544.jpg Constant carer: Cheryl Edwards's life was turned upside down when she received news that her son Joe had been seriously injured while serving in Afghanistan
Gently, Arwel led me back into the living room where I sat helplessly, head in my hands.
Tim, the family liaison officer, told us the information he'd been given by camp Bastion, the army base in Afghanistan where Joe had been serving for two-and-a-half months.
Apparently, Joe had been on a resupply mission with his fellow soldiers, driving along a road in Helmand Province when an IED (improvised explosive device) had exploded, destroying the Viking armoured truck they were travelling in.
As far as Tim knew, only Joe had been injured. He was to be flown to Britain and taken to Selly Oak Hospital in Birmingham.
Given the extent of the injuries, I found it hard to believe Joe could have survived at all: broken pelvis, shattered left leg, shrapnel wounds to lower calf ... the list seemed endless.
What I wanted more than anything was to be with my son, to hold him and comfort him and tell him how I loved him.
Tim gave me his numbers, assuring me I could call day or night with any questions.
When he'd gone, Arwel put his arms round me and I started to cry. I kept thinking back to all those times I'd been worried before, how anxious I'd been since the first day Joe told me, at the age of 13, that he wanted to join the army.
Although we're not a military family, I did have two cousins who had served in Northern Ireland and knew how dangerous it could be. But at the same time, I knew that if it was to be my son's career choice, it would be unfair to try to stop him.
Instead I made up my mind that I'd just have to stand by and support him. After joining the air cadets at 13, Joe did a week's work experience at a base in Shropshire two years later.
http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2010/06/03/article-1283541-09C28B62000005DC-422_468x607.jpg Not bitter: Joe was severely injured serving his country and requires further surgery on his spine
At 16, following an army preparation course, Joe went to Bassingbourn in Cambridgeshire, before completing his training at Catterick. In spite of my fear, I was thrilled when I heard he'd joined the Welsh Guards.
But that didn't stop me fretting when Joe announced in June 2008: 'Mum, I'm being sent to Afghanistan!' In spite of my immense pride at the sight of Joe in his red uniform, my first thought was: 'No, you're not!' Yet again, I had to force myself to stay quiet.
That Christmas I organised a big family get-together, in case the unthinkable should happen and we didn't get the chance to say goodbye properly.
The weekend before Joe's battalion was due to leave for a six-month tour of Helmand in April 2009, Joe and I talked a lot together, but never about what might happen to him there.
I watched the news on television about the increasing number of fatalities in Afghanistan with terror in my heart. After Joe had finally left, I thought about nothing else, waking up at night in a panic and finding my concentration constantly wandering at work. at this point, I didn't know any other mothers of soldiers, so I didn't have anyone else to share my anxiety with.
When he first arrived at the base in Camp Bastion, Joe was able to phone and email us twice a week, sounding cheerful. But once his battalion was posted out to different bases, and he saw action for the first time, I noticed a change in my formerly lively son. He sounded scared.
'I watched the news on television about the increasing number of fatalities in Afghanistan with terror in my heart'
Even though he'd been prepared for battle by his training, I think seeing it for himself came as a terrible shock. After this his conversation became much more guarded, restricted himself to asking about the food parcels, tubs of jelly, Fruit Pastilles and Angel Delight which I sent out to him twice a week.
He loved receiving letters and silly games. Anything that reminded him of home was good, even his favourite aftershave.
And then last July my worst nightmare became a reality. Yes, Joe was returning to me, thank God - but possibly disabled for life.
I realised how much I had to do before leaving to be at his side. After calling my daughter, Sarah, Joe's older sister, I broke the news to the rest of the family as gently as I could.
I tried to be calm, but it was hard to be strong when inside I was so scared. I still remember how grateful I was to my boss at the finance company where I worked - we are only a small company, but he gave me four months leave.
Following a sleepless night, I phoned Tim at 7.30am, asking him to run through Joe's injuries again. This time I wrote them down, including all the medical terms I didn't understand so I could look them up later.
Googling 'clamshell thoracotomy' with Sarah, I almost wished I hadn't, as this turned out to be a massive incision into the chest, indicating yet again the severity of Joe's injuries.
More...
Bomb disposal hero's George Cross collected by widow from the Queen (http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1283406/Bomb-disposal-heros-George-Cross-collected-widow-Queen.html)
Family pay tribute to 'outstanding' Royal Marine commando killed in Afghanistan (http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1283186/Family-pay-tribute-outstanding-Royal-Marine-commando-killed-Afghanistan.html)
Tim returned later that afternoon to introduce us to our 'visiting officer', Norman, and let us know that Joe was due to arrive in Selly Oak that evening.
I longed to be with him as soon as possible, and Arwel and I left our home in Colwyn Bay, Wales, to drive to Birmingham immediately. We arrived at Selly Oak at 8pm to be met by a welfare officer. He took us to the family quarters of Royal Centre for Defence Medicine.
Although Joe had rallied during the flight, we still had no idea of the extent of his injuries. We were finally allowed to see him at 11.30pm.
I had never been into an intensive care unit before, but the doctor warned me that much of the room would be in darkness and that Joe, who remained unconscious, would be wired up to machines monitoring his heart and blood pressure.
It's impossible to describe the mixture of dread and muted excitement I felt walking towards Joe's room.
To my relief, his face was not disfigured. His eyes were shut and apart from a small scar on his chin, he did not look as if anything had happened to him.
But then my eyes fell from his face to his body and I flinched. He was covered in bandages and hooked up to a ventilator. A huge metal frame held his pelvis together. It was heartbreaking not to be able to get properly close to him.
Joe was kept sedated for the next four-and-a-half weeks, going into theatre almost every other day for further operations. Particles of shrapnel remained in his body. He had lost most of his right calf and his left leg was covered in wounds.
After contracting an infection to the large wound in his pelvis ten days after his arrival in hospital, his doctor told us she had to remove most of his left hip.
By this time, Joe's kidneys had failed, so there was a possibility he could die on the operating table. I don't think I have ever been so afraid in my life as I was then. We were warned that the surgeon needed to operate immediately to try to save Joe, but that even if he did survive, he might have to lose his leg.
Looking back, I don't know how I got through the five hours it took for Joe to come back from theatre. I shall never forget the phone call from the surgeon to tell us they had managed to cut away all the dead tissue without amputating his leg. The next 48 hours were critical.
But slowly, Joe did start to rally, and after a further two weeks was out of danger and beginning to become aware of his surroundings. Although he was not sufficiently conscious to speak, his eyes were open and we were able to talk to him. Over and over I tried to reassure him, telling him where he was, what had happened and most importantly how much I loved him.
'It was five weeks before they removed the tube helping Joe's lungs and he was able to speak. He would deny it now, but his first words were: "Mum, I need a hug"'
The hardest part for me was trying to sound positive.
It was five weeks before they removed the tube helping Joe's lungs to inflate and he was able to speak. He would deny it now, but his first words were: 'Mum, I need a hug.' I carefully put my arms around him, trying not to interfere with the medical equipment.
Once Joe was fully conscious, the doctors were able to reassess his spinal injuries, removing his protective neck collar, but discovering that he was paralysed in his left leg.
Joe remained at Selly Oak for the next four-and-a-half months. Thankfully, I was able to stay in the nearby family accommodation, Norton House. During that time, Joe underwent a further 29 operations on his pelvis and spine.
Even though I had been describing Joe's injuries to him from the start, I don't think he took these in for about six weeks. Only then, when he realised he could not move his left leg, did he start to feel the full frustrations of his loss of mobility.
Ever since he was a small boy, Joe had loved football and rugby, and like any 18-year-old, he wanted to be back on his feet as soon as possible. He needed reassurance about everything, asking me to repeat his injuries to him, and in particular wanting confirmation that his friends had survived the attack.
It was an exhausting and emotional process for us, and I was immensely grateful to the staff at the hospital and the families at Norton House for helping me to get through it. It was wonderful to see other young men getting better and leaving, but poignant that Joe's recovery seemed to be taking longer.
By November 2009, four months after being injured, Joe was moved to the rehabilitation centre at Headley Court in Surrey. Although I initially went there with him, my period of compassionate leave from work was coming to an end.
So I travelled every weekend to visit Joe, where he was allowed occasionally to stay overnight with me in the accommodation provided by the Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Families Association (SSAFA).
It was that I got to know some of the other mothers. They were a huge support because we could all empathise with how each other felt. I remain in touch with four of them.
Two months later, Joe was allowed home for the first time, spending two weeks over Christmas with us before returning to Headley Court. We realised we would have to modify our home to provide wheelchair access and a bathroom for Joe on the ground floor.
By March, Joe was allowed home for three weeks. But we have since been told he requires more surgery on his spine.
Now, Joe is living with us until he goes to Stanmore Hospital in London in a few months. And he is desperate to claw back some of his independence.
He knows he is never going to be the way he was before he went to Afghanistan, but has been incredibly heartened by the hope he will be able to stand again, and perhaps even walk with a leg brace.
He has good days where he feels well and optimistic, but others when he is incredibly frustrated and low.
He is not bitter about what has happened, accepting he could as easily have been killed. But as his mother, I do wonder why we are in Afghanistan at all.
I can see what we are trying to do, but have my doubts as to whether we can do it. And if we can't, is Afghanistan worth all the suffering it is causing to boys like Joe?
Not to mention the families and friends who love them so much.
SSAFA would like to thank Daily Mail readers for the £568,000 donated for last Christmas's Daily Mail campaign.
Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1283541/Mum-I-really-need-hug-One-mother-tells-moving-story-injured-son-returning-Afghanistan.html#ixzz0pqTRkGN1
For our American friends, S.S.A.F.A. The soldiers, sailors,air force, families association, is an underrated and underfunded, forces charity past and present service personnel. My Brother in law who is in the services has worked tirelessly to help servicemen for over,10 years I'm proud of the charity and I'm proud of him. as a high ranking NCO and family man, he walks the walk. He cares about looking after servicemen