MsStar39 reminded me in her paramedic post about a time when I thought I was shot in the head. Yes thats right. I thought I had been shot in the head.
It was a warm night but their had been showers during the day. We were on patrol. Tensions were high. The marching season was close and the two communities were at each others throats. I had been in Northern Ireland for a few months. I was getting bored with the routine. Thats right routine. Everyone has this impression of Northern Ireland during the troubles as the wild west. It could be scary thats for sure. On the most part however people went to work, spent time with their families, played sport and went out with friends. Marching season however was when the tensions that hid just under the surface would boil over. We were entering a a well known republican estate. As soon as the kids saw us they started their usual greeting. The banging of metal rubbish bins on the ground, whistles getting blown. Some young kids that were out late started throwing stones at our amoured landrovers. The armoured Landrover has a roof that opens up allowing us to stand up and scan the area. Only me and Rocky had our heads up the others 2 guys were sat down having a break. The kids always threw stones it was their favorite sport. Kids under 10 are not criminaly responsible and were encouraged by the older youths to throw anything they could get their tiny hands on. So they did. We always ignored them. Well normally sometimes we snuck water bombs into the landrover with us. If we thought we could get away with it we let the little buggers have em lol. As we slowed to turn again it happened. One minute I was standing up, the next I was on my back looking up and out of the land rover. I could feel pumping on the side of my head. WTF. I put my hand to my neck. I felt the warm sticky wetness and held my hand in front of me. "I'M HIT...HIT...BASTARDS HAVE SHOT ME!" I was convinced I had been shot. The roof was closed and rocky took off my helmet. It split into two as he removed it. Blood was gushing and I could tell by the look on Rockys face that it was gushing. He placed a battle dressing to my head. I was beginning to panic. "TELL MY MUM......TEL MY DAD....." My head was spinning I was going. I shut my eyes.
I'm lying down. MY head is throbbing but I'm not in pain. I open my eyes. WTF! where did the landrover go. I'm looking at a white ceiling.
"There you are tosser" I recognised Rockys voice
His smiling face came into view. I could not focus on anything but I knew he was smiling. I went to sit up. "steady there nasty.....don't get up relax"
"Where was I shot?" was that my voice. I knew it was but I sounded different.
Rocky laughed so hard. "OH they shot me.....I'm Hit ....I'm Hit....mummyyyyy.......daddyyyyyy" he was using a high pitched girly voice. Taking the piss.
His face came into focus. A look of pure joy all over it. He started with the girly voice again. "I'm shot somebody heeeelllllllppppp meeeeeee......waaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh"
"you tosser...you dopey tosser.....you got hit by a brick it split your helmet and gashed your head. It didn't even fracture your skull you complete wanker....BWAAAHAHAHAHA"
I started laughing with him. "you fucker you were supposed to be watching my back"
"Fucking hard to do that when your lying on it crying like a baby" was his responce.
That was it. Someone unseen had thrown a brick off one of the buildings and got lucky. 10 stitches and a little sleep and I was fine.
I'll never forget that panic though. I was sure I had been shot in the head and was dying. I still remember that waking moment to. Was I dead. LMAO. Scar is still there to this day. I used to keep my hair cut real short just to keep it visible. My war wound. It sure helped with the ladies. Of course the version I told was far more heroic than the one I reveal to you guys now. Versions have varied wildly from a huge gun battle, to huge explostions :) All depending on what I thought I could get away with telling at the time and how much alcohol I have consumed.
Hope I find you all happy and healthy.
