Journeys you should and shouldn't make

My granddad used to say that there's a journey in everyone's life you regret making. For him, it was his trip to New Zealand to see an old friend
Tony, who’d moved out there. It led to a dreadful falling out that put him off travelling for years.

For me, it was going to Tom and Cerys' wedding.

I should never have gone. Mum was in hospital, was dying in hospital, and I should have stayed by her side. But Tom and Cerys were close friends and Vicky was one of the bridesmaids. We talked about Vicky going without me, but she doesn't drive and it would have taken a lot of organising of buses and train timetables. Besides which, I wanted to be there. It had been a pretty bleak few weeks, mum's cancer had dominated everything. This at least was a chance to get away, catch up with Swansea friends, a jolly occasion all round.

As Vicky said, I needed the break more than anything.

What I didn't need was Tom taking me for a walk in the middle of the reception to tell me he was already having doubts, precisely and hour and 17 minutes after completing the vows. When I eventually managed to drag Tom back to the reception I got blamed for dragging him away.

Vicky meanwhilst, was getting absolutely plastered, which is hard enough to deal with at the best of times, but worst when you're the only one not drinking. It was impossible to persuade her to leave the reception to go home, it led to a shouting match, one of our first. In the end she decided she'd stay with Linda and make her own way back via trains and buses while I drove back.

I guess that given how stressed, tired and emotional I was, an accident was hardly unexpected, my driving was simply not at its best. But you don't think about these things at the time. I just wanted to get back to mum, didn't want to be away for more than a day.

Because of the crash I missed my mum's last moments on Earth, though I knew nothing about it. My first two weeks in hospital I was out of it, in a coma, the doctor thought it fifty-fifty whether I'd wake up at all, the odds on a complete recovery were poor.

Luckily when I finally woke my faculties were fine. I woke to see my dad sat there, his vigil changed from one loved one's bedside to another. Vicky was nearby, just getting a coffee, full of self-regret for letting me depart after our row.

The car had been mangled beyond recognition, as was my body. I had two broken legs and a completist collection of injuries, more bones broken than most people could name. I was told I might never walk again. In the meantime, the chief surgeon was introducing me to his team as their next three month's work. It would take eleven operations altogether, humpty dumpty would have taken less work.

So that was definitely the journey I should never have made.

But what granddad forgets to mention is that there are some journeys you just have to make, journeys that shape your life. For him, it was coming to this country in the first place, without which he'd never have met his wife, wouldn't have had the kids, wouldn't have the grandkids.

For me, it was the journey I was told I might never make. It wasn't to another country to start a new life, just a very simple walk to the top of the drive, 300 yards from the doors of the hospital. A journey I was told I would probably never be able to make.

After the first few operations the breaks in my legs were patched together, but I had to wait for a month before the casts came off. I hadn't moved from my bed in two months, so my muscles had faded to nothing. I had to work every spare hour on my exercises, which left me weak beyond feeling, but I kept pressing on. My black dog moments were balanced out by the overwhelming joy that accompanied my first steps.

After that I walked and walked and stretched and stretched. It took me a full four months, but eventually the great day came. Still in my pyjamas, I walked through the doors of the hospital and took the first steps down the drive.

It seemed to take forever, every part of my body was moaning at the exertion.

I eventually reached my goal, the shelter at the bottom of the drive. Hands shaking with joy I took out my cigarette packet and lit up. In all my life I've never, ever, needed a fag this badly.