Brad Guy

I can't move my neck so I can only hear these things as I'm looking up at the sky.

And as I'm getting lifted into the back of the ambulance, I can just hear my mom and my boyfriend and one of my sisters.

They'd come running.

It was probably like two kilometers.

They'd seen it all happen.

They'd seen where we had fallen.

It was not near the airport at all.

And I could just hear my mom telling me that she loved me and everything was going to be okay.

And that's, that's the hardest part to reflect on for me because I just felt like a burden and sorry, like I, I'd done something to them and it was heartbreaking.

Uh, I didn't even put my own pain or feelings first because I just felt so, so sorry for my mum who's in her mid sixties, who ran all that way.

God.

And she's like typical tuck shop lady, full of love, classic Aussie mom.

I've loved being able to memorialize her and my dad in my story as well because they were so pivotal to my recovery and my whole life.

So to feel like I had scared them and frightened them with my mortality was extremely heartbreaking.

I've just got injections, morphine, pills, water.

It's mayhem.

And all I can see is the roof of the hospital.

I don't know where my family is.

I don't even know where I am.

And I wasn't even sure what really had happened at that point.