A Reply to Hate: Forgiving My Attacker. David Tucker

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СКАЧАТЬ I had to protect these two women. It was not that I felt safe or reassured by their presence, but I believe that I went from being afraid to being protective. To me, the presence of these two women in the hall when I entered was a life-changing moment. It may seem strange to claim that, but I truly believe that I may have ended up as a totally different person if they had not been there. I knew what being petrified felt like and I think it would have taken me a long time to be able to confront and to overcome such fear, if I could have done so at all. I still cannot explain it, but as soon as I saw these two women, the fear simply vanished. All this took place within the space of a few seconds and as far as my experience with running away and with fear went, it was done.

      As soon as I saw them, I think I shouted, “Call the police!” and I grabbed a chair and ran back towards the door. I was determined that he was not going to come in. That was the overwhelming issue with the presence of these two women. Perhaps the fact that I felt this way, with that determination, is what completely changed my attitude and took away the fear. I ran out and I saw that he was no longer there. He was gone; a few seconds of my life and that was it, he was not there anymore. I looked around a bit more to make sure he was not hiding, but there really seemed to be no-one around. Later, at the trial, I saw the CCTV footage, and I saw that he had ran after me. But then a few seconds later I think he might have realised that there could have been more people inside. CCTV showed him running out of the Centre’s grounds, back in the direction he had come from.

      Once I became confident there was no-one around, I went inside again, I put the chair down, paused, and then that horrendous pain started to really take effect. The two women asked me what happened, but all I could tell them was that someone had hit me. I think they themselves had a look outside and didn’t see anyone and then probably rushed to the prayer hall and called the others for help. Quite quickly, people started to come into the back hall where I was. By then, I was sitting on one of the wooden benches at the back of the hall grabbing tightly onto my neck. The pain was horrendous; I felt that if I were to let go of my neck that my head was going to fall off. I remember someone grabbing my right wrist to check my pulse and someone else asking me what had happened and if I could describe who attacked me. Still, there wasn’t any obvious wound or mark visible. But then someone wanted to have a look at my neck so they asked if I could let my left hand go. It was a struggle to let go. I slowly raised my head and made sure my neck was straight and gradually I was able to take my hand off. It was then that I heard: “You’ve been stabbed in the neck.”

      I don’t recall clearly what immediately went through my mind when I heard that. I did not experience anxiety or panic. I simply looked at my left hand and saw there was no blood. I was able to move everything in both arms, my fingers, my wrists and my elbows. There was no tingling or heaviness anywhere in my body. My breathing was normal and so was my voice. I remember saying “I am OK”, “Alhamdullilah (praise the Lord) I am OK.” My surgical and trauma training seemed to have spontaneously kicked in, and even though I did not know where exactly the entry wound was, I knew straight away that none of the vital structures in my neck were damaged. I was able to reassure myself and others that there was no need to panic.

      I was not aware that during this period someone started filming me on their phone and producing what would later become the short video that was circulated online. The video was no more than a couple of minutes long, but it did capture the moment. I still watch it with a sense of joy and relief as I believe it was a good reflection of me and I am just really glad I did not say or do something too embarrassing. I know I am a fairly level-headed and serious person, but I also like a laugh and I cannot help myself using a cliché now and again. When I realised I had been stabbed, I was heard saying on the video “The bastard got me in the neck.” This was later relayed back to me from a friend who said her little child told her “Uncle Nasser said a bad word.” That was probably one of the most embarrassing moments of the entire event; an Imam using the “B*” word. I remember that I asked ITV who requested permission to air the video to be kind enough to bleep or remove the “B*” word. It was a great relief when I watched the video on TV the following day and true to their promise, the “B*” word was gone.

      So, there I was sat on the bench, again grabbing my neck firmly having realised that I had been stabbed. Unbeknownst to anyone, I had just been off work for a week on study leave to attend the annual British Orthopaedic Association conference. This week off meant that I had literally hundreds of emails to get back to. If I end up taking another week off, I thought to myself, I might end up with even twice as many emails on my return. I resolved there and then to not take any time off, silly as it may sound, but by then this is what was running through my mind, the fact that I need to go back to work the following day. I’m not sure if thinking about the next day is a consequence of the shock of what had just happened to me, but I do recall that at some point I started thinking ahead about my immediate future, probably convincing myself that there was indeed going to be an immediate future. I don’t know. Perhaps I was just not looking forward to hundreds of emails.

      There was no external evidence of significant bleeding, but even so a few minutes down the line I started feeling a little faint and I knew I needed to lie down on the floor. I was aware that feeling faint was not unusual now that the adrenaline rush was winding down. The most important thing for me was to lie down and get blood to my head before I ended up fainting altogether. So, I was not so much worried about fainting, but I was also feeling a little bit queasy. I did have a minor concern in that I had just eaten before leaving home, and I knew very well that if I didn’t get down on the floor quickly, I might throw up. I really did not want to do that. I untied my belt to get comfortable, I started to breath slowly, I lay down on the floor and turned onto my right side, in a sense doing my own airway protection drill in case I did faint and throw up. In just short of a minute, it was a great relief that the sickly feeling passed and I no longer felt faint. A few moments later, the police and ambulance crew arrived.

      Still the magnitude of the event had not really dawned on me. I was in my little bubble and apart from that horrendous constant pain, I was somewhat fine. The paramedic arrived and the time came for them to put a drip in my arm. Of course, it is standard procedure to put that big needle in the arm, but of all things, I hate needles. Anyway, I said to the paramedic “It’s OK”, I opened my right arm and held my breath, and fortunately the paramedic was brilliant, I felt nothing. They wanted to immobilise me like they would do for a suspected blunt neck injury, but I reassured them that I did not have a blunt neck injury and there is no likelihood of me having suffered a broken neck. Anyhow, standard procedure carried on and I was put in a scoop. As they were about to carry me away, I remember people saying they needed to inform my wife, and I said, “Please don’t, please don’t tell her anything yet.” I just could not bear the thought that she wasn’t in a position to know what had happened to me, and to know that I’m physically and emotionally okay. I did not want her to be upset, but I later found out that by the time I was scooped, she had already been made aware of the attack. So, there I was on a funny little trip to the ambulance parked just outside the Centre, strapped into this narrow flimsy scoop, having to cede all control. As we went down those four steps that I earlier cleared with one jump the scoop felt wobbly, and I wondered if I was going to fall out. Soon I was being secured in the back of the ambulance. That drive was not a comfortable ride by any measure. It was an experience; the siren, the flashing lights and flying through the streets with no concept of time or direction, but I was not physically comfortable. Very soon, the back doors of the ambulance were flung open, and I was carried into Wythenshawe Hospital, my hospital.

Chapter 3

      Hospital

      This is insider information, but if you are unfortunate enough to be stabbed in Manchester, it is very likely that you would be rushed to Manchester Royal infirmary. This is neither my local hospital nor the hospital I work at and I did not want to end up there. I had somewhat cheekily asked the ambulance crew if they would take me to my local hospital. It was my decision, and I wanted to be treated where everyone knew me. By the time the ambulance arrived at the hospital I was no longer strapped to the scoop looking at the ceiling. I was now СКАЧАТЬ