How I fell on my face and learned about life: A personal essay.

I had the worst accident of my life 6000 miles away from home, on my own. And I kept going. I wrote this essay to describe what happened and how it changed my outlook on life.

Last September I flew from my home in Ireland to Shanghai to study Chinese for a year. In the beginning, it was incredibly difficult. I was struggling with the local bureaucracy, the language, the customs, and a very deep loneliness. I couldn’t wait for the Chinese New Year holidays in January, when I could go traveling. Everything was working up to those 5 weeks.

Having nobody to travel with, I planned a solo trip to Thailand and Malaysia. People said I was so brave! But I found that ridiculous. I was going on a vacation, not going to war. True enough, but little did I know I’d return with injuries.

My trip started well. I spent five beautiful days in Chiang Mai, had a quick stopover of two days in Bangkok, and then made my way down south to Koh Tao island. Koh Tao’s scenery is stunning. I went snorkleing, and was enchanted by the clear water and beautiful fish. It felt like a paradise!

But I soon realised I wouldn’t be able to see the whole island in four days without some form of transport. Walking everywhere wasn’t practical. I don’t have a driver’s license, so I couldn’t rent a motorbike like most other tourists (though the motorbikes scared me a bit anyway!). I decided to rent a mountain bike and take a trip over the hills to a hidden-away beach.

When I picked up my bike from the rental shop, I was offered a helmet almost as an afterthought. I eagerly accepted it. I’d rarely ridden a bike outside of a city, and I wanted to be safe. With my helmet on and my spirits high, I set off for the beach.

However, I hadn’t realised just how steep Koh Tao’s hills were. I was reduced to pushing the bike up the sharp inclines. It was exhausting. When I reached a summit before the descent to Sai Daeng Beach, I chained the bike up by the side of the road and walked down. I figured I could cycle back down the hill later when I was tired from swimming, and I’d be back to my hostel in no time.

That almost happened.

On my cycle back that afternoon, I was a little frightened at how hard it was to control the bike. I had to have the brakes jammed on to ride down the hills without shooting madly ahead. But it was going okay. I’d come all the way down onto almost level ground. I wasn’t going too fast. I could see the junction for the main road coming up. I was looking forward to getting back to watch the sunset.

And then suddenly, out of nowhere, I saw the front wheel twist to the left. I still don’t know how it happened. I felt myself fly off to the right as the bike fell. The ground came towards me in slow motion. I didn’t feel myself hit it. I didn’t feel anything. I just lay on my side like a flung doll, with my eyes closed. If I opened my eyes, I’d have to accept this was real.

“This isn’t meant to happen. This can’t be happening,” I thought. Then I heard a slow drip, drip, drip onto the road. I was bleeding. I instinctively knew it wasn’t my nose. My helmet had kept most of my face from hitting the concrete road, but I’d hit my mouth. I needed to get help.

I managed to shout, and people came running. A British tourist helped me up. She tried to calm and reassure me, as I was in shock and starting to panic.
“We’ll get you to the clinic. You’ll be okay, it’s just a bit of blood,” she said, but from the look on her face I could tell she was scared too. I must have looked horrific. I was put into the front seat of a pick-up truck, the “ambulance” for one of the clinics on the island.

Once there, I was ushered onto an exam table and surrounded by doctors and nurses. “Are you alone?” and “Do you have insurance?” were two of the first questions they asked me. The answer to both was yes; unluckily on one count, and extremely luckily on the other. Travel insurance is important, people - lesson number one!

The nurses held my hands tight as my wounds were stitched up. I had 17 stitches above my top lip, and five on the inside of it. Three of my front teeth were broken. Breaking a tooth had always been one of my worst nightmares. Now it had happened, I felt strangely calm. I was still breathing. Still walking. Still able to eat (carefully). The world was still turning. It hadn’t ended when I fell.

Back at the hostel, a roommate asked me if I was going to leave. My insurance would probably be able to help me get back to Ireland, she said. But it hadn’t even occured to me to go. I didn’t think I was hurt badly enough for that!

“Are you sure? It looks pretty bad to me,” she said uncertainly, staring at the gauze across my lip.

Weirdly enough though, I felt alright. I Skyped my family that evening, and we listed all the ways I was lucky – no concussion, no broken bones, no broken nose or jaw. I would be okay. I was going to heal.

But the very next day after the accident, the whole situation became even more surreal.

I returned from dinner that evening to a message on Facebook. It said a childhood friend of mine had died. He had taken his own life. He was 24, the same age I was. I couldn’t believe it. I had that same feeling again: “This can’t be real. This shouldn’t be happening.”

Suddenly I had a new sense of perspective - a few broken teeth pales in comparison to a young person being gone forever – but I also needed to handle grief on an island full of holidaymakers. I had to come to terms with the fact that I couldn’t attend my friend’s funeral or hug his family, and would have to make do with heartfelt Facebook messages. The whole thing just felt...wrong. It was wrong. It wasn’t meant to be this way. I wished more than anything that I could turn back time a few days and start again, and maybe none of it would happen. I felt like I’d fallen into a parallel universe that wasn’t meant to exist.

But I kept going. What else could I do? I messaged friends, and together we tried to come to terms with the loss of someone so dear to us. I went for long walks. I thought about how fortunate my family were that they weren’t burying me, and about how horribly unfair it was that my friend hadn’t gotten a second chance at life. I grieved, and I drifted, and I healed, slowly. I ate good food to nourish my body and paddled in the ocean and watched sunsets to calm my soul.

I extended my stay on Koh Tao by an extra 10 days altogether. I had root canal on one of my broken teeth and two temporary crowns fitted. I’d always been scared of root canal, but even though it hurt, I got through it. I was starting to realise some of my worst fears weren’t as terrible as they’d always been in my imagination. I could survive them.

I stopped by the clinic every day to get my stitches cleaned, and the nurses were all incredibly kind and helpful. I was getting to know the island, although I was a bit bored (I was there to snorkel but unable to go in the sea). Eventually my stitches were removed and I was able to leave Koh Tao behind. As the boat set out, I was aware that I was leaving a part of myself behind too. I had changed. But I needed to move on, in more than one sense.

After a night in Krabi, I flew on to Malaysia as I’d originally planned, and carried on with my travels. I was already looking a bit more normal. Some people I met along the way didn’t even realise I had a healing wound on my face, and were shocked to hear what had happened to me. And even more surprised to hear that I’d kept on with my travels.

“If we’d been hurt that badly, we would have gone home,” said two Canadian students.

“My mother would have gotten straight on a plane and come out to get me,” added a 19-year-old solo traveler.

So why didn’t I just give up and go home? Because I’m stubborn? Because I was afraid of the cost? Because I didn’t want to look weak and defeated? Because I wanted to prove to people that I was as brave as they’d thought I was? I don’t know. Maybe all of the above, maybe none of them. I didn’t think much about it; I just did it. As First Aid Kit say in one of my favourite songs: “There’s nothing more to it, I just get through it.” That’s become my manta.

I think this is the biggest lesson I’ve learned from the whole experience (apart from that helmets are CRUCIAL – if I hadn’t been wearing a helmet, my injuries would probably have been much worse). Even if situations are frightening, and even if I don’t feel brave or capable or grown up enough to handle them, I will get through them. Life will go on. So long as I’m still breathing, tomorrow will still come. And maybe it will only bring more heartache and trouble, but I’ll get through that too.

It helps to have a series of steps. On Koh Tao, I knew what I had to do to get better. Go to the clinic every morning. Be careful eating with my front teeth. Update my family. Talk to my friends. Go to the dentist on Friday. Then get my stitches out the following week. Then get payment sorted with the insurers. I had a timeline to follow. I was able to take it a day at a time. There was no point in worrying about the long term.

Now I’ve had time to adjust, I’ve had to accept that the accident has changed me. I look a little different. I have some scars. My top lip is a slightly different shape. I have fake front teeth. I startle easily – loud noises make me jump about a foot in the air, and anything that sounds like a bike skidding or crashing gets my heart pounding. I have been back on a bicycle a few times, but only on flat ground. I don’t think I’ll ever ride down a hill again! (I admit, it was probably a bit stupid to do so the first time...)

I feel a little more adult and mature nowadays. After dealing with the clinic and the insurance and the dentists, I’m more confident making decisions for myself. Even something as simple as phoning a stranger used to make me very anxious, but these days I can take a deep breath and just do it.

As well as this, I’m now someone with a personal connection to suicide. I never thought I’d lose anyone in my life this way, but as a result I’ve become more outspoken about mental health issues. I've been more open in discussing my own. It’s hard to talk about, but it has to be done. And so I keep on. I have the conversations, I do what I have to do. There’s nothing more to it – I just get through it.

Accidents will always happen. Bad news will always come eventually. Life is never going to go exactly as we plan it; that’s just not the way it works. There will be setbacks and disasters and horrible events that make us ask “Why me?”. It will be unfair sometimes. But we’re still breathing. There will still be another day, and another, and another. We’re strong. I never would have imagined I was this strong, because I never felt brave. But maybe strength isn’t about bravery. It’s just about carrying on. Doggedly pushing on a day at a time, even when it hurts and it feels like it will never stop hurting. That’s the secret I’ve found – there is no secret. There’s nothing more to it: we’ll just...get through it. We will.