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Bullet in the brain

My son was just being polite, but it almost killed him...


Published by: Laura Hinton
Published on: 19 January 2012

The sun was shining, so there was no other place I expected my son Chris to be but polishing his beloved silver Subaru. Bless him, he was forever tinkering with the thing.
Finally, he'd got the shiny finish he'd been looking for, and popped his head around the door.
‘Fancy nipping out with me?'
he asked. ‘I'm going over to Hollinwood to pick up a new tyre.'
‘Why not?' I said. I had nothing planned for the day, and the journey would only take 20 minutes.
‘Count me in, too,' shouted his brother Jack, 15, from the front room. ‘I need some fresh air!'
Moments later, the three of us were heading over to the garage. A family trip! ‘Summer feels like it's on the way already,' Chris said, winding down his window.
‘Turn up the music!' Jack shouted from the back seat.
Chris was a DJ, and loved his music. Seemed his brother was following in his footsteps!
‘No, it's fine as it is,' I chuckled, jokingly covering
my ears. ‘Your old mum can't handle the noise.'
He grinned at me, but did as I asked. Seconds later, he turned down a side road. ‘I've never been this way before,' I commented. ‘Nice houses...'
Out of nowhere, a scruffy- looking man appeared at the side of the road and motioned for Chris to pull over. ‘Looks like a weirdo,' Jack giggled from the back.
‘Shush!' I hushed, even though it was true. He was a stocky kind of bloke, and he was sweating heavily. Still, Chris slowed down and half-leaned out the open window. ‘Everything okay, mate?' he asked.
‘Where can I buy this?' he replied, pointing at Chris's car.
Blimey, his pupils were massive and... was he hiding something behind his back? My heart started pounding.
‘Sorry pal, it's not for sale,' Chris responded.
Friendly enough, but I could hear an uneasy tone in his voice.
Something wasn't right with this fella. He was pulling something round from behind his back... Oh my God, it looked like a rifle!
‘Give it to me,' he slurred at Chris. ‘Or I'll shoot your passenger in the back.'
No time to respond. There was a click, a flash of red. Blood everywhere. Chris, not Jack, had been shot right between the eyes at point-blank range.
‘No!' I screeched. In the same instant, the car lurched forward. Despite blood gushing from the hole in his head, my brave son was somehow driving away. He was trying to protect us.
We veered on to the main road, pulled over, and Chris staggered from the car and collapsed. I was by his side in an instant.
‘Please, love, don't die,' I cried next to him.
He looked up at me, the whites of his eyes a dull grey now. ‘Hurts,' he gasped.
‘I know,' I soothed. ‘Just hold on, help's coming.' From where? I looked around helplessly - and a miracle happened. There was an ambulance heading towards us...
I flagged it down and, within seconds, they were working on him. ‘W-will he be okay?' Jack wept. But they were too busy rushing him to the ambulance.
‘Of course,' I whispered. I prayed I wouldn't break my promise. How was he even alive when he'd been shot right between the eyes?
At the local hospital, while Chris had a scan, police took statements and told us he'd been shot with a high-pressure air rifle. Moments later, the consultant came to see us.
‘We've stopped the bleeding,' he said. ‘But we can't remove the bullet because we're worried his skull will cave in on itself.'
My hands flew to my mouth. I couldn't speak. ‘What can you do?' Jack begged.
‘Right now, all we can do is control the bleeding, then wait for the skull to strengthen and reseal itself,' the medic replied. ‘But Chris is lucky he wasn't blinded - the bullet's just half an inch from his brain.'
I shuddered. Someone up there must have been looking out for him. He could have been killed or blinded but, somehow, he was here to tell the tale.
Relieved, I went to see him - and stopped in horror. Despite a bandage wrapped around it, his head was swelling by the second.
‘Mum... this is the worst headache in the world,' Chris grimaced.
‘We'll get you through this,' I whispered, clutching his hand.
Amazingly, just a few days later, he was allowed back home. He had to rest and not do anything that might raise his blood pressure. The wound healed over really quickly.
After a month, you couldn't tell there was anything wrong - on the outside, anyway.
The inside of Chris's head was a different story. For five months, my poor son suffered excruciating headaches, blurred vision, and deafness in his left ear. He'd wake up in the middle of the night, screaming in pain.
The problems weren't just physical either - he had terrible flashbacks, too. Then there was
the boredom. Chris was normally busy DJing or going out with mates, but now he was virtually housebound.
Finally, docs said Chris's skull was strong enough for them to remove the bullet and insert a steel plate.
‘Good luck, love,'
I smiled, as he was wheeled away.
After an agonising four-hour wait, he came out and we rushed to his side. Oh my God! A huge jagged scar ran from one side of his head to the other, and there were tubes poking out from the wound.
‘You look like an alien,' Jack joked, trying to lighten the mood.
‘Well, there are 45 staples in my head!' Chris grumbled.
A surge of rage ran through me - his life had been put on hold because he'd politely stopped for some nutter. Still, I pushed the anger to one side, and forced myself to act cheery for my lad's sake.
‘Hey, I'll have to start DJing for you,' I joked.
He rolled his eyes, but smiled. ‘I'm sure people would love hearing ABBA all night.'
But his smile disappeared, face crumpling in pain. ‘Chris!' I cried. No! One of his tubes had a big clump of blood passing through it! ‘Someone help!' I panicked.
‘Mum,' he gasped, face pale. ‘I'm frightened.'
‘You survived a bullet in your head, you'll beat this,' I told him.
Doctors raced over, whisked Chris back for more surgery.
For the next hour, we anxiously paced the floor.
Finally, a doctor appeared...
‘An artery in your son's head burst, and he lost eight pints of blood,' he explained. ‘But we've sealed it up now, and everything should be okay.'
‘Thank you,' I breathed. It had been life or death once more...
A week later, Chris was again allowed home, the scar on his head deeper than ever.
Stopping for that man has ruined my lad's life. Although he's hoping to start DJing again next year, we don't know if he'll ever be up to it. He's even had to sell his car - the blood on the seat just wouldn't come out, and it was a constant reminder of what had happened. Still, he's extremely lucky to be here at all.
So far, he hasn't been the only lucky one - the animal who shot him has been lucky not to get caught. Police have conducted door-to-door enquiries, but haven't managed to find him. Knowing that lunatic is still out there only makes things harder for Chris. He's too scared to go out.
So we beg anyone who might know something to contact the police. Only when this man's behind bars can Chris start to rebuild his life.
Jean Delaney, 50, Oldham, Lancashire