I never felt any pain, which I should be thankful for, I guess. Suddenly I just wasn't there anymore, I was here. When I had read about out of body experiences, I had always thought it would be quite scary or confusing to be looking back at yourself, but it's not. I didn't grieve for the shell I had once inhabited, I just felt completely detached. There was one thing I wasn't completely detached from though. I felt myself being pulled towards the back of the car and noticed for the first time the ambulances parked there. A team of paramedics were hunched over a trolley, working on the small figure who lay there, unmoving. I didn't need to see the shock of black hair to know who it was.

I followed as they loaded him into the back of the ambulance, strapped down to a spinal board, head supported between 2 blocks, plastic neck brace digging into his chin. It looked so uncomfortable, I just wanted to shout at them to stop it, to be careful with him but I knew they were only doing their job. As they grabbed his arm and prepared to insert a needle into his wrist, I shouted that he hated needles, whispered to him that it was going to be ok. No-one heard me though. How could they?

The journey to the hospital seemed to take forever. The paramedics spoke to one another in some kind of secret code and I could only watch and worry. He was so pale and so fragile looking. Blood seeped from a dressing above his left eye. I hoped it wouldn't scar. Vince would hate that. They kept shining a light in his eyes and trying to make him squeeze their hands. I wished they'd just leave him alone. If he woke up, he'd be in pain, better to let him sleep for a while, I was sure.

At the hospital it was even worse. They cut all his clothes off him. He would be furious about that. I stayed with him and watched it all. I supposed normally people weren't allowed to be present during all this but since I wasn't really there, they couldn't really stop me. They prodded and poked and ran scans and x-rays and I stayed through it all, still not understanding a word of the 'medical speak'. I looked over their shoulders at the x-rays of his neck, chest and back, not having any idea what I was looking at. I was relieved when the collar and straps came off and I was able to go over and place a kiss on his still white cheek, soothed by the gentle sounds of his breathing. I could still smell the strawberry bubblegum scented shampoo he had used that morning. I had told him it made him smell like a cheap tart. He had seemed to take this as a compliment, but then he had a way of turning everything into a positive.

Then, suddenly, they were wheeling him off again, faces full of concern. I followed, with no clue where I was going, stopping as we passed a sign marked 'operating theatres'. I didn't think I could face watching them cut into him, so stayed where I was, pacing the corridors, looking like a madman. Or, I would have looked like a madman if anyone could see me. Fortunately they couldn't.