After my accident, I realised just how lucky I was to have the NHS. Without it, I would have been dead—or, failing that, utterly bankrupt. The kind of care I received, both immediately after the incident and in the long months that followed, was nothing short of remarkable. It was a safety net I hadn’t even appreciated fully until I found myself tumbling straight into it.And it wasn’t just about surgeries and stitches—it was everything that came after. Because, at the time, I was technically homeless, I was moved into supported accommodation. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was exactly what I needed. There were staff on hand around the clock to make sure I took my medication—something I’d been notorious for neglecting before. It was a peculiar kind of accountability, knowing that if I skipped a dose, the police would be called.It sounds dramatic, doesn’t it? But in hindsight, it was exactly the sort of structure I needed. Those tiny pills represented a lifeline, tethering me to stability w...
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