I rushed to my son’s side but I was facing more than I bargained for. By Paul Laskey, 43
As I peeled the potatoes for a Sunday roast, I heard thundering feet coming down the stairs.
‘Can I have some cash, Dad?’ my eldest son Robson asked as he came into the kitchen. ‘I want to get my hair cut.’
‘All right,’ I replied, pausing to get some from my wallet.
‘Thanks Dad,’ he said, before disappearing out of the door.
But just five minutes later, Robson called my mobile.
When I answered, he wasn’t making any sense.
All I could hear were jumbled up words.
‘Zombie knife,’ he said. ‘Gold chain.’
In his garbled, rapid words, I worked out he’d been mugged by someone with a knife.
‘Wearing a blue puffer jacket with red lettering,’ Robson continued.
He hadn’t been long out of the house, so I reckoned the mugger must be nearby.
‘I’ll get it back for you,’ I said.
'I'll get it back for you'
Hurriedly, I grabbed my car keys and hurtled out of the door.
Soon after, I spotted a young bloke wearing the jacket Robson had described, so I quickly parked
the car and ran
up the street to confront him.
Grabbing his coat, I said,
‘I want the gold chain back.’
Before I knew what was happening, the lad whipped out a bottle from his pocket and squirted the contents of it straight into my face.
An acrid smell, like bleach, hit my nostrils and my face and eyes began to burn.
I desperately tried to keep a grip on my attacker, but my vision was blurring.
What the heck was in that bottle? I wondered and with a sickening lurch, I realised it could be acid.
As the mugger pulled free, he calmly said, ‘Don’t move or I’ll stab you.’
He fled down the street. I staggered to a bus stop nearby where a man came up to me and asked, ‘Are you OK?’
By now, I was struggling for breath, but I managed to gasp
a reply.
‘Dial 999,’ I said before sinking to the floor.
A figure stood over me, then
I heard a familiar voice say, ‘Dad.’
It was Robson. I was still clutching my phone, so he must’ve heard the whole incident.
‘Run to the McDonald’s and get some water,’ I told him.
It wasn’t far away and in the meantime, I tugged off my T-shirt and frantically wiped away as much of the burning liquid as I could.
When Robson returned, I sloshed the water over my face but the pain was taking hold.
The police arrived and one
of the officers took one look at me and said, ‘It’ll be quicker if we take you to hospital than wait for an ambulance.’
Robson came with me in the police car.
By now, I was in agony and when we arrived at the hospital, a doctor examined me and said, ‘The liquid was battery acid.’
They immediately flushed away as much of it as they could, but it had already badly damaged my left eye.
After examining it, the doctor told me the acid had melted the inner and outer layer of the cornea, causing fourth-degree burns, the highest possible level.
‘Am I going to lose my sight?’ I asked.
‘We can’t say,’ he replied. ‘The cells in your left eye can’t repair or regenerate on their own.’
But he explained they could try to save the eyeball itself using something called an amniotic membrane transplantation, where surgeons would graft tissue taken from the inner lining of a donated placenta on to my eye.
‘A placenta?’ I said, in disbelief.
I had no idea this happened, but after giving birth, some new mums donate their placenta to the NHS Blood and Transplant Cord Blood Bank.
The doctor told me placenta is so rich in protein, it can stimulate the healing process and just one could make 50 to 100 grafts
like the one I needed.
‘That’s incredible,’ I said.
To have any chance of regaining some of my sight,
I’d also need a stem cell transplant after the graft.
By now, my partner
Emma had arrived with our daughter Anya.
‘What on earth happened?’ Emma asked, looking at my face.
‘I’ve been attacked with battery acid,’ I explained.
By now, Robson had told me the attacker had showed him a knife and yanked his gold chain from his neck.
It would be a week before
I could have the operation,
and I’d need to stay in hospital until then.
Afterwards, I went back to our home in Newcastle upon Tyne.
Getting used to only have the sight in one eye was tough, especially as it meant I couldn’t go back to work as a plumber and electrician.
At first, my attacker was still at large too, but just over a week later, police told me they’d arrested a local lad
called Robbie Scott.
I was relieved.
The operation
had gone well, but unable to bear any natural light, I stayed cooped up at home afterwards.
It left me feeling anxious
and depressed, I struggled to sleep too.
‘It’s all my fault, Dad,’
Robson said.
My heart broke, but I pulled him close and said, ‘You’re not the one to blame.’
There was only one person responsible and we were both victims of his despicable actions.
In time, Robbie Scott, 21,
of Gateshead, appeared at Newcastle Crown Court and admitted causing grievous bodily harm with intent, possession of a bladed article and having a corrosive substance in a public place.
He’d been caught on CCTV fleeing the scene after attacking.
I couldn’t face going to court
for his sentencing, but when police called to say he’d been jailed for 10 years, my heart sank.
His attack had left me blinded in one eye and changed my life forever, yet that was all the punishment he’d get.
‘I’m going to appeal,’ I told Emma, angrily.
‘You’re right,’ she agreed. ‘It’s not enough.’
'I'm going to appeal'
After hearing the case, judges at the Court of Appeal agreed the sentence was too lenient and increased it to 11 years, with an extended licence
period of three years.
Just knowing they’d listened to me gave
me back some of the confidence I’d lost
since the attack.
‘I’m going to try going back to work,’ I told Emma.
It wasn’t easy and I struggled to do things that had been second nature before.
I couldn’t go to watch Robson and his younger brother Aaron play football because the daylight was
too bright.
Over time, I had four more grafts and finally after my last, there was good news.
‘Your eyeball has been saved,’ the surgeon said.
Now doctors are planning
to restore some vision to my damaged eye by transplanting lab-grown stem cells.
There’s some way to go but
I have hope the cells will regenerate and one day, I’ll
get my sight back.
It’s amazing that this is possible, all because a mother has donated her placenta after birth. Her generosity has given me a chance at getting my life back on track and I will be forever grateful for that.
I don’t regret what I did that day because he was a danger to the public. It’s terrifying what kids are carrying these days, using acid and knives without thinking about the consequences.
I just wanted to keep my son safe but now I make sure I’m extra vigilant whenever I’m
out and about.