One minute Sinead was dancing on her wedding day, the next she was in hospital…
The minute I got together with Nick, I just knew I wanted to marry him.
We both wanted
the same things in life
and we shared the
same interests.
He made me feel safe, loved, and excited about
the future.
We went on little adventures together, like to Switzerland
and Milan, and enjoyed long weekends away.
Days with Nick were never boring.
After two years we welcomed our son.
Then, the following year, Nick and I were enjoying a woodland walk near to my childhood home, when he got down on one knee.
‘Yes!’ I cried, bursting with joy.
Our wedding plans were soon
in motion. But then we were dealt a surprise…
We found out I was pregnant again! This time with a baby girl.
Soon, I found myself with two children under two.
So, we paused the wedding and poured all our love into family life.
When our baby daughter was 18 months old, Nick and I finally dusted off our wedding day plans.
‘Where shall we get married?’
I asked.
‘Has to be Scarborough,’ Nick grinned.
'I don't want anything stuffy'
The coastal town was our happy place.
Before kids, we’d holidayed there.
Later, it was where our children had their first seaside paddles and ice creams.
We were so fond of it, at one point we were going twice a year.
One afternoon, we decided to drive around Scarborough, when we spotted a cliff-top hotel overlooking Robin Hood’s Bay.
That’s the perfect venue, I thought straightaway.
It was intimate, had stunning
views, and was family-friendly.
We copied the guest list from
the children’s christenings, which was around 70 people.
‘It feels just the right size,’
Nick said.
‘I don’t want anything stuffy,’ I added. ‘No three-course
meals. Let’s do a barbecue, fish and chips, and ice cream.’
He nodded enthusiastically.
‘A seaside wedding,’ he smiled. ‘That’s our style!’
Our kids, two and four, would be at the heart of it.
Family, fun, and a relaxed atmosphere was our goal.
First, I found a beautiful white dress with lace detail.
Next I settled on a local florist, ordered cupcakes instead of a tiered cake, and booked all the essentials, such as hair, make-up and a DJ.
It was shaping up to be my dream day.
We even rented a cottage
and spent a lovely week in Scarborough beforehand, soaking in the excitement.
Finally, the big day arrived.
The sun shone as our families gathered for the celebrations.
Before I knew it I was gliding down the aisle in my dress, my heart thumping.
Then I saw Nick, his eyes welling up.
The barbecue went down a treat, as did the bright blue cupcakes – all the kids’ faces
were soon turquoise too!
Guests laughed, danced, and we had photos taken on the cliff top as the sun set.
At 10pm, as the evening wound down, I said to Nick,
‘It’s been perfect, everything
we wanted.’
‘I’ll say my goodbyes,’ Nick said, giving me a peck on the cheek.
‘You can, but I’m having a dance first!’ I winked.
The DJ put on the classic Cotton Eye Joe by Rednex and, as I’d line danced in the past, I grabbed a friend’s hand and headed to the dancefloor.
As I threw some shapes, I was having the time of my life.
Then it came to the first jump.
I kicked my left leg high, only it somehow got caught in the hoop of my dress.
'Is this really your wedding?'
Suddenly, I was falling.
Then… crash!
I hit the floor.
Pain ripped through my leg.
‘Oh no, what have I done?’ I gasped, staring at my shin, which had twisted horribly to the side.
My loves ones rushed over, lifting me on to a chair.
Ice was fetched while someone rang for an ambulance.
A doctor and paramedic – who were among the guests – checked me over.
‘It’ll be all right,’ my brother reassured, putting glow sticks around me to cheer me up.
I texted my parents, who’d already gone to bed.
Don’t worry, I’m fine – just a little accident, it read.
I sat smiling through the pain.
But when I tried to stand at midnight, agony like nothing I’d ever known shot through me.
‘It’s like my leg isn’t attached!’ I sobbed.
The ambulance arrived at 4am.
‘Is this really your wedding?’ the paramedic asked
in disbelief.
‘Yes,’ I winced.
Then she slid my leg into
a vacuum brace.
‘Don’t get blood on the
dress,’ one joked, as they
inserted a cannula.
‘Yes, protect the frock!’ I laughed weakly.
Nick held my hand in the ambulance as we rattled towards Scarborough General Hospital.
Rolling into A&E in full wedding gear, I could feel the stares.
Nurses even peered through glass doors.
‘Is this a hoax?’ one gasped.
‘I wish!’ I said through a smile.
Despite the pain, even I could see the surreal and funny side to the situation!
By dawn, I’d had a CT scan, X-ray and bloods taken.
A consultant explained the verdict.
‘You’ve fractured your tibial plateau – a serious break near the knee joint,’ he said.
Surgery was needed.
It would involve plates, screws, and months of recovery.
I blinked back
the tears.
‘All this from dancing to Cotton Eye Joe,’ I cursed.
Nick returned to the hotel to collect the kids, gifts, and to check out. When he came back, his face crumpled.
‘I can’t believe our perfect day ended this way,’ he said.
My first night as a wife, Nick had to give me
a bed bath.
‘Not quite
how I pictured married life starting,’ he smiled.
The kids visited, but burst into tears at the sight of me in a gown with wires and cannulas attached.
My son wouldn’t come near me which broke my heart.
Next day I was transferred to
a hospital nearer home, but was told the swelling was too severe
to operate.
I’d have to wait.
Two weeks passed.
I FaceTimed the kids daily,
but seeing them run into their grandparents’ arms while I lay
in a hospital bed crushed me.
Friends tried to cheer me
up, sending memes of Cotton Eye Joe.
Even Nick joined in.
I know it’s too soon, but
I couldn’t resist! he typed alongside one.
At last, three weeks later,
I had surgery. It involved
seven gruelling hours under anaesthetic, where two
metal plates and screws
were inserted to hold my
leg together.
Luckily, it was a success.
Physio began immediately.
‘Try to move it,’ my physio urged.
The pain was overwhelming, but I knew I had to fight.
Finally discharged
with a wheelchair, life was unrecognisable.
For the first six weeks of marriage,
I couldn’t climb stairs without someone hauling me up.
I couldn’t drive or take the kids to the park either. My wheelchair wasn’t self-propelling,
so I was totally dependent on
others. Parents, friends and neighbours all helped.
My village
ferried the kids
to parties, brought
meals, one
even gifted
me money for
a private carer.
But still, I cried with frustration.
‘I’m supposed to be a newlywed, not a patient,’ I wailed.
‘You’re still my bride,’ Nick replied, kissing my hand.
It will most likely take two
years until I’m fully recovered.
I’ve got a rotating knee brace, and I’ll probably need a knee replacement down the line.
I’m more susceptible to arthritis too.
But my goal is clear – to walk again on two legs, to chase after my children at the park and to reclaim normality.
I’ve got a scar, a metal-filled leg, and a story that makes jaws drop.
But one thing’s for certain…
I’ll never, ever dance to Cotton Eye Joe again!
Sinead Seviour, 34, Shrewsbury, Shropshire