Sophie was celebrating her pal’s birthday when she found herself with 39 broken bones — how the heck had she gone from mimosas to needing serious medical attention?
Placing a cup of tea and some biscuits down, I turned to Dad.
‘There’s a sandwich in the fridge for your lunch, and plenty of snacks on the worktop,’ I told him.
‘I’ll be fine,’ Dad replied with a smile. ‘Go and have fun!’
He’d had open heart surgery three days before, and I was staying at our family home to care for him.
However, it was my best friend Emily’s 24th birthday, and Dad was adamant I go out and enjoy the celebrations with her.
‘I’ll get the last train home, and ring me if you need anything,’ I said.
I set off to meet my friends in the city centre for brunch to celebrate.
The drinks were flowing, and it was lovely to relax.
I was having such a good time that I decided to stay out with my friends, and rather than get the last train home at midnight, I’d get the first train at 5am in the morning.
My friend Candice, 33, had an apartment near the station, and she said I could stay with her.
We got back to her flat at around 1.30am.
Candice let me in. She had another friend round, who was due to get the bus home a few minutes later.
‘I’ll just walk her to the bus stop around the corner, I won’t be long,’ Candice said.
A few minutes after she’d left, I started to feel a little queasy, so decided to get some air.
Candice’s apartment was an old, converted office building, four stories up, so I opened the window.
I noticed that the ledge was big enough to sit out on and remembered sitting there before so felt safe to hop out.
I’d always had a phobia of being sick, so the nauseous feeling rising up into my throat was making me quite anxious.
I pushed up on to the palms of my hands to get outside... and suddenly slipped.
I tumbled out of the window, but somehow managed to grab hold of the ledge.
My legs dangled underneath me, and I desperately tried to cling on.
'Did you jump or did you fall?'
In a state of pure shock, I didn’t fully register the severity of the situation.
I’ll just pull myself up, I thought to myself.
In an attempt to heave my body up and over the slightly damp window ledge, I lost my grip and suddenly I was plummeting 40ft down to the pavement below.
Everything happened so quickly that I could barely register it.
I landed on the left side of my body with an almighty thud.
Moments later, the pain set in.
I screamed and wailed but it was about 2am and Candice lived down a quiet side street, so there was no one around to help me.
My screams echoed down the silent road, bouncing off the buildings.
Three cars passed me, but I couldn’t get up off the ground to be seen, and they somehow didn’t hear my cries.
I had no idea what to do.
Luckily, after what felt like a lifetime, a cab pulled up next to me, and a young girl jumped out.
She ran towards me.
‘What happened, are you OK?’ she asked frantically.
The shock and pain made me delusional, and I found it difficult to answer her.
All I could do was point up to the window and cry out in pain.
‘Did you jump? Or did you fall?’ the girl asked as she dialled 999.
‘I don’t know,’ I said, struggling to think.
Everything was a bit of a blur.
A police officer came along.
I think he assumed that I was just drunk, and he stood over me with his hands on his hips.
‘Come on, love, get up now,’ he said impatiently.
‘I can’t, I think I’ve broken my back!’ I cried.
The ambulance arrived shortly after and administered some strong pain relief.
As they lifted me into the ambulance, Candice returned home to the chaos outside her flat.
‘I want Candice to come with me!’ I mumbled.
Unfortunately, Candice wasn’t allowed to come to the hospital as the police were treating her flat as a crime scene, as no one knew what had happened.
She was unable to leave until the police had questioned her.
I was rushed to hospital, where a team of doctors stood over me, talking amongst themselves as they assessed my injuries.
I tried to make sense of the medical jargon, but I was on strong medication and still in intense pain.
'I think I've broken my back!'
Eventually the doctors explained the extent of my injuries.
‘I’m so sorry, Sophie,’ the doctor said, looking concerned. ‘I’m afraid you’ve broken your back, pelvis, elbow, wrist and both feet.’
She went on to say that although I wasn’t fully paralysed, they’d need to run further tests to see if I could walk again.
My poor parents, I thought to myself.
They’d been through so much already with my dad, so how was I going to tell them about this?
I had my first operation within the first 48 hours of being there.
My mum Rachel, 60, was called and was by my side when I woke up.
‘Oh, darling,’ she said, bursting into tears and cuddling me as gently as she could.
The doctors told us I’d need more complex surgery.
As frightening as it was to know I’d need surgery on my back, I was desperate for it to be done.
Every time I had to move, to be taken for an X-ray or be washed, I would cry in agony.
‘Please don’t touch me,’ I begged the nurses. ‘Please just let me lie still.’
I had the second operation on my spine and it took seven hours — much longer than anticipated because the damage was worse than they’d feared.
But after the operation, I felt like a different person.
I was still in pain, but it was nothing compared to before.
I could instantly notice a difference.
Whenever I felt low or scared, I’d remind myself of how lucky I was to be alive.
That fall should have killed me.
If I hadn’t grabbed hold of the window ledge before falling, I’d have fallen head first.
And I wouldn’t be here today.
Knowing how lucky I was got me through and I refused to feel sorry for myself.
I spent four weeks in hospital and went on to have surgery on my left foot, elbow and wrist.
I had a total of 39 breaks — I’d broken my back, legs and pelvis and shattered my ankle alone in 30 places.
Despite going through so much physically, I did everything I could to stay positive mentally.
I made friends with the nurses and other patients on the ward, and even organised a quiz night for everyone.
The girl in the bed next to me quickly became my best friend, and she really helped me through such a difficult time.
When I was finally discharged, it was difficult at first to adjust to life at home.
But slowly, with physiotherapy and a lot of hard work, I’ve been able to walk again.
I can now manage about three hours on my feet, before I’d need to use my wheelchair and have a rest.
Doctors predict my recovery could take about two years.
But I really hope that one day I’ll be back in action, strutting in my heels.
Sophie Bracken, 23, Bradford, West Yorkshire