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Holding the x-ray that clearly shows the broken jaw. 
Hugh Nott, the main man from the local fund-raising outfit KTF, was brutally attacked and mugged two weeks ago on the Harrow Rd. Here he tells us about the incident. (Not for the squeamish...!)
That's what they call it and I think I know how it feels now. You feel stupid and vulnerable, but there is also the anger and resentment associated with being put down.

I had been in the Masons and then down at our friends Eren's place, I left early, as I was supposed to be picking up some Bees in the morning, I walked home alone, up the Harrow road by the missing Cemetary wall, and opposite the garage.

Some cowardly shit or shits hit me very hard from behind, and then kicked me in the head a few times I guess. I heard the words "stay down" as some w****r went through my pockets, and stole some credit cards and an ipod Touch. The credit cards were cancelled and the ipod had an inscription with my name on, so after that was scratched off it was probably fairly valueless. w****rs..

I went home covered in blood, mainly from a cut above my eye, my girl friend thought I was having a laugh for a moment; doing a Halloween thing early, A quick look showed I was missing a tooth, and had two or three cuts and some heavy bruising, and as the throbbing kicked in, she gave me Nurophen and ice packs, and somehow I slept, the joy of shock, and the bodies natural painkillers.

The next day I woke in sharp pain on a bloody pillow, and realized that it was time to go to hospital. Donica went to look for my missing tooth, and Oisin came to pick us up, St Mark's minor injuries hospital is the obvious, not much queuing and a good minor injuries department that you can drive into. They took three x rays, and then said I had Major injuries and was referred to the excellent University College Hospital London on Euston Road, where I had three more x-rays, a scan around my head, and then off to the big doughnut for a CAT scan. These showed that I had not lost a tooth and the doctor unceremoniously injected me four times in the jaw and then called an assistant, they levered my jaw apart a bit more, then pushed and then stitched a bit of wire around two teeth, twisted the wire, with pliers, like you might do to attach two bits of wire for a rose bush you are training to a wall. I would have asked these two men to get their fists out of my mouth, as I was thinking that here I was becoming the victim of another crime, but it was impossible to speak at the time.

By now I was really feeling battered, but seeing that the gap had been filled I realized that I was not missing a tooth at all! It was the split in jawbone itself that had opened up the gap.
Now call me old fashioned but at this point it seemed quite inappropriate to ask me to sign a waver form, on the top of the trolley I was sat on. This important document gave permission for the surgeons to hack at my face, and make some mistakes, I asked for clarification: I was told: if the surgeons had an accident I might never feel the front of my Jaw or the side, I also might have partial paralysis of most of the side of my face! Great! I asked what if I did not want the op? Oh I might not ever be able to speak properly, or chew again on one side of my mouth… Mmmm-big decision… I signed. But hey I was in a busy hospital and have you got any painkillers now!

By this stage I was really feeling it, my whole face was a kicked in medicine ball of puffy bruising and stabbing reminders, don't drink, don't walk alone, don't breath, etc, the Paracetamol had little or no effect and I asked for something stronger. Bring on the Morphine. Thank the lord God for the black-hearted Poppy. I am very anti smack, but when a job needs doing, there ain't no equal, and within moments of sucking on a oral dose I was in the gentle caressing arms of Morpheus, and the nasty world of x-rays and beeping was taking a back row seat in the theater of fluffy dreams.

As I was to have an operation the next day or as soon as I had gone without food for twelve hours, I was ushered into the Max Factor ward on floor fourteen of UCHL. I was in a bed overlooking East London, so I got to see the sunrise. It was a long night of beeping noises, from the Patients, asking nurses for more painkillers or new spittoons, accompanied by groaning, moaning and repressed tears or internalized wailing.
This ward is the best, and busiest Maxillary and Facial injuries ward in town. Every weekend it's full of people. A lovely Nigerian Night Nurse informed me; they all were victims of muggings or fights, the average age was about twenty-five, maybe less. Most of them were sprouting football size jaws, and trying hard not to look too f****d. (Or too f****d to look hard). A useless and futile struggle to keep looking cool, in the face of adversity. Me, I was pleasant to the Nurses and got an extra hit of Morphine and actually slept for a couple of hours here and there, in a remote burlesque heaven. I became, Sherlock Homes, William Blake and Rudyard Kipling, then Gollum turned up and it was getting light.

The hazy dawn gave me a beautiful view of the sun as a hamburger, a dark cloud split the buns, and the overtures of pain started again.  I was booked into surgery for the afternoon. A nurse gave me something heavy, and I was chemically KO'ed again. I slept, well for two hours, and then fitfully, reacting badly to the mega dose of anti-inflammatory, I woke in time to be wheeled off to the Operations rooms on the second floor. The document I had signed was starting to worry me again, but I drifted off in the pre-op heaven and awoke in a hellish post-op comedown after three and a half hours of surgery, four metal plates had been fitted and for a moment I thought I was in a cave of blood, thankfully that cleared quite quickly, but I had to invoke my Bad Trip training, that’s; Stay calm and Carry on, attitude to recall who and why I was there. I felt my face and tried to flex may jaw, it seemed that I was not totally paralyzed, and I tried to speak, but my numb lips got in the way. Someone across the ward was trying to w**k himself into reality! A nurse kept pulling his hand off and saying, "stop scratching your self sir"! That only added to the surrealness of the ward, I tried to focus on something, but the nurses were discussing Christmas! Hell get me out of here!

Day after the operation
A nurse I recognized wheeled me away to the Max Factor ward again, and the next thing was scheming how to get a good night sleep with Morpheus without the groaning, coughing and sputtering, beeping and crying in the background. Entering the ward, I managed to stand up and instantly felt nauseous, so I levered myself into the men's WC, sporting a wheel chair in the shower area, and was instantly sick. Quite a sight, I chucked up a full pint of blood! Some congealed and some quite fresh. Now I am no doctor but this struck me a WRONG, even with the Morphine cotton duvet well over my head this could not be right. After a messy stumbling attempt, to clear up some of the sink and floor area, I gave up and slumped into the shower chair.. After a few moments of painful and odd guerning, I stumbled out of there to tell the nurse about my impending doom. I was relieved to find out that this was quite NORMAL, as I would have swallowed a lot of blood during the operation! Actually the nausea passed after that, I guess drinking pints of blood is not my bag. Thankfully after a large dose of Mothers little helpers I got a good nights nightmare.

Its ten days since then and I wanted to write this so you would know what is in store for yourselves if you are in the same position ever, and I hope and pray you're not.
The hospital gets ten or twenty cases of youths with smashed jaws every weekend! It's not very clever, this is after all a civilized country, most everyone has food and hot water, and we are one of the richest countries in this world. Really. We need to learn something here.
The hospital has become one of, if not the best Max Factor wards in the world, just sheer numbers and loads of practice I guess. But it's also quite pathetic that people treat each other so badly. The Doctors and Nurses do an incredible job; it's a conveyor belt of patients every weekend - what a life!

The Police really should be doing more to target these w****rs; the odd patrol at night on Harrow road or College road would help. As a result of my mishap I have now met loads of people, friends and friends of friends who have been mugged, it happens every weekend, Ladbroke grove, Chamerlayne road, Queens Park, it's got to stop.

Thank to all of you who have been kind to me over this time. A tin of Burt's Bees Rescue cream, with wheat germ, a load of herbs and some very tasty soup has helped me recover really very well and can't wait to start chewing the cud with you all. There is a big reward for any information and I trust Karma will do the hard work for us as ever, so walk tall and free my friends, much love.

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