"This is your ICU discharge summary and letter that outlines your time and treatment in hospital. Keep it safe but if you do lose it you can contact us for a further copy. Your doctor at your local surgery has also been sent this information."

"Thank you." I take the A4 envelope from the discharge nurse's hand.

"You have all your medications for the next seven days and repeat prescriptions can be obtained from your GP.  You are clear on how and when to take all your medication?"

"Yes I am, thanks." I nod in understanding.

"That's great. Now this is the contact details of the person coordinating your rehabilitation and a copy of your recovery plan, including upcoming outpatient appointments. The healthcare team will contact you shortly to arrange to meet you in two to three months time to assess your recovery and extend or put in place anything further you require." She hands me a further envelope and with the formalities out the way her tone softens as she places her warm hand over my cold shaking one.

"Lily, all that leaves me to say on behalf of all the staff here is good luck with everything. You arrived as a patient but leave us as a friend and because of that we are sorry to see you go but happy because it means you are well on the road to recovery. You are making remarkable progress and long may it continue." Her sincere words touch me and I smile awkwardly trying to hold back my tears.

"No, thank you and the whole team again for everything. You have been so incredible, please pass on my best regards to everyone."

"Of course, of course I will." She pats my hand gently.

"Oh and those flowers." I tick my head towards the stunning arrangement cheering up the otherwise bland room. "I know they were sent a while ago but there is still life in them yet so I am going to leave them for everyone to enjoy if that is permitted."

"Oh Lily are you sure you don't want to take them home? They are one of the most beautiful displays I have ever seen."

"No, I am sure, please enjoy them." I answer succinctly.

"Well that is very generous." She rises off the side of the bed where we are both perched and hugs me tightly then leaves the room.

"Is this everything?" He is hunched over my holdall and peering up at me with a questioning look, his hand poised over the zip to close it.

"Umm, yes I think so." I pout my lips and nod in recognition of his ask.

"Good, ready to go then?" He says jovially as he closes the bag, straightens up and strides towards the doorway with my bag in his hand.

"Actually, can you give me a minute please?"  My words sound vacant as I don't look at him but rather stare at the plain wall in front of me.

The 'rushing' effect of him stills as he halts at the doorway and silence falls over the room. Out of the corner of my eye I catch him spin round to look in my direction. His voice is laced with a hesitant almost concerned tone. "Yes sure, there's no hurry, take your time. I'll pop your bag to the car and sort out a wheelchair." I sense him lingering as he pauses for a brief moment then I hear the door click and when I glance over he has gone.

I refocus my stare on the drab wall. I have studied this wall a fair bit over the last couple of weeks and know every imperfection of chipped paint, every greasy mark and scuff that is dotted over its surface. My mind wanders, as it so often has of late, into another world where I think deeply in a trance like state.

Today is the day I am going home and despite feeling immensely relieved to be finally escaping the confines of these hospital walls, I also sense anxiety streaming through my veins. Glancing down at my legs hanging off the side of the bed and my swollen feet swinging back and forth, I chuckle to myself. My feet are so swollen that I can barely even get socks over them and I am reduced to wearing some of those horrible large knitted slippers instead. Olive thought she was doing mum a favour when she found the hideous things in a cheap store in town. Mum thanked her profusely whilst I glared her way knowing full well she would never wear them in a million years.

I am unable to walk too far at the moment. As the car spun on the wet surface of the road, my feet became trapped under the pedals and although neither ankles broke, the twisting and resulting swelling of both is taking its time to heal. One is nearly there; the other has some way to go though. I have the pleasure of hospital issue crutches to move around at home but from hospital room to car a wheelchair is the order of the day. In all fairness, it is a great shout as I easily fatigue at the slightest overuse of the little energy I am blessed with.

Home. Well this place has been my home for the last few weeks. Just over a week when I was asleep and the last two weeks since I have been awake and an interesting awake two weeks they have been. When I fell asleep in Harry's arms, I thought that the time he was away would be solely reserved for my recovery but I have been sadly very much mistaken.

Although the first few days passed by in a blur, my good recovery intentions were fiercely positive at the start. I bypassed High Dependency and went straight onto a ward. According to my consultant this was due to my pleasing recovery rate, although I suspect it was actually because of a lack of available beds. I certainly wasn't in need of a specialist bed anyway and would have felt guilty for bed blocking. On Dad's insistence the ward bed then turned into a private room; despite the fact that I would have preferred to be on a ward with three other people for some company but I didn't want to argue. This was the first of many compromises I have had to make recently.

So I was awake and everyone was relieved. My family came into see me en-masse. They sat around my bed and it was welcome company. On the surface, a loving family bond was presented and they brought their laughter and cheer to the proceedings. I kept reminding myself that they had been worried about me but now that I was awake, surely some of that worry would lift. However, over the next few days it appeared to me that this was not the case. There was tension in the air, unspoken words, whispers in corners and looks between them that they didn't think I sensed but I was picking up in spades. Then, as the fortresses that they had held up so strongly around them started to slip, their emotions began to slowly unravel.

Individually they each came to see me. They filed into my room like it was a Sunday confessional with me as the head of the family in the bed and them all coming to ask forgiveness for their sins.  At this point I wished I was still asleep.

First was Dad. His guilt over our telephone conversation the night of my accident, when he was so cross that I was late home for Thomas, was still weighing heavily on his mind. We talked it through. I apologised for letting him down at which point he nearly broke down. He asked me to forgive him for the way he had spoken to me and for what he had said. I reassured him that there was nothing to forgive and believed that was the end of it. He proceeded to mention it again the next time he came to see me and then on the third occasion I had to say enough was enough; I didn't want to discuss it again. Initially he was shocked at my quite aggressive stance but then he patted my hand patronisingly and said the fateful words, "it's ok Lily, frustration is part of your recovery process." I simply closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath to calm myself.

Next was Mum. She is the woman in my life who I admire and love the most. Harry told me she had been the strong one, the influential one, and the one holding it all together. It appears that was whilst I was asleep because now I was fully awake and she had relaxed, she was a mess. Every time she visited, she cried and not a few tears but bitterly about how she hasn't been a good mother, how she is always working and hasn't been around for her children. She offloaded to me about Nathalie and Thomas and Dad and work as I lay in the bed numb listening to her drone on and on. I had no words to ease whatever was and is going through her mind right now.

Then my brother came to see me. It didn't get off to a good start when I called him Sam. He cried and I comforted him and said I was sorry. Of course his friend is Sam and he is Thomas. I just got confused and it hurt my head. Like a medically trained professional he said it was okay, Dad had warned everyone that confusion was expected after a knock to the head and they should all be patient with me. I couldn't help but internally laugh over what fun their around the table dinner conversations must have been recently.

Thomas and Sam were at home the night of the accident and ran riot through the house. We had words and he had been rude to me. He had been carrying around the guilt that he had caused me to crash because of our argument and me rushing back to look after him. The fact that no one had spoken to him about this infuriated me. I explained he was in no way to blame then hugged him tight and said everything was fine between us.  He bought me some jellybeans that Sam had bought me to say sorry. The gesture was sweet. He is my kid brother who I adore; I could never stay mad at him for long.

Then my sister Nathalie graced me with her presence, although I am not altogether sure why. She slouched on the plastic chair, as far away from me as she could possibly get without actually placing the chair in the corridor.  Her demeanour was ice cold. I sat up in bed and studied her as she looked anywhere but at me. I attempted conversation with her about university, her degree and her boyfriend (whose name I couldn't remember). I did recall something in my mind about a pregnancy and asked her if she had told Mum and Dad. She monosyllabically answered "no" and then said she had no fucking clue what I was going on about! Before abruptly leaving, she managed to say she was pleased I was better.  I knew full well her attitude was all a front because I distinctly remember her relief when I woke the first time and how it had triggered something in the back of mind about her wanting us to be closer.

Since then, frustration has bothered me and like so many times it has weakened my reserves and rendered me useless for the rest of the day.  However, if frustration was my new friend, negativity has now replaced it.  My happy to be awake persona has gradually deteriorated as the drain of everything has hampered me feeling better. They all mean well, I know they do but selfish or not, I cannot raise enthusiasm to care about how they are feeling.

I worry the knock on my head has turned my personality into something I will despise. I read it could but I hope it hasn't because I think my sarcastic and unfeeling outlook is a mask for my real feelings. I sense positivity and caring deep down, I am simply too tired at the moment to show it. It gives me faith that the kind person inside of me will return.

To protect myself, I am also blocking out the events of the accident and refuse to go over it in my mind. I am kidding myself that if I don't think about it then somehow it didn't really happen, which for someone who overthinks everything is a challenge. A few nights I have woken up barely able to breath and covered in sweat. I relive the moment that I kissed Harry goodbye, drove down the driveway and out onto the wet main road. In the darkness, with the sound of the howling wind, the pelting rain on the screen and the back and forth motion of the windscreen wipers, my mind wandered over something I was thinking about but am unable to recollect then bam, the tree falls in front of me and then I am awake. Perhaps my brain isn't ready to experience the truth of it yet. It is a feeling of being suspended in limbo.

Through all of this I have also been coming to terms with me. I have been poked, prodded, poked some more, scanned, tested, retested, talked at, talked to, massaged, pushed, pulled and cajoled. In effect, you name it, my body and mind has gone through it.

My Consultant came to sit with me and talk everything through. Previously, Dad was always lurking, interjecting and asking medical questions I didn't understand. I became stressed and my Consultant sensed it. So this day he arrived unplanned and suggested that he and I talk without my Dad present. I remember the conversation completely.  He set everything out in an easy to understand way, so clearly for my mending mind to comprehend.

"So Lily to recap you were conscious when you were found but were unconscious by the time you arrived in hospital. We did an initial CT scan to ascertain the severity of your head injury. We use something called the Glasgow Coma Scale. A score of 8 or below is classed as severe. Your score was 7 so on the cusp. There was no bleeding of the brain or fracture to your skull, however there was swelling. We therefore placed you into an induced coma to help ease the pressure on your body that in turn helps aid recovery in the healing process. We performed another scan a week later and with an increased GCS score we were satisfied that the swelling had reduced enough and we decided to wake you."

"How long will it take me to fully recover?"

"I cannot say how long it will be. Early signs are all good. Your cognitive function tests provided good results considering but you will have difficulty concentrating and remembering things. It does take time and varies from person to person. You are young, fit and healthy and I see no reason why in time you should not make a full recovery."

"I just feel so tired all the time."

"You will experience severe weakness and tiredness, it could take up to six months to be fully back to normal. Ensure you get plenty of rest initially, take things at your own pace and be guided by your body. Do you have any other worries?"

"Where do you want me to start?"  Then I let it all go as the tears rolled and I turned into a blubbering mess. The Consultant handed me a tissue and waited for me to compose myself. I pulled my lips into my mouth to prevent me from starting tears again. 

"My body is just, it's just broken."

"Your car accident caused trauma to your whole body not just your head."

"But I wasn't even driving fast." I pleaded like I was trying to justify it.

"No, your crash wasn't a high speed impact but the tree falling on your car was high impact and although the car to a certain degree took the brunt, your body still suffered as a result. The seatbelt and airbag were vital but your body was still badly injured and you were also not found immediately. What specific things are you worried about?"

I think back to that first longed for shower. I had my own fluffy towel from home and my luxurious shower gel. The nurse wheeled me into the shower unit and said to pull the cord if I needed any help at any point, otherwise just to pull it when I was finished.  Although I had bed baths, I still felt grubby and unclean and I knew the feeling of being clean and fresh would lift my spirits.  As I slipped my robe off, I glanced down at my body for the first time. The sight was horrific and I burst into tears. My torso was black and blue, purple and green and red from the strain of the seatbelt. My hands, arms and stomach covered in scars from drips, tubes and needles. My arms and legs were thin and my hipbones protruding. I felt nauseous looking at myself so I didn't look anymore; I just focused on taking the shower.  

But the shower I had so longed for was clogged with limescale and the water dribbled out of the small holes.  As I turned the dial for a faster flow, it hit my skin like pinpricks. I just wanted out of there but had used too much gel and it took an age to wash off so I curled up in the corner of the cubicle and hugged my knees and cried bitterly until I couldn't take it anymore. When I dried my body it didn't feel like I was placing the towel on my own skin, I felt nothing. I pulled the cord and the nurse came in.  I got back into bed and slept the pain away.  I haven't looked at myself since.  

"I am so thin and I can't eat because my throat is sore and it is so hard to swallow plus I don't want to eat, everything tastes horrible."

"Your sore throat is where you were fed through a tube into your stomach. This affects your sense of taste and smell but it won't take long to return to normal. You must eat for energy and in time your weight will go back up. You've been in bed for nearly three weeks and that effects muscle strength and stiffens joints which is why you have physiotherapy. You will continue to have outpatient physiotherapy and also exercises at home to do each day. It is very important that you do them to help with your recovery process."

"My fingers tingle and I find it hard to hold items in my hands." 

I keep dropping my fork at dinner and I have cried privately over it. How am I going to use secateurs in the garden if I am unable to even hold a fork properly? I have thought about the exertions of gardening and right now feel like I will never be able to do it again. I don't even want to think about the awful state Summer Haze must be in.  Four weeks untouched and overgrown. It will take so long to remedy. I cried over that but then I cry a lot.  No one knows. I feel so alone.  

"It sounds strange but gripping small items like a pen may be tricky. Don't push yourself too hard too fast. Where you gripped the steering wheel so hard has taken its toll on your fingers. The exercises will help ease the numbness and tingling.

"I just feel so up and down all the time."

"You do need to consider emotions carefully. You may experience anger, fear, panic, flashbacks, nightmares, anxiety or even post-traumatic stress disorder or you may not experience any of these. If you do you must seek help or it could impact your recovery. When you are discharged from hospital doesn't mean you are fit and well. Recovery continues beyond the confines of the hospital walls for however long is necessary."

The door clicks and brings me out of my daydreaming. He wheels the chair towards my bed and helps me into the seat, putting the footrests down for me to place my swollens on.

"Your carriage awaits!"

I can't help but laugh. Dad didn't really have much time off work during my stay in hospital; he said he preferred to be at work because it meant he was closer to me. But now, he and Mum have taken extended leave together for a week to be at home with me and I am very grateful.  

As he pushes the chair out of the door, I glance back at the room and in my mind bid it a final farewell. The flowers catch my eye and I think about Harry.  Ten days he said he would be away. Ten days he promised. It has been fourteen and he is still in LA.