As I pondered these questions in my mind, my husband held the cigarette up to his face, admiring it, and taking another sip of his drink.  Meanwhile, I lay in bed praying in my heart for a miracle, as the pain got worse.  Luckily, our bedroom was situated at the front of the house and the bed was right under the window.  As I prayed and hoped for a miracle, I heard what sounded like footsteps coming through the gate.  At last, the door bell rang!  "Thank God, praise almighty God!" I said in my heart.  Oh, how my heart rejoiced with gladness as the doorbell kept on ringing.  "Someone is coming to save me,” I said to myself in a quick moment of thought.  The bell just kept on ringing.  Finally, my husband stood up in the bedroom, like a dog on alert, looking at me in the bed.  He didn't want to go down the stairs, yet he knew he would have to go and open the door at some stage.  The light in the bedroom was brightly shining, so whoever, was ringing the bell knew someone must be in the house.  His face looked frightened, but finally he ejected himself from the room and glided down the stairs.  I heard the front door open and I sighed a great sigh of relief, even though I couldn't hear or know whom he was talking to at the door.  

After a short while, I heard the front door closed, and what sounded like footsteps going through the gate.  As quickly as he could, my husband returned to the bedroom.  However, I managed to knock hard on the window, indicating to whoever it was outside that I was in the bedroom and needed help.  My knocking attracted the attention of the caller.  Whoever they were, they returned to the door and started ringing the bell again.  This time, my husband went down the stairs, much faster than he did before.  As he opened the front door again, I said, "Thank God,” for I heard footsteps finally coming up the stairs.  Suddenly, the bedroom door flew open.  

I saw what seemed like the two largest Police Officers walking into the room.  I cannot in words describe my feelings of great relief that someone came to save me.  "Good God, man,” said one of the officers to my husband with a shocked look on his face. The officer took his radio from his pocket.  My husband stood in the room looking at the officers as though his jawbones were tightly locked. He couldn't give the police any answer as to why he didn’t call the ambulance.  Before he could think of an excuse, one of the officers spoke: "Your wife is in such a state and you wouldn't call for help,” the officer said again.  Troy didn't know what to say or do.  He stood in the room looking as if he was in another world, too frightened to speak or move.  He knew no amount of excuses could justify his behaviour.   Without further hesitation, the police called the ambulance.  Within minutes, like a big space ship sending out its rays of lights, the ambulance was at the gate flashing its bright lights.  Like our obedient servants, they came to my rescue in the dead of the night. 

In the midst of all this, the pain was, by then, beyond me.  After a short while, the ambulance men covered me with a blanket.  They chatted with the officer for a brief moment, and then they all started down the stairs to the ambulance with me. In the dead of the cold, darkened night, I was taken to the Northampton General Hospital, to be admitted.  I recall that after I was put into the ambulance, my husband came in with me, but the police took him off.  I have no idea what happened after I was sent off to the hospital, or what my husband told the police as to why I jumped through the window.  I guess he may have told them I was mad, and that whilst he was in the kitchen, I jumped through the bedroom window.  Sometimes I wonder.   It wasn’t long after I arrived at the hospital that a tiny Indian doctor and two white nurses attended me. One of the nurse and the doctor asked me some questions, while the other nurse set about preparing a Plaster of Paris cast and an injection.  All kinds of apparatus were set up around me.  I was with so much pain; if death had come maybe I would have welcomed it gladly.  After they had taken some notes and gave me the injection, I rapidly started to feel nothing, hear nothing, remember nothing or see nothing.  Within seconds of the injection, I was dead to the world, and all that they were doing to me. Since that tragic night, I have spent eight painful weeks in two separate hospitals.  Whilst recovering in hospital, I felt pain so great I begged God to take my life.  Some nights, my foot was hoisted in the air in order for the blood to circulate properly.  In the mornings, when they released my foot from the stirrup, I thought maybe God was running pass me and dropped a ton of bricks on my foot.  I literally pissed myself, the pain was so great.  The Northampton General Hospital and Mansfield Hospital for fractured bones were where I attended.  After leaving hospital, I spent eighteen weeks as an outpatient, going to and from one hospital to the next, having physiotherapy treatments, still in Plaster of Paris and walking with crutches. 

The memories of that specific night are still very fresh in my mind.  I have often asked myself, if the police never came to my rescue, where would I be today.  I might be totally disabled.  On this specific occasion, I swear to God, those officers were my angels.  The police were sent from wherever they came, by whoever sent them.  Up to this day, I have not known or met whoever sent the police.  Since that night, the pain and nightmares go on.  Nevertheless, I still say thanks greatly to whoever did call the police; and thanks most of all to the police.  They came at the right time; they helped to save me from being crippled in a wheelchair forever.  Thank God I have lived to tell this story. Memories don't go, memories won't go.  

My advice to any woman experiencing domestic abuse and thinking how to get away from the situation is this: do not jump through a window as I did.