As my wife moved out of reach he commenced stabbing towards my stomach but fortunately I managed to deflect all but two of aproximately 15 blows with my left arm. I managed to kick him away and suffered two further wounds to my left knee. He stopped the attack and I was fortunately able to talk him out of "finishing it off" and eventually he left the room; it was 1:00 a.m. My wife had left the house by this point.
I curled up in a ball in the bedding and my bladder emptied itself. This gave a great feeling of comfort and warmth and I could quite happily have fallen asleep even though I realised I was in great danger. It took a huge force of will to roll out of bed and examine myself. I gave no consideration to the wounds in my body as I knew there was nothing to be done; however, I was able to bind a severed artery in my arm with a sheet which I then locked tightly in my armpit. Again I rested before phoning an ambulance and after the call I had no choice but to lie on my back and wait for help.
The bed and floor were more or less completely covered in blood and I truly thought I was about to die. I drifted slightly as I tried to come to terms with this and my thoughts wavered between the awfulness of the situation and the ugliness of the ceiling. My thoughts were not noble, I thought of no one else but myself.
At last the ambulance arrived and they began to put me on a trolley. I was too weak to help them and even had great difficulty speaking. They seemed distant as they discussed whether to use a torniquet or not. I was beginning to feel very cold. Somehow I thought to look at the clock; it was 1:50 a.m.
It was sunny and pleasantly warm. I was walking down through a field of grass and flowers towards a pretty wood and shimmering lake. There was someone I liked beside me but I sensed them rather than saw them directly and did not know who they were. There were nice sounds around us but I cannot remember what they were like. I really would have liked to stay but I realised I couldn't. I really, really had to go.
I think I was screaming. I know I was jerking about. The ambulance men tried to calm me and make me respond to them. I fought hard, both to fight them and to calm down. Eventually I was still and they were able to begin the descent of our narrow stairs. The journey was hard and painful. I was so cold every jolt seemed like a hammer blow and we seemed to struggle down forever. In the living room which seemed much darker than normal, I felt as if I were detached and floating above everything.
As I looked around it was as if a the contrast control had been set on full. The shadows went black while light areas went to a terrifically bright, crystaline shimmering white. Somehow it passed and I was back to reality. Everything remained quite dark and very cold but somehow I remained alive and conscious. All the way to the hospital I kept telling myself I should be dead by now. After a bloody awful examination at hospital, they put me to sleep to repair the damage.
Later I was told I had lost four pints of blood and had been resusitated. I spent a week on the ward and have months of joyful physio to look forward to before I regain use of my left hand. I occasionally have feelings that I am in fact dead and this reality has no substance whatsoever.
Fortunately my wife escaped with minor injuries while my stepson has many years in a secure hospital ahead.