Chasing Amy-Lou

In May 2013 I feared for my life.

In May 2013, I thought I would never see the light of day again.

It’s now July 2016, and a little over three years ago I went to China. I was young(ish) and slightly naive but very much over-confident in my convictions, of which I was also self-assured – anything I put my mind to, anything I said I’d do, I did.

China was my first long-haul overseas trip to a non-English speaking country that I’d taken completely alone as a backpacker. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect, except for authentic tasting cuisine, a strong ethical culture, and of course, The Great Wall. But what I didn’t expect was for the trip to drastically and dramatically change the course of my life, forever.

I certainly didn’t expect to end up in a hospital in Macau, thinking I was going to die; fearing for my sanity; wondering if I’d ever see my family again; wondering if I’d ever see England again; wondering if life would ever, and could ever be the same again.

Without wanting to go into too much detail, and without wanting to divulge the absolute intricacies of what occurred on that fateful day – mainly because reliving the whole traumatic event is something I do only in my nightmares, and voicing it would leave me numb, embarrassed, ashamed, and worthless – I’ll try to explain it in the easiest and least painful way possible:

China had been wonderful; it had been eye-opening; it had been everything I had ever imagined, if not more, much more. I’d met some truly remarkable people, both in Beijing and Shanghai, of whom I still speak very highly to this day; and I’d had the most fantastic whirlwind eleven days – I’d packed in cultural and historical sightseeing, eaten the most weird and wonderful Chinese delicacies, partied hard, tried new and exciting things and had admittedly deprived myself of sleep.

So it was after a short stint in Shanghai that I travelled on to Hong Kong to see out the final five days of my trip, something I was looking forward to with baited breath and open arms; to relax and spend some time with an Uncle I hadn’t seen in years and to yet again take in some of the jaw-dropping sights that the ex-British colony had to offer, yet this time at a slower pace when compared to the earlier leg of my adventure.

I arrived to greet my Uncle, wide-eyed and full of energy. We conversed over dinner and caught up, and got to know each other a little, building the foundations of what would become an important relationship; little did I know that it was to be perhaps the most important relationship of my life.

It was two days into my stay when I decided on a whim to take an overnight trip to Macau, not to spend hours in seedy casinos or to fulfill a wanton ‘Vegas’ ideology (gambling isn’t my style at all), but with the intention of taking on the AJ Hackett Macau Tower Bungy Jump – the highest in the world, and to also meander through the dusty streets and discover the old Portuguese ruins of the famous Chinese territory.

I left Hong Kong on the Turbojet on 15th May, travelling first class (because for once in my life I could actually afford such luxury), basking in the comfort and indulging in the pleasantries that the high life had to offer, and disembarked at Macau ferry terminal, slightly jaded and in awe of the grandeur and vastness of what lay before me. I caught a taxi to my pre-booked hotel…and that’s where it ended. Or should I rightly say, that’s where the beginning of the end started, for it was in that hotel that I experienced possibly the most terrifying and truly inexplicable night of my life.

Not 24-hours after checking-in, after what I will only describe as ‘the blur’, was I whisked off to a foreign hospital, not knowing where I was or who I was, scared because I was alone, scared because I didn’t know what was happening, scared because, well, because I was utterly terrified.

Something happened in that hotel room that I will never be able to explain. I will never know the reasons as to why it happened and I will never be able to turn back the clock to stop it from occurring. All I know is that the past is the past and my future from then onwards was shaped because of that; where I am and who I am today, I am in part because of what happened in Macau.

But it wasn’t just the events that went on in the hotel that have altered my outlook; it was the aftermath too: following a disorientated ambulance ride to the hospital, where I was examined and probed and left on a bed in a room, dehydrated and hungry, scared and alone, not knowing what was going on, unable to understand the doctors and nurses, unable to communicate and unable to contact home; that was the game changer.

For what felt like days (it wasn’t days, it was lengthy hours), I festered; feelings of desperation washing over me; feelings of panic and anxiety; feelings of loneliness and bewilderment; with a horrifying creeping fear of being left there alone. I prayed someone would come and help me; I prayed for my Dad to walk through the door and rescue me; and when after what seemed like forever, an eternity almost, where I slowly drowned, he didn’t come, I thought that was it. I thought I was going to die, there in that hospital, in that hospital in a foreign country, nobody knowing where I was. But most of all, I thought I was going to die alone.

And then my Uncle came. Finally someone came. I was transferred to a different unit where I was to remain for a couple of days – my family back home had been contacted, the British Consulate General informed, and my Uncle assured that I would be discharged as soon as I was fully recovered.

As it transpired I missed my original flight back to the UK, and my family, not wanting me to fly home alone, sent my brother to escort me back to England. On leaving the hospital, and on leaving Macau and essentially China, I felt like a helpless, hopeless, lost little child. I was 27 years old and every ounce of self-confidence, every bit of self-esteem, every bit of conviction and self-assuredness had been ripped away from me. I was a nervous wreck, and it would take a long time to fully overcome what had happened in China.

Fast forward three years and I’ve rebuilt my life; things have changed and I’ve done a lot, a hell of a lot. I’m forever grateful to my Uncle in Hong Kong, without him, who knows what would have happened to me; and without my family back home and their support, I doubt I’d have been able to get over the events of May 2013.

Towards the end of that turbulent year I knew I had to alter my path in life. Something had to give. I made the conscious decision to quit my job as a Firefighter and head to Australia. China had taught me about my limitations; it had taught me that I wasn’t Superwoman; but it had also taught me about my strengths and my ambition; it had taught me that I needed to seize life by the balls and do the things that truly made me happy. And after a year in Australia, I knew that’s where I wanted to be – I knew the travel bug had bitten me harder than it had in the past and I knew I needed to experience and see the world on my own terms.

Writing so candidly about this experience hasn’t been easy, and it would’ve been a hell of a lot more difficult had I detailed exactly what happened. And that’s why when I made the decision to return to Australia in July 2016 I knew I needed to put the past to rights, to put to bed that awful event of May 2013 and smack the fear I felt right across the face.

So it was without much hesitation and with great adamancy that I decided to stop en-route to Australia in Hong Kong, with the intention of doing things right this time around, doing all the things I didn’t do three years ago: I visited The Peak and went to Stanley Bay; I took a trip to Kowloon and ate in typical backstreet restaurants; I reconnected with my Uncle again and went running in the unbearable humidity; and without any reluctance whatesoever I booked myself onto another Turbojet (peasant class this time) and returned to Macau.

Alighting at the terminal once again I felt no regret. As I made my way back to the hotel I’d stayed in three years previous I felt no pangs of self-doubt. As I stood looking up at the building, recalling the memory of 15th May, it was as I remembered, and I felt nothing. No emotion. No fear. No panic. No anxiety. No sadness. No elation. Nothing.

And that’s when I truly knew it was over. I’d faced my fear, I’d conquered and come to terms with it, and from that moment on I was determined to be a stronger, more empowered person, focused and in charge of my life.

So it’s in Australia where I continue my journey. I don’t know what the future will bring, and as I’ve stated in previous blogs, I don’t really have an idea of where I’m headed, although I do know one thing – past events will always stay in my memory but never again will they haunt me; all they will do is serve as building blocks for a life that is yet to come.