Ten years ago, I was cycling home on a sunny afternoon and got hit by a car driver, giving me a bad concussion that I still live with to this day. My helmet could well have saved my life. As such, I have what some might see as a strong stance on bike helmets, given the circumstances.

That stance is, frankly, that I still don’t mind if people wear them or not. They are a bit of a sideshow when it comes to serious discussions of road safety, and I don’t feel my experience gives me much moral authority on the subject one way or the other.

I shall explain. One autumn night in 2015 I had woken up in hospital, confused, with no idea where I was or why I was there. A nurse told me I had been hit by a car, had broken the bones around my eyesocket and cheek, and had a bad concussion. She pointed to a table by my bed, on which sat my bike helmet, which was almost broken in two. I had been unconscious for 10 hours.

Strange as it might sound, my immediate feeling was a euphoric rush at still being alive, almost a religious experience.

A policeman came and took my statement. He said a car had hit me from behind and the driver fled the scene, having knocked me out cold and left me in the middle of the road.

I sometimes wonder what went through that driver’s head as they sped off. Was it a stolen car? No insurance? Had a drink? Or a normally responsible motorist that just panicked in the moment, maybe thinking they’d killed me?

I was discharged the next morning, and took the bus home wearing the same bloodsoaked clothing I’d been hit in. My injuries meant I couldn’t open my mouth more than half an inch, and I had several loose teeth that made chewing agony. I bought a blender and drank all my meals through a straw.

The brain is an amazing thing, and will blank out memories it thinks are too traumatic to be relived. My memory of that crash came back to me a few days later, but only as vague glimpses, like bits of a ripped-up watercolour. The sense of a driver passing too close on my right, the first gasp of fear, the initial impact, and then nothing.

A fortnight later I was back in hospital having a titanium plate fitted to reinforce all the broken bits of skull, some of which had lodged themselves in my nasal passages and had to be removed. I asked if I could keep some bits of skull as a souvenir, but was politely told no, with the nurse repeating the word “biohazard”.

Within a few weeks the physical injuries from the crash were manageable. I could eat normally, and the physical evidence of the cuts and bruises faded.

But the side effects of the concussion stayed. I had almost no short-term memory, to the point where I couldn’t remember what I’d done, conversations I’d had, people I’d met. I am a journalist, and would sometimes write a story in the morning, forget I’d written it by lunchtime then write it all over again in the afternoon.

I was fatigued every day just trying to keep on top of everything. I could not focus, and I think my personality changed too, at least for a few months afterwards. I was angrier, more reclusive.

Friends would swear blind we had had conversations about something, or plans to do something, and I just could not remember. Each time it happened was like a sickening inner lurch. I would feel like a tourist in my own life, able to get a vague understanding of my experiences but unable to fully comprehend them.

Ten years on, and the side effects of that concussion are still with me, albeit reduced. I get exhausted easily and struggle to focus, then struggle with guilt that I cannot focus. I often feel like I cannot make sense of the world the way I could before. When the brain fog descends I can’t work, and all I want to do is lie down and rest. I feel I am blunter as a person, perhaps a coping technique to dumb down the world and make it easier to deal with. My memory remains awful, though I have developed ways of managing it.

Despite all this, I still feel lucky. I got hit by a driver and survived, and that sense of elation that I have been given a second chance at life has never left me. It is like a beam of light inside me. I take so much more joy in little things, and it has given me a lot of perspective.

Brixton CC rider
Brixton CC rider (Image Credit: Sam Barker)

I do not need to tell road.cc readers that helmet use, like high-viz, has developed a huge gravity in discussions about cyclists’ safety. It has an unavoidable pull, sucking attention away from more important topics like driving behaviour, car size, and bike lanes.

A lot of people, when hearing my story, immediately ask if I was wearing a helmet, which always gets my back up. There is an implication that, if I wasn’t, that somehow my injuries become more my fault. Like I would have deserved to be hurt because I hadn’t taken enough precautions. It’s funny how quickly some people focus on the importance of a polystyrene hat rather than the responsibilities of the reckless driver in a big metal box.

I do not claim to be an expert on road safety, and I can say nothing on helmets that the likes of Chris Boardman have not said better, louder and for longer. I just think now what I always did, that wearing a helmet is a personal choice and should remain so. My choice is to always wear one, because I feel it would help if I fall off, which is what they are designed to do, after all. If you are hit by a car, a helmet provides minimal protection. To me, improving road safety should focus on reducing car-on-bike impacts, not pitting a lightweight bike helmet against tonnes of steel and hoping for the best.

So wear a helmet, or don’t. I hope one day, like the Dutch, we get to live in a country where they are seen as more of an afterthought.