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Chopped from the team

It was already a nasty break... then the doctors got hold of me


Published by: Jessica Gibb and Lucy Laing
Published on: 31 May 2012

Two minutes left on the clock, and we were losing the game by one goal.
As a chance fell to me, I felt the adrenaline rush. I was the leading striker, and everyone's hopes were on me.
Pulling back my right leg, I kicked the ball with all of my strength towards the goal.
SNAP!
The sound was like a tree branch splitting. One of their defenders had gone for the ball, but missed and kicked my leg!
‘Goal!' the crowd screamed.
I was screaming, too - the agony like fire gripping my whole leg. It felt like it had been shattered.
An ambulance rushed me to Birmingham Heartlands Hospital where nurses put my broken bone in a cast. ‘A few months, and you'll be back on the pitch,' the doctor reassured me. Phew!
Funny that it still hurt so much, though. A couple of hours later, when my mum Diane, 47, arrived, I was still in agony.
‘They've got to get this cast off, Mum,' I gasped. ‘It feels like it's going to explode.'
Within minutes, one of the medical staff had removed it. I winced - my leg was an angry purple, and had swollen to almost twice its size.
No one seemed worried, though. Three days later, I had an operation to pin the bone in place while it healed. Maybe that would stop the pain.
But after the surgery, I was still in agony. All that night I pleaded with the nurses to do something. ‘There's nothing more we can do,' I was told firmly.
By 5am, I was climbing the walls. Desperate, I rang home. ‘Come to the hospital now, they're not taking me seriously,' I begged.
‘We'll get there as soon as we can,' promised my stepdad Andy, 50. I just had to hold on a bit longer.
I bunched up the sheets in my fists, trying to block out the pain. Too much, it was too much. I felt sick from it, light-headed... I passed out.
It sounded far away, but I could hear my mum pleading. A man's voice talking, too - snatched words floating up to me. Compartment syndrome...pressure in leg twice what it should be... surgery...
When I came round, my leg was throbbing underneath a huge bandage. The sides of my legs had been cut open to relieve the pressure. Finally, they were doing something.
Over the next few weeks, I lay in bed barely able to move. Then one day, a nurse came to remove the bandages. Fascinated to see how I was doing, I leaned forward as she slowly untwined the bloody dressing to reveal...
Flipping heck! A huge patch of skin was missing from the front of my leg. I could see the muscle, bone, all the insides. It was like a horror film.
Sickness overwhelmed me as the nurse fitted a pump to suck out all the dead muscle and blood from the wound.
A couple of days later, I was transferred to Selly Oak Hospital for a skin graft. That had to be a good sign, right?
But a doctor told me there was little blood flow around my leg. ‘The tissue is dying,' he said gently. ‘And there are organisms growing in the dead tissue.'
‘Th-there are... things growing in my rotting flesh?' I couldn't take it all in.
Over the next seven months, doctors did all they could to save my limb. They took half of my abdominal muscles and used them to reconstruct my leg. It failed.
Slowly, it dawned on me - I might lose my limb. I'd never play football again. Might not be able to walk, run, or go back to work.
Anger took over. If the doctors had treated me for compartment syndrome, or whatever it was sooner, I might not be in this situation. Right, when I got out of hospital I was going to bring legal action against them to stop this happening to anyone else.
Right now, I had bigger things to worry about. I'd run out of options. ‘Amputating your leg is the last thing we can try to help you,' the doctor said. ‘Otherwise, the infection could spread and affect more of your leg.'
I knew it might come to this, but I was terrified. But I gritted my teeth. ‘Do it,' I nodded. ‘I just want to go home.'
When I came round from surgery, my mum and brother Carl, 19, were there. Lifting the blanket, I saw my knee wrapped in a huge bandage... but my foot and calf were gone.
‘So that's it then,' I said.
‘Now you can concentrate on coming home,' Mum nodded.
She was right. Despite everything, I felt relieved. I was sick of laying in hospital.
Soon, I was moving around in a wheelchair. Two months after surgery, I got my first prosthetic leg. For the first time in nine months, I could walk around with crutches. It felt great to have my independence back.
I set a target to walk without crutches at my nan's 80th birthday meal a month later.
As I walked in, I wobbled a little... Then confidently strode over to take my seat.
‘We knew you could do it!' Mum smiled.
Slowly, I was getting my life back. I received compensation from the Heart of England NHS Foundation Trust after they admitted liability.
But I really missed football. I hit the gym and did weights with both my legs, and built up my upper body, too.
Then I went to a paralympics open day, and tried out kayaking. Even though I'd never even been in a boat before, I was a natural! Now I've been selected for the British team, and hope to compete in the next Paralympic Games in Rio de Janeiro in 2016.
Nothing can make up for losing my leg, but I'm making the best of things - paddling my way to a new life.


• A spokesperson for the Heart of England NHS Foundation Trust said: ‘Following an admission of liability by the Trust, the parties have been working together to establish Mr Oliver's needs. The Trust is pleased that agreement has been reached and settlement achieved in relation to the injuries Mr Oliver suffered. We hope that the compensation received will assist with Mr Oliver's care, and improve his quality of life. We would like to offer Mr Oliver our best wishes for the future.'

• Follow Robert's progress at www.facebook.com/robertoliverGB


Robert Oliver, 24, Birmingham, West Midlands