My accident happened on the 18th June 1965, I was 12yrs and 11 months old, I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was trapped in a room with exploding 5 gallon drums of chemical, then the bulk of the stored chemical exploded as one, blew me clear out of the roof and I landed in the field behind, not a good landing, broke both my ankles. The ambulance and the fire brigade did not find me; it was a police officer checking the perimeter an hour later. I was taken to the local hospital, they did not have the facilities to deal with me and arrange for me to be transferred to a hospital 70 miles away, I was not expected to last the trip.

I spent 4 weeks in intensive care, had 2 nurses looking after me 24x7, died once and came back, no one could explain that to me, my surgeon, some time later said, it just wasn't my time to go. My mother moved into the hospital for that month, I couldn't speak to her or even see her, my eyes had been damaged and I had burnt the inside of my mouth, throat and lungs. Losing my legs does not come close to losing my sight. That first month is a bit vague because of all the drugs, I can remember lying in bed and touching my legs and having chunks of flesh coming away in my hands.

I was transferred into the burns unit; my wounds were dressed for the first time - what luxury. Once all the dead stuff had been removed, the actual damage could be assessed and it wasn't good. My legs from the ankle to the knee had been burnt to the bone and most of the calf muscle had gone too, my thighs had lost about a quarter of the muscle and my ankles were broken. I had to fight to keep my legs I still had my dreams and ambitions. My face had taken a beating and had to be re-built, the rest of me wasn't too bad in comparison. I also started to get my sight back. I went to the operating theatre every 7 – 10 days for months.

Went home after nearly a year in hospital, my friends came round to see me took one look at me and went. It was another 6 months before I went back to school, what a reception, I was treated like a freak. The names didn't bother me, being stabbed with sharp objects to see if I was real did, after a couple of days of this I grabbed to next boy to attack me and hit him so hard I split his nose, I didn't get any more hassle after that. Because of my age, I was too old to be classed as a child and to young to class as an adult and therefore sat in no-mans land when it came to support and rehabilitation – I just didn't get any. It was my choice to go back to school I didn't have to.

I spent every school and college holiday in hospital; it was Christmas 1970, gone in to have work done on my legs. I was in a new ward, purpose built for burns patients single or double rooms with on suite bathrooms and televisions and floor to ceiling windows overlooking the countryside. I was getting changed and caught my reflection in the window it was the first time I had seen my self naked. I had seen most of myself but only in sections this was the first time I had seen the whole picture, all I saw looking back at me was this grotesque thing if it wasn't for the timely intervention of a nurse doing her rounds I would have done myself in. I still have dark days, mainly when the infections take over and I'm laid in bed glowing bright red.

After I came out of hospital that last time, my GP arranged for a social services panel to assess me. I turned up and sat in front of seven people, a mixture of doctors and social workers. I was interviewed but I drew the line at stripping off so the could see for themselves, they proclaimed me to be severely disabled, didn't offer any sort of advice or support and in so many words told me I was good for nothing. I exploded, I hadn't gone thru 4yrs of physio hell getting my body straight and walking without a limp just to be told I wasn't good for anything. I walked out; I have never gone back to them.

I went out and proved to myself that I could do anything I wanted and I did, I have always found solutions to every obstacle. I know how short life can be, and that has changed my perspective on life.
I started to go down with continuous infections in the legs about 3 years ago followed by ulcers, last year it became unmanageable and I had to stop work. Christmas 2005 was probably the worst days of my life; I really don't remember any of it.

After a lot of test and scans, I received a letter from the hospital saying that I was booked in for surgery on February the 3rd 2006; it didn't explain what the surgery was. I also received an invitation from the Amputee Rehabilitation Unit to meet the team – then I knew what the operation entailed.

The surgeon explained that my blood had stopped going into my legs and they were now rotting on the inside, because of all the burn damage/ previous repairs they could not be repaired again. He wasn't sure how much of my legs were damaged and they would start below the knees and work up the legs. Fortunately, it was a bilateral below knee amputation. For the first time in years I feel fit and healthy, I went back to full time work 3months later.

Because of the burn damage to my legs, my nice (very basic NHS) shiny new legs cut my stumps to ribbons. Now, after more operations to the old scars I'm able to wear my legs without any more problems.