Photograph by Nicky Bickerton (The Hours brecon)
The Swimming Detective
Hello, this is my story...
The phone rang and I knew immediately that this was the call I had been waiting for. March the 9th 2015. Hello Karen. It’s HR here. The Chief Constable has signed off your paperwork. As of midnight tonight, you are no longer a Police Officer. Do you have any questions? I didn’t! And just like that my 22-year career as a Police Officer was brought to an unceremonious end. I had no questions because I had no words. PTSD had stolen my voice. My ability to think. In fact, PTSD had laid waste to my entire life at that point. Hand over your badge Detective, your services are no longer required…
And so began the wilderness years. Had I retired in the normal course of my career I would have had pre-retirement courses I would have been coached into the gentle art of retirement. I would have received financial advice around my pension and lump sum. I would have had a big old leaving do where my colleagues would have waxed lyrical about my wonderful detecting qualities. But when you are medically retired you slope off via the back door with your tail between your legs. With not so much as a wave goodbye as you empty your locker and return your warrant card.
And so began the free fall into the abyss of anxiety and depression associated with Post traumatic stress disorder. The world stopped back then in March 2015 nothing was as it had been, and nothing would ever be the same again. I had hit a mental brick wall. I fell apart spectacularly and whilst I tried to make sense of what was happening to me Lancashire Constabulary fought me every step of the way for an equitable injury award pension. When on duty we used the phrase “officer down” to signify an injured colleague to shout up for urgent assistance. Well, I was that officer down and instead of assistance and help I felt that I was being repeatedly kicked.