selfie and son

Finally gotten around to uploading photos I took on my fateful evening walk a fortnight ago.
This is myself and my son reflected in the Riverside Museum. Behind us is the river Clyde, the Science Centre, the Hydro, the BBC...

In 15 minutes time I will jump from a foot high crash barrier and snap my left femur in two.
My son will phone for an ambulance, panicking and failing to answer the questions from the switchboard.
I will take the phone, sprawled across a grassy bank, and try to tell the person on the other end of the line where I am. It is a newly built road so I don't know the street name.
"Between the Riverside Museum and Glasgow Harbour," I will say, " East of South Street."
"Sorry I don't know Glasgow, you have to be exact," the Ambulance Service now being a national one where there is no local knowledge.
She will ask: " Are there any bones sticking out at odd angles? Any bleeding?"
My leg is dead on the grass but doesn't look too out of shape. I say "No'" to both.
I will lie there trying to reassure my boy. Trying not to scream. Two angels will appear. They will phone the ambulance service back as it's been 20 minutes now. They will say "No," again to the two questions. There will be no siren squealing its way towards me.
The angels will have been at their first meditation practice. They will try and make my son laugh. They will get a foil blanket and cover me with it, prop up my head with a jacket. We will talk about meditation, about this and that. My leg will feel as if its being pulled into the centre of the Earth.
There will be still no sign of an ambulance. One of the angels will call back and lie. "Yes: the leg is at a strange angle." We will try and work out the exact location where we are and won't be able to. A police car will pass and they will flag it down.
We will tell them our story so far. I will have been lying there for over half an hour. A police officer will radio in and will be told that the Ambulance service is stretched this evening. Castlebank Street. The name of this new stretch is Castlebank Street.
The police will decide to try and and lift me into the back of the police car. I will scream as soon as they try and move my leg. I will try and smile up at my son and roll my eyes comically. Then I will scream again as they try to move me.
A police officer will get a pair of scissors and cut off the leg of my trousers.
"I don't think your shin is suppossed to be there," she will say. It is 90 degrees from where it should be. She will radio this in. An ambulance will arrive a few minutes later. I will have been lying there for 45 minutes.
I will be talked to and strapped and given gas and air to suck which I will do desperately, like a drowning man. One of the angels will put a buddha into my hand and close it. After that last loving contact all will become shattered. Fractures of pain and sound and images.
I will be shouted at. I will be talked to. I will be injected. My socks and pants will be cut off. I will be given more pain killer. I will start to come back into some kind of reason at A&E. I will open my hand to find the buddha gone.
I will be told that my son has phoned his mum and they are outside waiting. I will ask about the buddha and be told that it was taken from me but is safe in my jacket pocket.
I will not leave the hospital for the next 8 days.

This is what awaits we two caught at that moment in the gleaming modernism of harbourside architecture. This is what the rest of Wednesday holds. Everything is about to break.