- Kaitlyn Scott, 27, Perth, WA was enjoying drinks with mates when she slipped from a table
- Her beer shattered on the tile floor and a shard of glass slashed her neck
- Thanks to her friends quick thinking she’s alive today
Here she tells her own story in her own words.
Bringing the bottle of VB to my lips, I took another sip.
As John Denver’s song ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads’ played in the background, my sister Lyndall, 18, and I shimmied to the beat.
It was January 2018 and, aged 19, I’d spent the evening enjoying drinks and dinner at the local pub with my friends.
Now, 10 of my mates had come back to my house in Avoca, Victoria, for a dance and more bevvies.
It was around 10pm when my mate Emma, then 19, pointed to my almost empty VB stubby.
‘Want another one?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, go on!’ I replied, as she handed me a bottle.
I was wiping down the kitchen table, as the chorus of ‘Country Roads’ kicked in. Feeling cheeky, I jumped up on the table, singing along.
‘Take me hoooome,’ I crooned, using the bottle as a microphone.
My friend Lleyton approached me, chuckling.
‘C’mon, Kaitlyn, I’ll help you down,’ he said.
But as I lowered my weight into his arms, Lleyton lost his footing, and we both tumbled to the floor.
My stubby, which I was still holding onto, hit the tiles first, breaking in two.
Blood gushed from the wound, spurting like a fountain all over my sister
Thankfully, Lleyton landed away from the glass. But there was no time for me to shift, and I crashed down directly on top of it, the sharp edge of the bottle plunging into the left side of my throat.
Beer and glass covered the floor as Lyndall and Emma rushed over to help me, having seen the incident unfold.
Lying on my back, I tried to lift my head but couldn’t. Something was stopping me.
The glass is wedged in my neck, I realised, pulling the shard free in a panic.
Instantly, blood gushed from the wound, spurting like a fountain all over my sister who was crouched next to me.
It looked like something from a horror movie.
Thinking fast, one of my friends, Tomika, held her hands over the hole in my neck to stem the blood.
Laying me back down on the tiled floor, it felt like the world had gone quiet as my vision blurred.
‘Call an ambulance,’ I heard someone cry, as my tube top became slick with blood.
Emma vanished and returned with an old towel, holding it against my gushing wound. The white tiles were now slippery, my blood mingling with the glass and beer.
‘Am I going to die?’ I asked, my eyes wide with fear.
‘No way,’ she promised.
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By the time the ambos arrived 12 minutes later, the towel was soaked through.
Paramedics wrapped my neck tightly with gauze to ease the bleeding before loading me into the ambulance for the two-hour journey to Royal Melbourne Hospital.
Every bump in the road caused the gauze to shift, sending spurts of blood across the van.
Someone from the party had called my parents, Cynthia and Ashley, both 46, who rushed to the hospital.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I cried when I saw them.
‘We’re just glad you’re okay, love,’ Mum soothed.
‘Freak accidents happen,’ Dad added.
I was taken for a CAT scan so doctors could locate where the smaller shards of glass from the bottle had splintered off into the wound.
Then I was wheeled in for surgery, so docs could clean and restitch the hole in my neck.
Thankfully the small cuts on my arms from the broken glass were minor enough to be glued.
I needed 32 stiches to patch up the gaping wound
When I woke, my doctor explained that the bottle had missed my jugular vein by millimetres.
‘You would have bled out in 20 seconds. You’re very lucky to be here,’ he told me.
I’d needed 32 stitches, some of them internal, to patch up the gaping wound.
I couldn’t believe I’d come so close to dying.
After three days in hospital, I returned home.
The kitchen floor had been cleaned, but the lounge room carpet was stained red where my blood had pooled.
Lleyton was very apologetic, but I promised him it wasn’t his fault.
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‘There’s nothing to be sorry about. It was a freak accident,’ I reassured him.
After four weeks of changing my dressing daily, I had the stitches removed.
I also underwent six weeks of physiotherapy to regain movement in my neck. Because of the size of the hole in my neck, the skin that had been re-sealed was tight, making moving my neck difficult.
I was also left with a 10cm scar on my throat, but I didn’t care how I looked. I was just so grateful to be alive.
Now eight years on, I haven’t touched a bottle of VB since. The smell of the beer, which was soaked through my hair and my clothes, reminds me too much of the accident.
Coming so close to death made me determined to live life to the fullest.
I’ve got an amazing job working as a dental nurse and I’m tying the knot with my fiancé Christopher, 28, in November.
We were in high school together and reconnected in 2021 after running into each other at the pub.
It’s crazy to think one beer could change your life. I feel lucky every day for my second chance.
