Seven years ago, while walking over a crossing at the Westport roundabout, I found my friend John bleeding profusely having been stabbed in a drug-related attack.
I called an ambulance for him but was prevented from accompanying him to Ninewells Hospital because I had to give a statement to the police.
When I later made my way to Ninewells, I realised that due to the brevity of our friendship I did not know John’s surname and reception staff were unable to track him down.
That day, I assumed he must have died and, because we only had one mutual friend who was in prison, I struggled to find details of a funeral.
Remarkably, he walked up to me in the Stobswell Bar just the other week.
His face, although well-worn by circumstance, was beaming.
He told me he is two years drug-free, having reduced his methadone intake without service intervention, and pulled out a student card before announcing he is studying at Dundee and Angus College.
When I recounted the story of our last encounter, he pulled up his shirt to reveal the knife scar on his torso.
He told me he went to my place of employment after being released from hospital but I had moved jobs at the time.
Before exchanging numbers and parting ways, he informed me that the call to the ambulance service saved his life.
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