I wasn't sure whether to cycle to work that day: I had a bit of a backache from the physical effort my job entailed. But I knew I'd get a buzz from the exercise, and it was a beautiful autumn morning. As I rode, I was thinking about the day ahead. At the time, I worked in woodland conservation and was looking forward to getting my chainsaw licence so I could take on more responsibility.

I was riding, close to the kerb, along what is normally a quiet country A road in Kent. It was rush hour and the traffic was stop-start – I kept being overtaken by a large lorry, then catching it up again. Just before we came to a traffic island, it lurched towards me. I put my hand out, instinctively, to push it away.

The next thing I remember was a spinning sensation, as if I was on a rollercoaster, then everything went dark. There was a deafening sound – the grating and clunking of metal – and I screamed. When the noise and the spinning stopped, I opened my eyes and found I was lying in the middle of the lane. Instead of being pushed off my bike on to the pavement, I had fallen the other way, underneath the lorry's wheels and into the road.

At first, I thought I'd just fallen off my bike and felt a bit stupid. Then I realised nothing from my stomach down worked. I thought, "Oh, this is serious", but I managed to wiggle my toes which was a relief. The strangest thing was, I looked down at my legs and one was longer than the other, my hips at a funny angle.

By now, a few people had gathered round me. They all looked so serious and I couldn't understand why. A man knelt with me and said, "We've phoned for an ambulance." I asked him for a cup of tea. The lorry driver was there and kept saying, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," and I said, "Don't worry – I'm fine." I must have been in shock.

Then, out of nowhere, the pain came. It was in the pelvic area and it was unimaginable. When the ambulance arrived and they lifted me on to the stretcher, I almost blacked out. I felt my bones grating and shifting. When they shut the door I clearly remember looking up at the blue sky and wondering if it might be the last time I saw it.

Things happened fast at the hospital. People asked me questions, my boyfriend arrived, and they gave me a CT scan. I had fractured my pelvis, a couple of ribs and my spine. I discovered later that the doctors were amazed it wasn't fractured more seriously, but I'd had a backpack on with Tupperware boxes filled with my lunch and they absorbed a lot of the impact. My helmet was pretty smashed up, too.

I was quickly taken for an operation – apparently, with pelvic injuries, bleeding is a huge risk. When I woke up afterwards, I had metal pieces sticking out of my pelvis and a cage fixed around them. I couldn't move or sit up and when they rolled me over to wash me, it was agony. They gave me morphine, and lots of family arrived.

After a few days I was transferred to another hospital for a second operation. The surgeon filled me with bolts and screws to knit my pelvis back together. He showed me the x-ray afterwards – it looked like chain mail. He was really proud of his work. I started to have physio and made good progress. Four months later, I was pretty much walking again.

Six years on, people can't believe I had such a horrific accident and am back to normal. I can sometimes feel the screws through my back, and if I have children, I'll have to have a caesarean because my birth canal won't open properly. But that's fine. I'm grateful to be alive and, day to day, appreciate everything more.

Looking back, I was a cautious cyclist. I never rode in the middle of the lane, confidently, like some people. I avoided the really busy roads and I often got off my bike at roundabouts and pushed it. I thought it made me safer.

I loved cycling – it was cheap, fun and gave me a healthy glow – but I don't do it any more. If Danish-style cycle lanes were built, separated from the road, then I definitely would, but for now I'll steer clear – I'd never forgive myself if I got knocked off again.

I hate driving to work, and that I've been forced into a car. But I have no choice: my accident made me realise it's actually very easy to die.

• As told to Hannah Booth

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