I felt like I'd finally made it. I'd just landed a new job as a project engineer with a major firm, and I was on cloud nine. I was doing what I'd trained for, what I loved, every single day. Life felt like it was clicking into place.  And then, in an instant, it all changed.  

One evening as I was driving home, another car smashed into mine. Or so I've been told, I don't really remember much about the accident itself. Just little bits and pieces. Like being in the back of the ambulance, or being wheeled down hospital corridors. Most of those early days are a blur.  

But I'll never forget the moment a doctor gave me the news: I had fractured my spine.  

In the weeks and months that followed, I had a lot of time to reflect. Things I used to take for granted – standing up from a chair, using the toilet, washing my hair – suddenly became painful, exhausting tasks. Every movement felt like a battle.  

And that dream job I'd worked so hard to achieve? I was desperate to get back to it. But some days, I couldn't even get out of bed, let alone do a full day's work as an engineer. I realised I wouldn't be returning to work any time soon. That was devastating.  

A friend told me about the Chemical Engineers Benevolent Fund. Honestly? I was sceptical! I thought it was just a pension fund for retired chemical engineers. But I was wrong.  

From the very first conversation, I felt listened to. They were kind. They got it. I mentioned how badly I was sleeping, because the pain made it near impossible. My physiotherapist had recommended a special supportive mattress and a cervical pillow, but I simply couldn't afford them while I was off work.  

The Benevolent Fund stepped in with an Aids & Adaptation Grant. I bought both the mattress and the pillow and I can't begin to tell you what a difference it has made. I wish I'd asked for help sooner. A good night's sleep really does change everything.  

But it didn't stop there.  

My adviser at the Benevolent Fund quickly realised I might be eligible for Personal Independence Payment (PIP). There are so many hidden costs to living with a long-term condition, things people don't really think about. The back-and-forth travel to medical appointments for example. Or higher energy bills because it takes so much longer for me to have a shower. And when you’re unable to stand for more than two minutes to prepare a simple meal, you’re forced to make different choices when food shopping too. It all adds up.  

We scheduled a video call and filled out the PIP form together. He was so patient, kind and calm as he asked me about how my condition was affecting daily life. With his support, I felt confident submitting the application. It was approved soon after. That PIP award has been a lifeline.  

I used to think of the Benevolent Fund as something to tick a box for when renewing my IChemE membership. I never imagined I'd need it myself, or how life-changing its support would be.  

To the charity – and to the chemical engineering profession who has donated to the Benevolent Fund over the years – thank you. You made sure I wasn’t left to face one of the darkest moments in my life alone.  

As for me? I'm slowly working my way towards a full recovery. But I haven't lost my passion for chemical engineering. I know I'll be back, stronger than ever, doing what I love.

*The name and certain details of this story have been changed to retain confidentiality. The photo is posed by a model. 

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