"That was fun Dad," my 10 year old son Max said to me, grinning from ear to ear, as he slammed on the breaks at the bottom of a steepish red run in Verbier and covered me in snow. The run split into 2 routes so it seemed a sensible place to stop. Anyway my 16-year old son Alex had beaten us to the spot and was leaning forward on his ski poles looking relaxed.

We chatted about the fantastic snow and he told me I looked a bit out of breath and was skiing a bit slowly. After a couple of minutes I wondered where my 13-year old daughter, Tashi, was. We looked up the slope and saw my wife making her way down the piste.

No sign though of Tashi.

I looked up again and still couldn't see her. It's amazing how you can scan a slope in a couple of seconds and pick out a person by the way they ski and what they are wearing. Not this time though and I had an immediate feeling that something was not quite right. "There she is Dad over there on the ground surrounded by a group of people," Max said in a matter-of-fact voice.

I could make out her pink trousers and dark jacket scrunched up in a small heap. Before I knew it I had poled 200m back up hill and was crouching down to see if she was OK.

My wife had got there first and was checking how she was.

She was breathing, but not moving. "My back hurts and I can't move," she said in a low voice through some tears and sobs.

"Thank God she is crying," I thought to myself.

My wife asked one of the people that had stopped to help to call the ski patrol and carried out a quick check. She was breathing, there was no blood, she had some feeling in her legs and was in a comfortable position. I'd seen worse.

I glanced up the hill and saw that Alex was already putting out several sets of crossed skis to warn other people on the slopes of an accident. I inwardly felt rather proud of him.

There was nothing to do except wait for the ski patrol and ensure Tashi was warm, as comfortable as she could be and didn't move. It appeared she might have a back injury.

My wife asked what had happened to see if anyone else had been involved, but it seemed Tashi had just caught an edge and fallen. She hadn't even been going very fast.  Good. We didn't need to have a row with anyone and take down statements.

The ski patrol arrived swiftly and carried out their own check.They were quick and efficient and it was a relief to hand over to a professional. "She may have a serious back problem and we need to get her to hospital by helicopter," he said, and with that he called in another ski patroller on his walkie-talkie as he needed a specialist blood wagon to get her to a flat area where a helicopter could land.

The next blood wagon had a special inflatable mattress that would support her.  With me at her feet, one patroller at her head and the other over her torso we lifted her onto the blood wagon as swiftly and efficiently as we could. My wife supported the base of it so it didn't slip down the slope.

For some reason the hardest point was pulling the straps to secure her, picking up her skis and watching her lying, seemingly lifeless, in the blood wagon with just her little pink nose sticking out from the blankets and protective covering. She looked cold and we just wanted to give her a hug.

The helicopter-landing zone was just a few hundred metres away and before we knew it the dull thud of rota blades could be heard.  I positioned myself between the point where the helicopter landed and my daughter and opened my jacket to protect her from the snow that billowed up as it landed. It was about the only thing I felt I could now do to help her.

A doctor jumped out, did his own check and then injected her with a painkiller. I couldn't look at the needle. Within a couple of minutes we had got her onto the stretcher, into the helicopter and the door was pulled.

There was no room on board for either my wife or myself. Just Tashi, and just enough space for the two medics and the pilot.

Watching the helicopter soar into the ski and disappear over a nearby mountain ridge with our 13-year old daughter on board was not pleasant. We then skied down to the village, got into our car and drove down to the valley to the hospital in Sion.

Despite the facts I sort of knew that things would be OK. I knew she had some feeling in her legs and quite frankly I was glad she had been in pain and needed a decent dose of pain relief.  No pain and feeling would have been much worse.

The 1-hour drive took forever. The waiting was awful. The result was great.

Bruised coxis, and 3 bruised vertebrae. She would be in pain for a while. She certainly wouldn't be able to ski again until next winter. No exercise of any sort for several weeks, if not longer. No lasting damage.

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