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It's been an interesting and eventful few days for us as a family. Wednesday brought Foz's day off and the afternoon found us at home having some dinner before a planned trip to the park. We left Bee watching CBeebies as Foz brought the washing in off the line and I nipped upstairs. We'd recently got Bee some new George Pig bedding and Bee was very excited as Daddy was bringing it in off the line.

I started downstairs a few minutes later to find Bee halfway up, unattended dragging her George Pig duvet cover behind her saying "me bed, me bed". She wanted to put it on her bed. I said her name and asked her to wait there, stay there, panicked even though I knew she was capable of climbing the stairs. It was the bedding that worried me. 

As I shouted her her feet got tangled and she lost her balance, falling face-first down the stairs. I screamed and dashed down after her, nowhere near able to make it in time and she hit the bottom with her shoulder and the side of her face. I was horrified and screamed for Foz, who came running out of the garden. I picked her up and thankfully she was hysterical (and not unconscious) but her nose was bleeding and a lump was forming on her temple. I was concerned about broken bones and we agreed a trip to A&E was necessary.

Foz held her on his knee, trying to calm her down as I dashed about packing a bag with all the essentials. Within 10 minutes we were in the car and making the 10 minute drive to the hospital, feeling like the worst parents that ever were or will be.

A&E booked us in and we went sent down to Children's A&E to wait for the doctor. Of course once we got there and Bee saw all the toys all she wanted to do was play. Typical. I've lost count of how many times I've said to a doctor "she is ill...honest!"

 After a couple of hours of waiting we were sent home with a head injury advice sheet and a warning to keep an eye on her, like we wouldn't! As she hadn't been knocked unconscious they weren't too worried about concussion and she had brightened up during the wait, even though she was still a little quiet. We took her home and kept her up for the required 2 hours before Foz put her to bed.

The following morning, Thursday,  Bee woke, seemingly o.k but as the day wore on I could tell she wasn't herself. She was quiet and wobbly on her feet, had a very snotty nose with a cough and kept stumbling. Her temperature was on the rise too. Still, there was nothing concrete to justify taking her back to see a doctor so she had some medicine and went to bed at the usual time. 

Just past Midnight I went up to bed and popped my head in to check on her. She was surprisingly already awake and so I went in, sitting with her a while and stroking her hand. She was very hot and snuffly, letting out the odd little cough. After 10 minutes or so she started making the sound that I know means imminent vomit so I sat her up and shouted Foz, who came up with wipes and other necessities. She was sick everywhere and as I stroked her back for comfort she suddenly went rigid and almost flung herself back onto the bed, her eyes bulging and not focused, her arms and legs jerking with spasms shaking her whole little body. She wasn't drawing breath. Foz and I panicked, him trying to hold her to stop her hurting herself on the metal frame of her bed and me screaming her name. I ended up clapping as loud as I could in her face, it was all I could think of to stop her. The whole thing lasted about 10-15 seconds but it felt like a lifetime, those moments where my daughter wasn't breathing and I had no idea what to do, I was helpless. 

After she snapped out of it she was hysterical. Foz and I didn't even have to say anything to each other, he started to comfort her and get her changed from the sick-covered pyjamas and I rushed around packing another bag for A&E. We were on the road by 12:40am, making the 10 minute trip. All kinds were going through my mind, my main concern was that the bump to her head had caused some kind of brain damage. Looking back it was probably a silly fear but I'd never seen her like that, never seen anything so terrifying. 

We were seen fairly quickly at the hospital, although the main A&E was busy there aren't many children need emergency care at that time in the morning. Thankfully it was the same doctor as the day before so we didn't have to try and explain everything, just what had happened that evening. He was concerned and after giving us some Calpol to put down her tube to bring her temperature down he arranged a bed on the ward.

We made the long trek up the corridor to the Children's Ward where we were lucky enough to have a whole 6-bed bay to ourselves. I'd been worried about sharing the space, as mentioned in previous posts, Bee doesn't really understand appropiate behaviour in certain situations and we would have found it very difficult (virtually impossible) to keep her quiet in respect of children & parents around her sleeping. As far as we're aware Bee doesn't know how to whisper. 

By the time the on-call doctor had been round and Bee was able to sleep without being poked and prodded it was getting on for 3:30am. We were all shattered and I left Bee sleeping to take Foz home, he was supposed to be at work in just over 5 hours! We hit McDonalds on the way home, both starving and I stayed at home long enough to eat it with him before heading back to my sleeping Bee on the ward. By this time it was getting on for 5am and as they were due to wake her then anyway (every 2 hours is standard precaution for a head injury) I paced the ward trying to stay awake. Once the check was done, she woke quickly and was alert, both she and I were able to sleep. I curled up in the uncomfortable chair next to her bed, padded it out with pillows and tried to get some sleep.

Home comforts can make all the difference

I was up again by 7am, when the shift change came in. Nurses don;t make any allowances for people sleeping and the ward gets noisy very early. Thankfully Bee slept on, the poor kid was exhausted, so I sat and quietly read my Kindle, waiting for breakfast to come round. My girl must have the nose of a bloodhound as she started to stir just as the breakfast trolley made it to the bay next to ours.

Two plates of toast, a cup of tea for Mama and some CBeebies later and Bee was looking a little brighter. Her raging temperature was gone and she was more alert.



Of course Bee wasn't happy to watch CBeebies in her cot for long so it was off to the play room, which has had a revamp since we were last in-patients. It's very hard to convince a doctor that your child is ill when she's doing this....

Around 10am the doctor came and had a chat with me. The diagnosis: Bee had a febrile seizure brought on her by very high temperature. It was nothing to do with her fall from the day before, it was simply a coincidence.

As heart complications are common in children with Kabuki Syndrome and seizures can be related to that the doctor ordered an ECG for Bee, just to be on the safe side. It came back perfectly clear and we were allowed to go home. 

Having her ECG

We are aware though that seizures can suddenly manifest in older children with Kabuki Syndrome and it's something that we need to keep an eye on. Should she have another one and there's no high temperature we'll have to go back for further tests. As it is we're on the waiting list for another EEG due to her little 'absences', moments of tuning-out.

Overall it's been a very stressful and worrying few days but Bee has come through it all fine, just a graze on her nose, a bump on her head and a bit of a cough & cold. Thankfully she'll be ready for the start of school on Tuesday, she's such a little soldier.

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I want to add here that our NHS is a very important institution in this country. We've needed a lot of support for Bee since her birth and it's always been there for us, without charge. We've always received the best of care and have met some wonderful medical professionals along the way. Sometimes, when headlines like 'hospital lets patients die in corridor' etc hit the news it's easy to forget that these are isolated incidents in a huge network of healthcare that supports our entire nation using world class training, techniques and equipment FOR FREE.

It doesn't seem to really be penetrating the public consciousness yet but the current Conservative government is attempting the sly, secretive dismantling of the NHS and it's very important that every UK citizen who cherishes what we have gets behind the campaign to save it from privatisation.

This is something that is very important to me.
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Magic and Beyond

The week of my 30th birthday at the end of May was certainly an interesting one. It started with a family party, there was a day in deepest Wales and the Friday brought our trip to Magic Weekend. For those unfamiliar, Magic Weekend happens once a season in the Rugby League calendar and all the games from one weekend are playing in the same stadium, one after the other. That's four games on Saturday and four on Sunday. For such huge Rugby League fans as Foz and I are we always try to go every year, especially when, as this year, it's in Manchester, barely half an hour's journey from home.

The Etihad Stadium

The Etihad, a football stadium that's home to Manchester City, is a beautiful and spacious venue and this was our second time attending there. Warrington Wolves were scheduled to be the last game on Saturday but we had weekend tickets anyway and were planning to watch all 8 games over the two days.

I was especially excited for our game as I'd won a competition run by Foxy Bingo (a sponsor of Super League) a few weeks earlier and my prize was to race in a zorb on the pitch at half time. Brilliant!

We spent the first three games watching with our friends, chanting, drinking and enjoying the beautiful weather. But as Warrington's game against St. Helens approached I started getting nervous. I knew it wouldn't be long before I would be facing off against a Saints fan in front of thousands of people!

Half time arrived all too soon and I found myself zipped inside the zorb, after being given some simple instructions on how the race would work. My Saints opponent and I were led on to the pitch once the players had left the field and I scanned the crowd looking for the mass of Warrington fans in the corner of the stadium. I knew Foz, my dad and brother would be there cheering me on. Sound was strangely muffled in the zorb, I could hear my own voice echoing around the space around me but sounds from the outside, even the loud music and tannoy announcements were hard to make out. 

We lined up on the try line and I strained my ears trying to hear the announcer (incidentally a famous ex-Rugby League player called Robbie Paul) doing our introductions and explaining the race to the crowd. Thankfully a staff member did a visual countdown in front of us and we could barely hear Robbie getting us ready to go. But soon enough it was time.  I adopted my starting position. I was determined to win. Determined. St. Helens are old rivals of Warrington and I spent many years of my childhood watching them beat us every single time we played each other. I was absolutely not going to lose to a Saints fan, no matter how nice he was.

The race was over very quickly, about 20 seconds from "go" to crossing the line. Running in a zorb is difficult, especially when you're trying to go at speed. You're essentially falling forward all the time so you can push it faster but the ball holds you up. Like a hamster ball. Unfortunately my efforts to win finally outweighed my zorb-running ability and I pitched forwards as I crossed the line, hitting the ground hard with my left shoulder. The split second of impact was blinding agony and I felt it again as the speed of my fall took me into a tumble which ended with me lay on my back, looking at the sky. The pain lessened and I lay there for a few seconds trying to catch my breath. I could see people outside my zorb gesturing me to get up so I did and climbed out through the opening that they unzipped for me. I had no idea what the outcome of the race had been, it was only when Robbie Paul was holding a microphone in my face asking me how I felt did I realise that I'd won! It was a slightly surreal moment, hearing my voice echoing around the stadium and seeing my face on the big screen.

After my very brief on-pitch interview we were led off the pitch to collect our shoes and make our way back to our families/friends. The pain in my shoulder, which had been dully throbbing since the fall, started to increase as I walked along the touchline until I felt I couldn't breathe. I went really hot and lightheaded. We returned and stood in the tunnel and I really tried to concentrate as the team told us how well we'd done and thanked us for taking part but it was all I could do to stay stood upright. The Foxy Bingo representative must have noticed as she asked if I was alright as I'd gone very pale. I said I was fine, I'd just banged my shoulder and would be o.k after some water and catching my breath. As I bent over to put my shoes back on I nearly blacked out and it took a completely irrational fear of causing a nuisance or embarrassing myself to keep upright. I stumbled a little and must have made a noise with the pain as the Foxy Bingo rep came over again and said she thought I needed to see the St. John's Ambulance crew. I agree and was led in a small medical room just off the tunnel.

Once in there I leaned over the sink and splashed some cool water on my face, I just couldn't seem to shake the hot, lightheaded feeling that had come over me and the pain in my shoulder was unbearable. The nurse encouraged me to lie on the bed and I was happy to comply. After a few minutes, when the room had stopped spinning and I felt able to stand without falling over I stood to allow the nurse to examine me. She asked the standard questions like my name and age and what I'd done to hurt myself. She also asked if I had had anything to drink. "Yes" I replied, "some water before the race". She laughed and told me she'd meant alcohol. D'oh. I don't drink alcohol so I was o.k on that score and she gave me a couple of Ibuprofen. Finally it was time for the physical examination. I'd been holding my arm up across my chest, supporting it at the wrist with my good arm. It was the only position that made the pain bearable. The nurse had me lower my arm to my side then, holding it our straight, raise it as far up as I could to the front and again to the side. Wow, the pain. I got it just lower than horizontal forwards and less than that to the side before the pain just overwhelmed me. I really tried to tough it out but doing those arm movements brought tears to my eyes. I just kept apologising to the nurse and the poor Foxy Bingo rep (who sat in the corner looking terrified) for being such a big girl about it. Not very reassuringly the nurse said I needed to be examined by the on-site doctor and she went away to call for him. It was at this point the Foxy Bingo rep asked who I was with and if she could ring them to come and be with me. I refused. I could hear from the crowd noise that the game had re-started and there was no way I was letting Foz, my dad and brother miss the rest of it.

The doctor arrived after a few minutes. Thankfully he didn't make me repeat the arm exercises but he did have a really good feel of my shoulder, pressing all around it and asking me where the pain hurt the most. It felt like it was directly on the front of my shoulder, at the top. He reassured me it wasn't dislocated but I did need an x-ray and that I would be put in an ambulance and taken straight to Manchester Royal Hospital. I absolutely refused. There was a Warrington Wolves game going on out there and I'd already missed most of it. I wasn't missing any more of it or allowing my family and friends to. Before the doctor would allow me to return to my seat I had to assure him I would go straight to A&E after the game had finished and get the x-ray I needed, which I was happy to do. So, arm trussed up in a sling the Foxy Bingo rep escorted me pitchside, all along the edge to the opposite corner and my waiting family, who by this point were all extremely worried that I hadn't returned. On the way we passed the dugouts (where the substituted players & coaching staff sit) and I was thrilled to receive a wink from Adrian Morley, a hugely popular Warrington player. As I started to pass the beginnings of the mass of Warrington fans in the corner of the stadium I could hear some cheering building up and I looked to the pitch to see what was happening. Nothing worth cheering about that I could see so I looked back over to the crowd and realised that everyone clapping and cheering was looking at me! I returned to a hero's welcome, the few thousand Warrington fans all cheering and chanting for me and I couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry! It was an incredible experience, even in as much pain as I was.

By the time I returned there was only 10 minutes left and I spent it standing very gingerly in my place with my family, terrified someone was going to knock me or bump me by accident. Luckily we were with a large group and they all looked after me. At the end, after Warrington won spectacularly (or so I'm told, in the end I missed all but the first 10 minutes!) we waited until the crowds had cleared to make our way to the exits. As I couldn't drive the plan was to leave my car in the stadium car park (which involved a little arranging with the head steward) and allow my dad to drive us to the local hospital in his car. We were very lucky he was there.

I was not looking forward to A&E. It late on a saturday night, quite possibly the worst time to be attending and I know that minor injuries like mine are pushed further and further down the queue as more serious cases come in. I expected a long night. In the end the whole visit took about an hour. And this was the result:

Ouch!

A very lovely break in my clavicle. I did a right good job too. No bruised bone or simple crack for me. A collar bone in two pieces, in a location so far to the edge that the doctor told me unless it healed right there was very little they could do corrective surgery-wise. The knobble on the end of the bone was too small to anchor a metal pin into. Yikes. I was given a fabric sling with some painkillers and told to report to my local A&E in Warrington on the monday to make an appointment at the fracture clinic.

Excuse the face. It had been a long, exhausting & painful day!

 So all that was left was to return to the hotel we were staying in and try and get some sleep. We still had tickets for the following day and I did not want to miss it. My dad drove us back to the hotel and, after picking up some spare pillows and sheets from reception we settled into our room. Poor Foz had to sleep on the sofa bed as the slightest movement was agony. I tried to sleeping sitting up, propped by lots of pillows but the pain and poor support of the cheap sling made it difficult and I slept very little. On top of that I struggled to do anything for myself, I couldn't even unbutton my own jeans. 

The following morning we slowly got ready to leave the hotel and head to the stadium. We had to book a taxi to drop us and all our bags at my car in the stadium car park then walk across to the stadium. At least the rugby was good! Home time involved my dad dropping his car at my house, Foz's dad driving him to Manchester then my dad driving Foz and I home in my car. Nightmare. thank goodness we've such amazing family around us!

The following few days were difficult and involved a lot of hastily-organised childcare by our parents. Foz had to return to work on the Monday and I couldn't even bring Bee downstairs in a morning, much less feed and dress her or change her nappy. We settled into a routine of my mum coming first thing monday and tuesday to get Bee ready and take her to nursery, then staying with me until Foz returned home from work. Wednesday was Foz's day as he's always off work. Thursday morning would bring my mum first thing again then Bee would be picked up by Foz's parents Thursday afternoon until Saturday or Sunday night depending on Foz's working hours. It must have been exhausting and hugely intrusive for our families and all I could do was watch on, feeling terribly guilty about all the trouble I'd caused. I felt the worst for Foz. Not only did he still have to work all the time but he also had to do everything at home and look after Bee entirely on his days off. He was a star though and never complained once. If I tried to lift a finger he insisted I sit down and keep my arm still. I couldn't risk it not healing correctly as the recovery would have been even worse. Thankfully a few days after the incident fracture clinic gave me a lovely padded sling to wear, which turned out to be my saviour and infinitely more supportive than the rubbish fabric one.

 
 It was a hard time and we fell behind with so many things, not least of which was my blog! Poor Bee didn't really understand what was happening and would often try to hug me or climb on my knee. It broke my heart a little every time I had to gently push her away. I missed holding her, cuddling her and feeling her little weight in my arms. I noticed the longer I stayed away from her the less often she would try and come over to me. It killed me.

 But, after 5 weeks I had my follow-up x-ray to confirm the break was healing correctly and success! Although still a small break in the bone where it hadn't quite healed, all was in place and I would need no further treatment and certainly not an operation. I was thrilled. The sling came off and the road to building my arm back up started.

I'm still going through that process. It was a couple of weeks after my x-ray that I felt able to alone with Bee, capable of changing her nappy, dressing her and lifting her in and out of the car. I've now spent my first full week alone with her and I'm still struggling with the lifting, she weighs over 2 stone and doesn't always like to co-operate but we manage o.k. It's something that will get easier with time. 

  Of course that was my first and only zorb experience. Clearly I overestimated my abilities at running in a giant plastic ball. Lesson learnt!

Another Day, Another Trip to A&E

Well, one thing we can never say about life with Bee is that it's uneventful!

This morning, while getting Bee ready for nursery I noticed a small lump on her inner wrist. Immediately I panicked. It looked just like a bone sticking out, as if she'd broken it. I wracked my brain trying to think when she'd had a significant fall recently or shown any pain or discomfort but nothing seemed to fit. Bee stumbles a lot due to her gross motor delay and hypotonia but she hadn't had a major fall in a couple of weeks.

I gingerly pressed at the area around it and Bee didn't react at all so I tried gently touching the lump. Nothing. No tears, no cringe, no reaction at all. It felt fairly hard but still yielded, not like bone. All kind of thoughts went through my head. The first (ridiculously) was a tumor but then, I couldn't think when I'd heard of a tumor on the wrist. So then maybe a fatty lump or cyst or some kind? But I wasn't sure if that happened in children.

Bee was still asking for nursery and as she didn't seem to be in any pain and was moving her hand freely I decided to pop in and ask the advice of her teachers. It's a nightmare getting a GP's appointment.

On arrival all said it was unusual but as she wasn't in any pain and was off playing with the toys they were happy for her to stay and would ring me with any problems. I decided to go home, pack a bag and take her to A&E after nursery.

So:

Milk, syringes & tube....check

Nappies, wipes & creme....check

 Spare clothes....check

Pyjamas & slippers....check

 Toys....check

Laptop & DVD's....check

It sounds a lot but from grim experience we go in expecting it to be a few hours and end up being admitted, sometimes for days on end. These days I always go well prepared: a small bag with nappies, toys & things for the day plus a suitcase stored in the car with extra things for a longer stay.

After collecting Bee from an uneventful morning at nursery we headed straight to A&E at our local hospital. After booking us in the lady at reception asked if we knew our was to the children's section of A&E. Do we ever! We're so well known in the children's ward that we're always greeted by name and all the staff are really pleased to see Bee. Today was no different, a lovely nurse on duty was someone we'd seen many times during Bee's various stays and she was happy to see the big changes in Bee since her last visit.

We had an initial consultation with the doctor, who asked lots of questions and examined Bee's wrist. She agreed that Bee wasn't in pain or discomfort and had a full range of movement so it was extremely unlikely to be a break. She said it was most likely a ganglion cyst, which is harmless, but just to be on the safe side she would send us to get some xrays done then take another look. So, back into the waiting room until we were called to radiology. 

Bee loves the waiting room. It's full of exciting new toys and books, not to mention other people to nosey over. She became particularly entranced by a teenage girl dressed in school PE gear and with a cut over her eye. After slowly walking back and forth past her a few times, slyly watching her out of the corner of her eye, Bee finally plucked up the courage to stand in front of the girl, point and tell me "uh oh". Thankfully the girl and her dad weren't offended and laughed about it. A few times in the next hour of waiting the girl went away, maybe for the toilet or the vending machines and each time Bee went over to her empty chair, had a good examine of it just to make sure she was definitely gone, then turned to the dad and asked "where is? Where is?" I laughed and laughed. It's not at all like Bee to be comfortable with strangers and her concern about the health and whereabouts of the teenager was lovely. 

We waited about an hour for Bee's xrays. During that time I googled 'ganglion cyst' and found that they are indeed harmless, although can be painful and sometimes need surgical removal. From my reading it appeared they were most common in adults and I could find very little except for various posts on parent forums for ganglion cysts in toddlers. The webpages I browsed seemed to conclude they were generally caused by repetitive strain or injury, which didn't seem to fit with Bee and they could go away on their own. Sometimes, if they didn't disappear or became painful they could be drained of the fluid with a needle or surgically removed under anesthetic. Slightly worrying.

Bee's xrays were not fun. Bee will not voluntarily sit still and certainly would not understand to keep her hand still on an xray plate so I had to sit her on my knee and clamp her arm in the right position. Not a great experience. Bee struggled and cried but it was a neccessary evil and it was over fairly quickly. To calm her tears the radiographer offered Bee an 'I've been brave' sticker and, to Bee's complete joy, a Peppa Pig certificate! Honestly it was like flicking a switch. The tears stopped, the smile came out and she was joyful little Bee again.

So back to the ward to await a doctor's perusal of her xrays and diagnosis of her wrist. It was another hour or so before we were seen again, this time by a different doctor. She'd looked at Bee's xrays and there's definitely no break or fracture and the most likely diagnosis is a ganglion cyst. The doctor said she'd never seen one in a child as young as Bee and would like us to go back and see a consultant in a week's time. Which we're happy to do but it is a little worrying. If it's just a harmless cyst that should go away on it's own why do we need to go back and see a consultant? At least we'll only have a week to wait and find out.

Victories and Viruses

So Warrington Wolves made it to Wembley. You could have floored me with a feather when the final hooter went in our semi-final against Wigan Warriors and we were the victors. We'd actually made the Challenge Cup Final! The Wire were going to Wembley! But that left us in a huge dilemma: we'd never left Bethany for more than a couple of hours and even then we'd only done it 3 times. But Warrington were in a cup final for the first time in 19 years and as lifelong supporters how could we not be there to see it? Of course opinion was divided. I wanted to take Bee with us and Foz thought it was best if she stayed at home. We live a long way from London and would be gone from very early in the morning until very late at night. Foz's common sense won over my emotional irrationality and it was agreed Bee would stay at home. I would only be happy with one person doing the babysitting: my Mum. After myself and Foz she knows Bee best and nobody could do a better job than she can. Plans were made and my Mum was really looking forward to it. So, minibus booked and costumes organised I looked forward to Wembley with a mix of pure excitement and icy dread. I knew leaving Bee was not going to be easy.


The morning of the Final was bright and warm, surely a good sign, and my Mum and Ken arrived early in the minibus. Myself, Foz and our friend Thecko, costumed up, decorated it with blue and yellow flags, bunting and a sign reading 'this way to Wembley' for the back window. In all the commotion Bee had awoke so her Dad went to collect her from the cot and bring her downstairs. Once in my arms I couldn't let her go. It was so hard to leave knowing I wouldn't see her again for at least another 15 hours. But leave we did. Wembley was calling and we had another 13 fanatical Wire fans to collect on the way. My Mum and Bee waved us off, or rather my Mum waved and Bee attempted to pull her hair, and I shed a few tears as they disappeared from view. Still I knew I was leaving Bee in the best possible hands, I'd just miss her terribly. My Mum was planning on getting Bee bathed, dressed then taking her out for the day with her NannyGranny Jan.


And so, we were off to London! We stopped at the Wire stadium first, our pick-up point for the rest of the travellers on the bus. What a sight! 50+ club-organised coaches on top of the random fan-run coaches like ours, it was wonderful chaos. Vestas, one of Wire's sponsors, had brought lots of free merchandise so we made sure we had stocked up on flags and inflatable banging sticks before finally boarding the minibus and hitting the motorway. On the way down it was almost as if everyone on the motorway was heading for Wembley, decked out in primrose and blue. We waved at the passing cars, coaches and minibuses and received enthusiastic waves back. Everyone was so excited. We'd never been to Wembley and never seen Warrington in a cup final so you can imagine how excited we were. Mine was twinged with worry though. I missed Bee terribly already and we were not even in London. My Mum had texted a couple of times so I knew everything was ok, I just wish we'd brought her with us. On arrival at our booked parking spot, a pub 5 minutes from the ground, I set up my impromptu face painting booth on the floor of the minibus and proceeded to coat my fellow travellers in blue and yellow face paint. Once finished, although conveniently parked at a pub we decided to forgo partaking of the produce and head over for Wembley's over-priced and watered-down beer. I just couldn't wait to get into the stadium and see it filled with Wire fans. The walk up to Wembley was fantastic. To see all the primrose and blue-adorned people gave me such a sense of camaraderie. Plus, as guilty as I felt, it was nice to be having a break.


Inside the stadium was immense, there were Wire fans everywhere and the atmosphere was so excitable. We hung around in the concourse for a while, getting beers, hot dogs and programmes and then took our seats, about half way up the lower tier and right behind the sticks in the Warrington end. Amazing. We'd missed the pre-match entertainment but had made it in plenty of time for the pre-game staples: 'Abide With Me' and the National Anthem. There had been a lot of talk and laughing between us before the game about Abide With Me making even the toughest men cry but it just didn't get me. The National Anthem did though. I'm not particularly patriotic, it was more the knowledge that Warrington were playing in a game big enough to warrant the National Anthem being sung. I was a blubbering wreck. The fans roared as the song finished and the players lined up for kick off. I won't bore you with the blow-by-blow details of the game, Rugby League is not to everyone's taste, I'll just say it was a fantastic and nail-biting game. Towards the end of 80 minutes Wire were in the lead and I allowed a small glimmer of belief that we could win it enter my consciousness. As the minutes ticked past Huddersfield were fast running out of time to score the points they needed. You could feel the atmosphere begin to change from tension to celebration we approached the dying minute of the game. Elation swept through us as we counted down the final minute. Warrington had done it. Challenge Cup Champions. We jumped around and danced and cheered as the team did similar on the pitch. I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket and fished it out, looking forward to the inevitable 'congratulations' text messages. It was from my Mum. "Don't panic". My stomach dropped. "Bee is in hospital". The fear that had lurked at the back of my mind all day was there in front of me in black and white. y baby was in hospital and I wasn't there. The text went on to say they were waiting for a doctor and she would let me know as soon as there was any news. I told Foz straightaway and we worried over the possible causes. The most obvious (and likely) was another virus but the possibilities we endless and very scary.


Of course the stadium around us was still vibrating with the roar of celebrating Warrington fans, all oblivious in the drama unfolding in our two seats. Being on a minibus meant we didn't have the luxury of dashing home to Warrington so we had a decision to make. What would we do? Obviously we wanted to get home as soon as possible but there were 14 other people with us who wanted to enjoy this historic occasion. We decided to wait until Warrington had lifted the cup and everyone was ready to start leaving the stadium to break the news. It wasn't long before the team ascended the steps and one-by-one accepted their winner's medals. I had such mixed emotions: elation at my team's victory and despair at every passing minute I wasn't at Bee's side. I couldn't stop the tears although thankfully I wasn't the only one crying, I defy any Warrington fan to claim they didn't shed a tear that day. After lifting the cup the team posed for photos and paraded around the pitch. It seemed to go on forever, I just wanted it all to end. When it was finally all over and the last player had left the pitch we joined the crush of fans all exiting the stadium and gathered together with our minibus group in the concourse. It was chaos. The Wire fans milling about were crying & hugging strangers, cheering and waving flags and banners. We decided to tell only our closest friends Frilly & Nita so they could help us shepherd everyone back to the bus as quickly as possible. They were very understanding. Whilst trying to gather everyone together from various toilet trips, conversations and celebrations I was still frantically trying to phone my Mum to find out what was happening. Eventually I got through and she told me Bee had been grumpy all morning, throwing up and had developed a sky-high temp of 39.8. My Mum had taken her to A&E at dinnertime and by the time I spoke to her at tea time they had been moved to the ward but were still waiting to see a doctor. So, major panic over. Bee wasn't at death's door and there hadn't been an accident but we were still terribly concerned as illness for Bee is always tough and that was one of the highest temps she'd had. We were so anxious to get back to her.


Finally, the gang together, we headed for the minibus. The pub we'd parked at had put on a BBQ and everyone was starving. Of course we hadn't told most people about Bee so they started disappearing towards the food and beer. I headed after them and explained the situation. Everyone was supportive and after a quick pint & bite and a short petrol stop we started the long trip back to Warrington. The journey, although traffic-free, just seemed to drag. With every passing minute I worried about how Bee was. Foz and I had agreed that I would be dropped at the hospital first, then everyone else and lastly he would go home to sort through the bags and pack some things for me in case Bee was in longer than overnight.


We finally arrived at the hospital. I must have looked a sight walking the long corridors with my blue and yellow tutu and face paint. The nurses all had a good giggle when I arrived at the ward, no mistaking where I'd been. The ward had been decorated in yellow and blue streamers and pictures of the Warrington Wolves badge, a lovely touch for the children who were too ill to be at the game. Bee was asleep. It was about 11pm but I'd hoped she'd be awake so I could have a cuddle, I was dying to hold her. My Mu, bless her heart, was sat quietly in the comfy chair, the lights dimmed, watching Bee sleep. I was so glad to see her. She told me that the doctor had still not been round even though they'd been on the ward since teatime. She went on to update me about the events of her day: Bee had taken ill mid-morning, coughing and vomiting and had developed a temp of 39.8, at which point she'd taken the decision to take Bee to A&E. After a few hours they had been transferred to the ward, where they were still waiting. By the time we'd swapped war stories & had a cuppa from the nurses it was nearing midnight. Ken had returned from dropping off the minibus passengers and was ready to take my Mum home, which just left me and a sleeping Bee. With this time to myself I was able to set up my camp bed on the floor and sneak a feed down Bee's gastrostomy tube. It wasn't long before the doctor appeared, finally. I reflected that it was a good job Bee wasn't at death's door. After an examination that woke her and made her cry the conclusion was just another viral infection, keep her dosed up on Calpol. How frustrating! We'd waited, or at least my Mum had, nearly 8 hours to see a doctor on the ward and the conclusion was nothing we couldn't have done at home. If we'd have been seen sooner we may well have been able to take Bee home, but as it was past midnight we were stuck. After the doctor had left I settled my tired girl back to sleep and attempted to get some myself. It was about 1am and it had been such an emotional day, from one extreme to the other. By this point I had been awake for approximately 20 hours and I was exhausted. I sent a quick text to Foz and my Mum to update them and was out like a light.


The following day started early, as it always does on the ward. The ward staff make no allowances for people sleeping and it gets noisy very early. Bee was already awake and waving her legs in the air. I got her up, fed and dressed then we sat and played while waiting for the doctor to come on rounds. Rounds are always variable, anything from first thing to after dinnertime. Normally I'm happy to wait, me and Bee just pass the time playing, singing songs and visiting the playroom but today, after 5 hours sleep, I was desperate to get home. Not to mention I was still stuck in my tutu and heels from the day before and getting some very strange looks off other parents on the ward. Finally, after what seemed like an age, the doctor arrived. We exchanged pleasantries, I explained my attire and talked her through the previous day and evening. The conclusion was exactly what I'd expected; just another virus. Take her home, keep her topped up with Calpol and bring her back should she deteriorate. As soon as the doctor left I sneaked a text to Foz to tell him the good news and started to gather together Bethany's belongings. I dressed her in her warmest clothes to keep the chilly air off, good old British summer, and strapped her in the pram. All loaded up we were ready to leave. I collected Bee's medicine, said goodbye to the nurses and we headed towards the back entrance to the hospital to phone a taxi. After a long and exhausting weekend me and my girl were finally going home to a warm house and a cup of tea! Bee was still poorly and this lasted a couple of days but she recovered nicely, as she always does and came back fighting.

Scoo Boo

Bethany's life started in the Special Care Baby Unit (SCBU) or Neonatal Unit, known affection to those who work or frequent there - Scoo Boo. Warrington Hospital's unit has two rooms, the high dependency room and, as one of the nurses put it to me, the 'nearly-going-home' room. Access is buzzer-only and there is a lovely parent's room just down the corridor with a TV, sofa and small kitchen.

Bee's first few days were spent in the high dependency room. Although I'd been wheeled there straight from theatre after having Bethany I had been high as a kite so my memories were very hazy. I was completely unprepared for walking in there, lucid and aware, for the first time. I rang the buzzer at the entrance to the unit and a nurse came to escort me inside. The room was so hushed it felt almost like a sacred place with only the quiet voices of nurses and parents and the beeping of monitors to break the silence. I was almost afraid to speak. Many of the babies in high dependency were in incubators, some with strong UV lights shining over them for the jaundice or quilted covers hiding them. The constant beep of monitors was like a weird melody broken occasionally by a loud alarm, indicating that a baby's heart or oxygen rate had dropped below acceptable and a nurse would hurry over. I was shocked to see just how tiny the babies occupying the incubators were. How could anything so small have so much perseverance and fight? But my biggest shock was approaching the small crib that held my beautiful daughter. She was so swollen and red, with tubes and wires seemingly everywhere. A monitor next to her showed her heart and oxygen rate and she has a little name tag attached to the head of the crib. Bethany's named nurse explained to me what everything was for and how she'd been through the night. It was all so much, I felt so overwhelmed.

Our first problem was with Bethany's oxygen level, it would drop every time she cried or tried to feed. These episodes, called desaturations, were very scary and we were concerned she would have to go into an incubator. She required an oxygen mask applied to her face when this would happen to bring her level back up. Her second problem was feeding. Bethany just wouldn't suck, she seemed to have no instinct for it. I had desperately wanted to breast feed but it just wasn't happening so Bee had a nasal gastric tube (known as an NG) to feed milk directly into her tummy and would take tiny amounts from a bottle. The nurses told us that this was normal for a premature baby. Bethany spent the first few days on a warming mattress in her crib as she was struggling to maintain her body temperature, something which is also normal for premature babies. She had an excess of red blood cells, making her appear very red and was jaundice underneath the red. She was also swollen, I think from the pressure of all my excess water.

Bethany was taken off the warming mattress after a couple of days - her first victory and stopped needing oxygen at 5 days old - her second. She still had the oxygen desaturations but had begun to self-correct so the doctors were no longer concerned. It still bothered us that her oxygen level dropped at all but we were assured time and time again that it's normal to drop a little during sleep. With those milestones behind us it was just a matter of establishing her feeding.

Of course every day, time and time again I was making the trip between the post-natal ward and Scoo Boo. Shuffling along the corridor in my pyjamas, trying not to jiggle my staples I must have looked a right sight! I would sit with Bethany as long as possible, tending to her cares like feeding and nappies then shuffle back down to the ward for meal times. Of course in the end I was doing too much and my legs and feet swelled so badly I thought my feet would explode every time I took a step, I couldn't even get my slippers on so I ended up wandering back and forth in my bare feet. The nurses told me off but I couldn't bear the thought of my baby crying and me not being there to comfort her. I just wanted to be able to what every other mum could. I would lie awake back on the ward, listening to other babies crying and their mums getting up to care for them, then complaining to the nurses that they were tired and wanted the baby to stop. I felt like screaming at them. They had no idea how lucky they were to have their baby at the end of the bed. The crib at the end of my bed was empty. A cruel reminder of our situation and my poorly little baby. I sobbed so hard I thought my heart would break in those first few nights, it was like torture. As I'd had a C-Section I had to remain in the hospital for three days for recuperation. On the third day the doctor came on the morning rounds and declared me fit for home, the words I'd been dreading. I asked a nurse if that meant I had to go home, as I didn't want to leave without my baby. She told me there was no rush as they did not need the bed immediately, but I couldn't remain too much longer as they would eventually need the bed for another patient. I told her I would see how Bethany was the next morning and re-evaluate. That evening I came back down to the ward from feeding and caring for Bethany and was feeling particularly emotional. I'd hit the 3-day 'baby blues' and had realised there was no chance of Bethany coming home in the next few days so I would have to face the prospect of going home without her. The nurse just arriving on the night shift caught me crying and sat down on my bed for a chat. I'd not complained to anyone up to that point. Tried to be stoic and strong for my baby and my partner, except for my late-night weeping sessions, but this nurse just caught me at a low point and I couldn't help myself: I just poured my heart out to her. I cried about Bethany, about being away from her, about feeling jealous of all the other mums, about being so tired from caring for Bee as much as possible and expressing every 3 hours, about my sore boobs from the pump, about missing my partner... the list just went on. She was very nice and comforting but in truth she couldn't really help. The following morning I headed to the loo, situated just by the nurses station, while all the nursing staff were in handover. I could hear my nurse, the one who had so kindly comforted me the previous evening, doing an impression of somebody crying. I realised it was me. She was making light of my emotional outburst the night before for the amusement of the other nurses. I was mortified and devastated. I ducked in to the toilet before she could spot me and ended up hiding there, crying, until the handover had finished and the night staff gone. It was at that point I decided that, despite how I felt about leaving Bee, I would have to face up to it and go home. She was not going to be home for a while and I couldn't stay on the post-natal ward any longer. Unfortunately, as Bee was so premature myself and Foz were completely unprepared at home so he'd been spending days at home trying to get the house in order, ready for bringing Bee home. Thankfully my wonderful Mum offered for me to stay for a few days and pamper me until the house was ready. I was so grateful, it meant delaying the inevitable: stepping back in my house without my baby.

Still, leaving the hospital on the 4th day I was a mess. It felt a little like I was abandoning my baby. I spent the whole time worrying that she would be awake and crying and I wouldn't be there. Or something would happen and the doctors couldn't get in touch with me. For the few days I spent at my Mum's I still went to the hospital and spent all day and evening there, went back to my Mum's for sleep and would get up to express during the night. I needed to keep my supply going as I wanted Bee to be on breast milk. After a few days I couldn't delay the inevitable any longer: I had to go home. Walking through the front door of my house without Bethany was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I went straight up the stairs to her room, which had been decorated in my absence by Foz and a friend of ours Frilly, sat down and cried and cried.

The next 10 days or so were a blur of hospital visits and snatched meals and naps. As we don't drive our wonderful parents got together and devised a rota for ferrying us back and forth to the hospital. Luckily none of us live that far apart and the hospital is only a ten minute drive from our house. We fell into a routine of being up early for Bethany's first feed of the morning, usually around 7/8am. We'd take a picnic and stay for the day, doing her next two feeds as well. Then we'd be picked up and taken home for tea and a rest while the nurses did that feed, then we'd return for the feed in the evening and spend some time with Bee, returning home around midnight-ish to get some sleep ready for the next day. I would still get up to express and it was exhausting but this routine allowed us to spend as much time as possible with Bee without running ourselves into the ground, we'd be no good to her then. We couldn't have done it without those that helped us: my Mum, Julie and her husband Ken, Foz's parents Cheryl and Barry and a close family friend of mine, Stu. They all did so much for us, helping to take care of the practical things so our focus could be singularly on Bethany.

I remember walking in to the unit on about the 5th day and heading into the high dependency room to Bethany's crib. It was not there. What??? Where the hell was she??? Where was my baby??? Panic was setting in and the worst was running through my mind when a nurse must have recognised my horrified expression and told me Bethany had been moved next door. Moved? I hurried next door and there she was, sleeping peacefully in her crib. The tight band that had been restricting my chest loosened and tears started to well in my eyes. She was ok. Nothing the matter. What a shock that had been! The nurse explained that Bethany being moved was positive, she was now in the 'nearly-going-home' room as she didn't need specialised care anymore. We were thrilled.

After 10 days or so in Scoo Boo we were starting to get frustrated. Bethany had been born at a good weight for 6 weeks early: 6lbs 8oz and so her milk requirement was higher than she was capable of taking. Yet the more she put on weight the more she had to be given and it just seemed to be a vicious cycle. One of Bee's regular nurses agreed that maybe it was time to take the plunge and give Bee a chance to function on her own without the back-up of the NG tube and so it was taken out - another victory for our baby. She was even given the chance to demand feed, something she hadn't been able to do until that point as she'd been fed so often there was not the opportunity for her to feel hungry. To our immense pride Bee held her own. Not only did she demand food pretty much on the dot every 3 hours, she even took the amounts the nurses required, there or there abouts. Our clever little girl. We were thrilled. The feeding had been the only thing really keeping Bethany in Scoo Boo and with that mountain conquered there should be no reason we couldn't take her home. Bee had to prove she could keep the feeding pattern going over a couple of days. She did just that and on Friday 17th October 2008, we finally packed up Bethany's things, dressed her in her little warm coat (a present from NannyGranny Jan) and strapped her in her car seat for the first time. My Mum and Ken had come to pick us up and were waiting outside the doors, almost as excited as we were! Saying goodbye was a bittersweet occasion, as pleased as we were to be going home we would be sad to say goodbye to the nurses and some of the parents we'd come to know. A regular nurse of Bee's accompanied us down to the car and I fastened her in, saying our final goodbyes.

The drive home was exciting yet surreal. I kept looking at this tiny little baby in the car seat next to me and feeling a mixture of giddiness and apprehension. How on earth would we cope with this little baby now? We were so used to having a nurse there 24/7 to answer our questions it was quite daunting to think we were going to be on our own. Yet I couldn't wait to put Bee in her little crib we had all set up in our bedroom, couldn't wait to take her out in her pram for the first time and have her wake us in the night for the first time. My Mum and Ken didn't stay, just dropped us off and retreated, they didn't want to intrude on our special moment. Bringing Bethany home was one of the most wonderful days of my life. Finally my family was all together, the real adventure was about to begin...