Amy was worse than I imagined and Pauline had phoned an ambulance. My baby girl was feverish and dopey and I couldn’t rouse her at all.
I paced up and down the floor, asking, ‘Where’s the fucking ambulance?’
Pauline shook her head, all the colour had drained from her face.
I heard Katy Perry again as my phone rang. Irrationally for some reason I thought it might be the ambulance phoning to say they were outside, even though I knew I hadn’t made the call. I fished the phone out of my pocket. It was Jamie.
I thought that perhaps he was phoning for an update on Amy and I answered it. I should really have known him better than that.
‘Listen, Andy, I’ve got two really pissed off women here, I think you should come back and sort it out.’
I was furious. I was more than furious. I didn’t lose my rag very often – I am pretty laid-back in nature, placid even, but when I’m pushed I have a terrifying, uncontrollable temper. I managed to keep myself in check, for Amy’s sake as I needed a clear head to deal with the next few hours.
‘Jamie, just fuck off. Just fuck off and never ever call me again, you insensitive bastard.’
Pauline managed a brief smile as I hung up. At that point she was probably assuming that Jamie was furious after finding out about Molly, but she didn’t know the half of it and I wasn’t about to tell her anything more at that stage. Thankfully, the buzzer of the flat sounded; the cavalry had arrived.
The next few minutes passed like hours. Time seemed to slow down as the paramedics did tests and examinations, which to me looked like a lot of poking and prodding of poor Amy who was even less responsive than before. I just wanted them to get her into the ambulance and off to hospital, but they told me they needed to try and stabilize her before moving. I didn’t really know what that meant but they inserted a drip into her arm.
My poor baby didn’t even notice as they shoved the needle into her skin. This worried me more than anything else that had happened. The fact she didn’t react to that at all couldn’t be a good sign.
Eventually, after what seemed like an age – but which in reality was only minutes – we were on our way to the hospital. With the IV in place, Amy seemed to wake up a little and then started screaming. It appeared to be the siren that caused the upset because when the ambulance slowed down for a moment and the siren stopped, Amy went quiet. We drove the rest of the route with flashing lights only. With the siren off, Amy was calm. Her eyelids flickered and she appeared to be slipping in and out of consciousness.
I felt completely useless as I held her hand and cried. I did have some tears left after all. I wished I could take her place, I wished I could be the one in pain and hurting, not my poor baby. I was so scared for her and myself and I hated not being able to do anything. The paramedic sitting with us was not forthcoming with what was wrong, which meant he probably suspected something but wouldn’t tell me. I recognized some of the symptoms as being common for meningitis (bloody Internet again).
After Lindsay died, I was paranoid and tried to isolate the worst illnesses that my baby could catch. After a few days of this torture I gave up looking as I was in danger of developing Münchausen’s syndrome by proxy if I carried on. In my memory, meningitis, along with ebola, was up there near the top of my list of illnesses to avoid. I could remember the symptoms of ebola and was pretty sure Amy was free of that. However her sensitivity to the ambulance siren and the fact that we had to dim the interior lights rang alarm bells with me.
The paramedic refused to speculate and told me it could be a hundred things, and that was why he needed to get her to the hospital to run tests. He had inserted another IV line into my baby’s other tiny arm. I tried to read what the bag said but it made no sense to me.
Then Amy wet herself. The ambulance was immediately filled with the pungent smell of urine. She raised her head and said ‘pee pees.’ I smiled and told her it was OK, it didn’t matter. Her pink leggings were soaked and she appeared to be more distressed about wetting herself than anything else. She had been so good at potty training and rarely had accidents anymore. Her distress made me even more distraught but I realized that this would probably not help anyone, least of all Amy. I would need a clear head to get through the next few hours, so I tried to restrain my emotions and hold myself in check. I glanced across at my mother-in-law who was ashen grey with fear and worry. I looked away – that didn’t help.
The paramedic radioed ahead to arrange for a receiving team to meet us on arrival. This meant we dispensed with the normal checking in processes. I listened to this news with relief and anguish, relief that my baby would be helped immediately and alarmed that such precautions were necessary. The paramedic, Tom, tried to explain the situation to us.
‘I’m not sure what’s wrong with your daughter. As I said it could be a number of things, but what is worrying me more than anything is her temperature. It’s too high and we need to get it down, which is why I want her seen immediately.’
The ambulance screeched to a halt under the Accident & Emergency loading bay, and we were all hustled inside. Amy was given a quick examination by a consultant. The name on her badge said Miss Linda Patel. She was dark, small and serious and whisked Amy straight into intensive care. A team of medics were waiting for us and they quickly changed Amy into a small gown that still looked ridiculously large on my delicate daughter. The team spent half an hour running tests, taking blood and trying to reduce her temperature. Both of the IVs the paramedic inserted were removed and replaced with a new line that Miss Patel told me was a combination of saline and strong antibiotics.
After a while, Pauline and I were asked to step outside. We were told we could come back once Amy had been stabilized and moved to her own bay. We were shunted along a corridor by a fussy nurse and parked in a small waiting room. I noted that the number on the door as we entered was 101. I assumed this was just an insensitive bureaucratic blunder, and not an intentional reference to George Orwell’s 1984. One thing was for sure, I would be facing up to my worst fears in that room. As it was, I’d grown to fear sitting in small hospital rooms. The experience had not been a positive one for me and my little family.
Eventually, after possibly the longest two hours of my life, Miss Patel walked into room 101 and sat beside us at the small table.
‘Is Amy all right?’ The fear must have been obvious in my voice.
Miss Patel appeared to choose her words carefully. ‘We’ve got her temperature down. She had what is called a febrile fit, which is one of the reasons why we asked you to leave the ICU. Normally it’s not serious, but can be very distressing for loved ones. The underlying cause is more worrying. I believe Amy has bacterial meningitis. If she hasn’t, then the treatment we are currently giving her will do no lasting harm.’
She paused and fixed her gaze on me, her dark eyes pools of medical intelligence. ‘Meningitis is basically a brain disease. It causes the tissues that line the brain to swell. Amy is very poorly, Mr Hunter. I need to be open with you. Just after you left the room we performed a lumbar puncture. You know what that is?’
I nodded, holding back a sob. ‘Needle in the spine.’
She pushed a small curl of dark hair behind her ear. ‘Yes, we withdrew a small amount of fluid and sent it to the labs for testing. The problem is we don’t really have time to wait for the test results, which is why I assumed the worst and started the treatment.’
Pauline took a hold of my hand and we leaned into each other for support.
The doctor moved over to the water cooler and poured some water into a cone shaped cup which she then handed to me. As I took it from her, some water spilled onto her hand and I realized I was shaking.
‘What do you both know about meningitis, assuming that’s what it is?’
‘It can be fatal,’ I said, my voice quivering.
‘It can be, yes. If I had to guess – which I’m not normally in the business of doing – but if I had to, I would say this is neisseria meningitis or more commonly known as meningococcal. The fatality rate is around 10%. Usually though it is because the patient gets help too late, or the subject is weak.’
Pauline jumped in and said. ‘You mean sick, underlying health problems? The news was full of stuff about swine flu and how it hit the ill and sick most. Amy has always been—’
‘—no, this isn’t like swine flu,’ the doctor interrupted. ‘Amy is classed as weak because her immune system is immature, so fighting the illness is much harder. Most fatalities that do occur, happen in this age group. I’m not saying Amy will die, I just want you to know the facts. I believe, based on cases I’ve seen, that she has this variant which is not good news, but so far there are no signs of septicaemia – blood poisoning – which is good news. You also appear to have got her here early. Often a child becomes ill during the night and parents wait until the morning to come in.’
‘How do you know if she has septicaemia, and what happens if she does?’ Pauline asked anxiously. I was glad she was there as I was not thinking clearly enough to ask intelligent questions.
Miss Patel nodded to acknowledge the question. ‘Normally the septicaemia is identified by the appearance of the rash that everyone associates with meningitis, but we have sent blood away for testing as well, so we will know shortly in any event. The rash doesn’t always appear if septicaemia is present. Even if Amy does develop the condition, the treatment we are administering is appropriate.’
Miss Patel was silent for a moment, probably giving us time to digest what she had just told us.
‘What happens next?’ I asked, wondering when we could go and see my daughter.
‘Well, what we do now is monitor her. In terms of immediate treatment, we have done all we can. The next few hours are crucial for Amy and it’s really down to her what happens next.’
The look of horror on my face must have been obvious. They were leaving the future of my toddler’s life in her own hands. She was two and a half years old and did not know the difference between lunchtime and a week next Tuesday, and they were leaving it up to her to decide her own fate.
Miss Patel tried to clarify her statement. ‘What I meant is that she’ll either fight it or her condition will deteriorate. If she doesn’t improve then we could try a different type of combination of antibiotic, but at that stage it may be too late. . . .’
Pauline’s eyes were wide in terror, ‘You mean she could die?’
Miss Patel rubbed her tired eyes, and nodded, ‘It’s possible. I think we caught it early, so I’m hopeful, but it is an unpredictable disease.’
At that point I couldn’t stand to hear anymore. I couldn’t afford to lose Amy as well. ‘Can I see her?’
Miss Patel smiled. ‘Of course, but I need to prepare you, she is in intensive care and has a lot of monitoring equipment and intravenous lines in her at the moment, all very routine to us, but I know it can be very upsetting for parents.’
Pauline rose to follow us but the doctor said, ‘Only one at a time, if that’s all right, we try and keep everything calm and quiet for obvious reasons.’ Pauline nodded and sat back down.
I followed the doctor out of room 101 and into my own personal hell.