by John Askill
They both wanted a baby but, as is often the case with eager couples, it didn’t happen easily. They had to wait nearly two years. The birth of their first son, James, on 8 April 1988 took Sue back to the Grantham and Kesteven Hospital.
Sue had become seriously ill while she was pregnant and doctors at the hospital couldn’t decide why. She was sent to St Thomas’s Hospital, London, where specialists identified the germ causing the problem. It wasn’t a minute too soon. The couple were told that Sue’s life had been in jeopardy and there was a real danger she would lose the unborn baby. If she became pregnant again, her life could be at risk. Sue was allowed back to Grantham where, despite the fears, James was born safely by emergency caesarian in the maternity ward on the first floor.
When, two years later, she became pregnant again, Sue remembered her experience with James’s birth and decided to have the pregnancy terminated. It just wasn’t worth the risk and her family doctor agreed to send her to the termination clinic. Sue recalled: ‘It was awful. I sat there with a load of thirteen- and fourteen-year-old girls, crying their eyes out because they’d got into trouble.
‘I didn’t like what I was doing but I knew I would be risking my life to go on any further.
‘When I got to see the doctor he insisted on giving me a scan. It was just part of the process as far as I was concerned, ready for the termination.’
Sue, now twenty-two, was not expecting the shock news the doctor gave her. First, he told her, she was thirteen weeks pregnant, not just two months as she expected. She knew the baby was now fully formed and instantly she felt it was too late for an abortion.
Secondly, the doctor announced, it was twins.
Sue said: ‘I was just numb. I had spoken to Peter before about abortions. We both said that we would never consent to a termination once the baby was fully formed because it would be like murder. We couldn’t do that. But then it was twins too.
‘I went straight to see him at work and I told him he had better sit down. I said, “I’m thirteen weeks,” and he said “Oh! my God.” He knew what that meant. Then I said: “There’s something else. I’m expecting twins.”
‘He just sat there, his mouth was just open and he said nothing. It was ages before he spoke. Then he said: “Oh my God,” again. But we both knew what was going to happen, that we would go ahead with having them and we just started to plan for two babies.’
They decided to invest in a new home, a modern, five-bedroomed house in a cul-de-sac just half a mile from the gates of the hospital. It was the roomy house they needed with a fast-growing family. There was a bedroom for themselves, one each for Nicola and Emma, another for baby James and the fifth … the new nursery for two.
Peter decorated the ‘twins’ room’, chosing neutral colours because they didn’t know whether to expect boys, girls or one of each. They splashed out on a twin pram, twin buggy, two cots, matching baby seats, two sets of baby clothes, double the number of bottles. They had got over the initial shock and were getting excited about the prospect of twin babies in the house.
Sue had to go into hospital in January 1991 for a rest and observation after doctors discovered sky-high blood pressure; although the babies were not due until April she was transferred to the specialist baby unit at Nottingham City Hospital where doctors prepared to deliver them early by caesarian section.
On 31 January the twins were born. They were both small, Becky weighing 31bs 2ozs and Katie was even smaller at 21bs 12 ozs. Both babies were put into incubators and were ventilated because of their premature arrival; they were fed through tubes. But they were healthy and doctors told Peter and Sue there were no fears for their safety.
How wrong they were to be.
At that time the couple were busy running a car-valeting company in Grantham, cleaning and polishing second-hand cars ready for the showrooms. It was Sue’s brainchild to start the business on an industrial estate in Grantham, and it became so successful that Peter gave up his driving job to join in. With Becky and Katie still in hospital building up their strength, Sue went back to work.
But a chance remark by a customer signalled the beginning of the nightmare that was eventually to devastate their lives. He told her: ‘Hey, Sue. Your babies are in the hospital, aren’t they? Well, a pal of mine’s baby has just died there. The baby had some sort of massive heart attack.’
2. Liam – ‘Little Pudding Pants’
Baby Liam James Taylor was affectionately called ‘Pudding Pants’ by his parents because he was so chubby. He was just seven weeks old, a lovely, healthy boy, born in the maternity ward at the hospital weighing 9lbs 3ozs. He was Chris and Joanne’s second child, a little brother for Jamie who was three years old.
He put on weight in the early weeks but then developed a worrying, heavy cold and, when it showed no sign of improving, Chris and Joanne called their family doctor. He made made several visits to their semi-detached home in Grantham, and diagnosed bronchiolitis. Despite the medications that were prescribed Liam still showed no sign of improving, and when the family’s health visitor popped in the following week she advised Joanne to take him to the hospital where he could be properly monitored.
It wasn’t an emergency and it wasn’t even a major crisis when Liam arrived at hospital and was admitted to Ward Four, the children’s ward. He was poorly, but not in any kind of danger, and everyone thought he would be home in a couple of days. Being in hospital was ‘only a precaution’, not life or death. Joanne, slim, with short blonde hair, was reassured. After all, wasn’t Liam safer in the children’s ward than anywhere else?
She and Chris could never have known the anguish that was soon to follow.
Tall, dark-haired Chris was busy at work as a suspended ceiling fitter when Liam went into hospital. He arrived home soon after 3pm on 21 February to find a note from Joanne pinned to the front door saying she had taken their little boy to Ward Four at the hospital. Chris didn’t wait to change from his work clothes and went straight to the ward. He needn’t have rushed. By the time he got there Liam seemed to be getting better already.
He was lying in a glass-sided incubator, dressed only in his nappy, and was smiling happily, seemingly over the worst of his problems. The staff had placed him on a nebuliser which fed him oxygen to clear his nasal passages and chest. One nurse reassured Joanne: ‘Don’t worry, he’ll be home in four or five days.’
A young, heavily built nurse with cropped blonde hair was looking after him, supervising his feed through a tube because Liam was so congested he couldn’t suck from a bottle. Nurse Beverley Allitt had been given the job of caring for Liam on a one-to-one basis.
She was a newly qualified State Enrolled Nurse who had been been turned down just five days earlier for a job in the children’s ward at the Pilgrim Hospital in Boston, thirty miles away. They’d told her she didn’t have enough experience treating very sick youngsters.
All her life Beverley Allitt had longed to be a nurse; it had been her consuming passion, her only ambition, since she was a child, but more than anything else she had set her heart on nursing children. She had always had a special affinity with youngsters, everyone knew that.
The young nurse, still only twenty-two, had trained for three years at Grantham and spent the last six months as a student with the children on Ward Four; as the ward was short of staff, she was asked to stay on. The hospital had advertised for a Staff Nurse but hadn’t received a single application and so she’d been given a contract for six months. It would be six months in which she could learn. Then she could re-apply for the job at Boston six months later.
Beverley Allitt had taken the opportunity to gain the experience she needed and was determined not to waste a single day. On Ward Four she found herself in charge of caring for the newly admitted infant Liam, feeding him through a tube as his parents watched.
All was going so well that Chris, still dressed in his work clothes, was happy enough to leave the hospital with Joanne to go home and change. They were gone an ho
ur but, when they returned, they were greeted by a nurse with unexpected bad news. She told them: ‘We have been trying to ring you. We are glad you’ve come back because Liam has taken a serious turn for the worse.’
Chris and Joanne went to the cubicle where Liam was being treated. Something had happened in the short time they had been away and Liam was suddenly fighting for his life. He had changed beyond recognition. His eyes were closed, his face grey and it looked as though his whole body had just ‘shut down’. He was covered in wires to his chest, attached to heart monitors and a drip into his arm.
Joanne burst into tears and had to be comforted by a nurse. Nurse Allitt was standing in the doorway to Liam’s room with her arms folded in front of her.
Joanne asked her what had happened while they were away and the nurse told her: ‘While I was feeding him he was violently sick. It was so bad I had to go and change my uniform.’
The couple listened with growing unease as Allitt told them that their baby had actually stopped breathing for a minute because he was being so sick. They took an instant liking to the young nurse who was being so open with them. In the difficult hours that lay ahead they felt she would be an ally and friend.
The hospital had two paediatric specialists: Dr Nelson Porter and Dr Charith Nanayakkara, a Tamil known to most at the hospital as ‘Doctor Nana’. They were both experienced doctors, used to handling emergencies, trusted by parents. Neither of them could have foreseen the appalling events that were now beginning to unfold on their ward.
It was Dr Nanayakkara who arrived that afternoon to tell Chris and Joanne that the next twenty-four hours would be crucial for baby Liam. Nurse Allitt continued to care for her tiny patient on a one-to-one basis until 10pm when she went off duty.
The Taylors were no strangers to the hospital. Chris’s father had worked there as head porter for sixteen years and Joanne’s mother was a ward orderly. Through the night, with another nurse now monitoring his progress, Liam was getting better. His vital signs were looking more healthy and Chris and Joanne were able to snatch some sleep in a room down the corridor reserved for parents.
The next morning Nurse Allitt came back on duty at 7am and took her place again at the bedside. Liam was on drips and there were tubes feeding him. By now, Chris and Joanne had come to rely on the girl who had become ‘Liam’s nurse’. They didn’t like the thought of Liam being without her and, when one nurse went sick, Chris asked Allitt to return and work an extra night shift to care for Liam. Chris asked her: ‘Would you please come back and look after him?’
Nurse Allitt went off duty at around midday, promising to return for the extra night shift. While she was away, Liam got progressively better. At 3pm he actually smiled; then, at one point, he stretched out as if he was trying to reach for his teddy.
He was so much better that he was moved into Mr Happy’s Room – a cubicle with the smiling figure of the ‘Mistermen’ character painted on the window. Joanne said later: ‘I felt pleased that he had been moved. I remember thinking: “Oo! Look. They’re putting him in Mr Happy’s Room.” It seemed a good sign.’
The staff kept praising Liam. He took some feed out of a bottle, opened his eyes wide until they looked as big as saucers, kicked his legs to try to shake the monitor wires free, and cooed at the nurses and his parents. It was as if Liam wanted to tell the world that the worst was over.
Relieved at his improvement Joanne decided to go home and tell the neighbours and their friends waiting for news that Liam was getting better. As she drove home from the hospital Joanne suddenly found herself crying tears of joy.
Nurse Allitt returned to the ward at 10pm ready to stay at Liam’s side throughout the night. By this time Joanne had returned to the hospital. Content in the knowledge that he was in safe hands and pleased at Liam’s recovery, she went down the corridor at 10.30pm to try to catch up on some sleep in the parents’ room.
Husband Chris remained at Liam’s side and chatted with the nurse, asking if she had managed to sleep. But she said she had gone shopping instead. Eventually, at around 1am he, too, went to bed, confident that Liam was going to be all right.
That night the world was plunged into war in the Gulf – Saddam Hussein snubbed the ‘High Noon’ deadline and the battles began. But the peace of Chris’s and Joanne’s sleep was shattered at 5.30am when they were woken by Sister Jean Saville, the hospital’s night services manager and the most senior nurse on duty. She told them that the news was bad. Liam had suffered a relapse.
She said: ‘I am sorry, your baby has just stopped breathing for a few minutes and the doctor is with him.’
Chris and Joanne rushed down the corridor to Mr Happy’s Room. The room was packed with people, all crowded round Liam’s incubator. Dr Nanayakkara was already there, along with Nurse Allitt and the hospital emergency team. Liam, they were told, had suffered respiratory failure but was now breathing again. He was alive, but only just. He was lying on a resuscitaire, being given oxygen, with drips attached to his body feeding him drugs.
Quietly, the specialist told them the dreadful news that he believed Liam had suffered severe brain damage, caused by a lack of oxygen when he had stopped breathing. Now he was critically ill. Chris and Joanne were devastated by the sudden and unexpected catastrophe. When they had gone to bed Liam was getting better, and now here was the doctor saying his life was in the balance. Even if Liam lived the damage to his brain meant he would never be the same again.
Chris and Joanne were asked if they wanted the chaplain, the Rev. Ian Shelton, to christen Liam. When they agreed he arrived minutes later from his home opposite the hospital. Only Joanne, Chris and the chaplain were in Mr Happy’s Room as he conducted the short christening service in which the baby was named Liam James Taylor.
The couple went to see Dr Nanayakkara in his office. Chris asked: ‘How severe is the brain damage?’ The doctor told them that, in his professional opinion, it was severe. He said that Liam had stopped breathing for a considerable period of time.
‘Normally, in children who have respiratory failure, their condition can be stablised in a matter of minutes but, in Liam’s case, it took 1 hour 15 minutes.’
The parents’ world was suddenly in pieces.
Chris later said: ‘I turned to the doctor and asked: “Are you telling me we have to decide what we are going to do?” He nodded “Yes.”’
Now they had to face an awful dilemma. Was it best for Liam to die, rather than endure a lifetime of suffering? They discussed their options, deciding that all that mattered was doing their best for Liam. ‘We went off to the canteen on our own and we decided then that he had been through enough.’
Joanne remembers turning to Chris and saying: ‘This is meant to be. Our little boy has tried to leave us once, and the doctors have pulled him through, but now God is taking him back … I felt then we should let nature take its course. I remember thinking, why does God want him back? Why can’t he take our house, anything, but not our baby?’
Quietly, they agreed that he should be taken off the equipment. They turned to chaplain Ian Shelton and asked him if he thought they were making the right decision. ‘He told us, in the circumstances, he thought we were right, but he couldn’t put himself in our position,’ said Chris. They told the staff of their decision. Liam’s drips and monitors were removed. It was 6.30am.
Chris picked Liam up in his arms and the couple sat together, waiting for the end to come. They were told it would not be long.
But Liam didn’t die. Instead, little ‘Pudding Pants’ was so strong he fought on, clinging to life. They sat cradling Liam in their arms for more than five hours. As they watched and waited they were told that, even without support, Liam was now holding his own.
Then, at about midday, Dr Nanayakkara called them to his office and told them that he hadn’t expected Liam to survive so long. He asked them what would happen if he woke up and needed feeding. Chris told him: ‘I’ll feed him if he has the will to survive. We will help him all w
e can if he wants to fight.’ He later said: ‘I couldn’t stand to see him suffering for the rest of his life but, if Liam was going to pull through, then we were going to give him every support.’
Consumed by anguish, Chris and Joanne decided to carry on and let nature decide the issue. They asked everyone to leave the room so they could be alone with their baby. About twenty-five friends and relatives had gathered at the hospital, knowing that Liam’s life was hanging by a thread, and the pressure on the couple was mounting.
They sat together with their baby son. The monitor, which would have detected the slightest shift in Liam’s condition, was no longer there. The nebuliser, which would have fed him oxygen to help his breathing, had been removed. So had the drip which had helped stabilise his condition.
The physiotherapist, who had worked so hard to try to clear the congestion from Liam’s chest, wasn’t at his bedside any more. Chris and Joanne felt the medical world could do no more for the baby they loved so much. Liam was linked only to a simple alarm which ticked and flashed green each time he took another breath. If he stopped breathing his parents knew the green light would turn red.
Chris and Joanne took it in turns to cradle Liam in their arms, treasuring the precious moment, knowing now that time was running out. Their baby was exactly eight weeks old to the day and they knew, beyond all doubt, that he was going to die.
As the end approached chaplain Ian Shelton arrived in the room to say a prayer for Liam which began ‘Little Child Come Unto Me …’. Somehow the words were a comfort.
A nurse, who had been so excited the day before at seeing Liam kicking his legs, cooing and smiling from his cot, went off duty telling Joanne: ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ But Joanne already knew she would not be there the following day.
‘I remember thinking we wouldn’t be there when she returned to the ward. I knew Liam wouldn’t wake up. It was instinct. His little legs were shaking all the time. His arms were moving up and down. When Chris passed him to me, he was like a rag doll. I was frightened of dropping him. He looked so beautiful, not poorly at all. His nose wasn’t blocked any more and his skin was perfect.’
