by John Askill
Creswen only had to look at Christopher to be convinced he would pull through. ‘He was lying there on a huge bed big enough for a fourteen-year-old, and he was screaming his lungs out. He was hungry. I fed him a bottle and I couldn’t believe it. We’d lost Michelle, we’d expected the worst, and there he was safe and well.’
Three days later Christopher had recovered sufficiently to go home. In the weeks that followed Creswen would wonder at her baby’s lucky escape, and ask herself: ‘Why was he dying one minute and OK the next?’
On the day Creswen took her baby home from the Queen’s Medical Centre, still counting her blessings, another baby, seven-week-old Patrick Elstone, was admitted to Ward Four. Like most of the parents, Hazel and Robert weren’t unduly worried about their baby’s arrival at the hospital.
Patrick and his identical twin brother, Anthony, were their first children. There had been no problems until Patrick developed a cold and stopped taking his feed; at this point the family doctor had suggested a check-up at the hospital. It was a routine precaution, simply a case of keeping him under observation.
But within forty-eight hours Patrick nearly died too. He stopped breathing without warning and was so ill that he, too, was baptised as he lay fighting for his life.
At first there had been no cause for alarm. Robert and Hazel spent two-and-a-half hours by their son’s bedside, then went home to put twin brother, Anthony, to bed at 9pm, satisfied that little Patrick couldn’t have been in better hands.
They sat by his side throughout the next day as Patrick lay in a maternity cot, seemingly doing so well that it wasn’t going to be necessary to put him on a drip. On the third day Patrick’s temperature went up slightly and staff suggested Hazel should take Anthony to the doctor for a check-up, in case he was suffering from something too.
Hazel left the ward at 2pm when Patrick was laughing in his cot, kicking and cooing.
But when her taxi-driver husband Robert phoned the hospital at 8pm he was told by a nurse that staff had been trying to reach them. Patrick had been ‘sort of playing up’, and the nurse said they should go straight to the ward.
Hazel bundled Anthony into her arms and the couple dashed to the hospital, a mile from their terraced cottage near the town’s railway station. ‘As soon as we got in we got the shock of our lives. We sat there and a nurse called Mary told us Patrick had stopped breathing at 8pm.
‘I said: “What’s happening, will he live?” She said: “I cannot tell you one way or the other. We’re hoping to have him moved to Nottingham.” I just broke down in tears.’
Sue Phillips had been sitting with Katie near the cubicle where Patrick lay. She remembered watching Nurse Allitt come from Cubicle Six carrying Patrick in her arms, shouting that he had stopped breathing. She’d just gone in to check him, she had said, and found him already turning blue. The night sister, Jean Saville, helped, and Patrick quickly began breathing again.
Upstairs, in the canteen, Hazel and Robert met Sue and Peter Phillips, who, as much as anyone, knew what the Elstones were going through. They had already lost Becky and were still waiting for Katie to be allowed home. Hazel knew Sue from the ante-natal classes where they had met and chatted about the coming birth of their babies; they had both given birth to twins.
Sue tried to tell Hazel not to worry. She told them that the doctors were very good at Nottingham and she was sure Patrick would recover.
It was 9pm before Hazel and Robert were taken to see Patrick. All they wanted to know was whether he would live or die.
Hazel recalls: ‘I was crying, and saying, would he be all right? They were saying they didn’t know.’ She said specialist Dr Nelson Porter couldn’t tell her what was wrong with him.
Hazel’s last sight of her baby before he left for the Queen’s Medical Centre would live in her memory forever. She had asked if she could see him, but one of the nurses replied: ‘Are you sure you want to …?’
Hazel thought she would be able to pick up Patrick and cuddle him. Instead she recalls: ‘When I looked through the door I was stunned. He had no clothes on, just a little white cap on his head.
‘There was a doctor holding a tube down his throat to help him breathe, and Patrick was fighting it. I looked at his little face but he had no colour at all. He was as white as a sheet.
‘I couldn’t believe it. When I had left him he had been playing, laughing and cooing. It wasn’t the same child in there. I just looked at him and said: “Oh my God – look at his colour.” The Sister dropped a blanket over him. Robert and I were just hanging on to each other.’
There was so much equipment in the ambulance carrying Patrick to Nottingham that there wasn’t room for Hazel and Robert.
When they arrived at the intensive care unit, a nurse quietly asked them if they wanted a priest to be called to baptise their son. If he was to die, then the Elstones felt he should be christened before it was too late. At 1 am the priest arrived and, when he realised that Patrick was a twin, and his brother was there, he decided to baptise both of them in the middle of the night. A nurse they didn’t know stood in as a godparent, though Hazel and Robert were in such a daze they never even asked her name. Patrick lay there surrounded by tubes, wires and monitors, limp, barely alive, with his eyes closed.
Staff advised the Elstones to get some sleep but, try as she might, Hazel couldn’t rest.
At 7am a nurse delivered good news. Patrick seemed a little better and was making progress. For two days he continued to get better.
Then, just as the doctors were beginning to talk of transferring him back to Grantham, Patrick suffered his first fit. Robert was holding his hand when he began to twitch and shake. ‘Robert asked the doctor what was happening. The doctor told us it was a fit and, after that, he started having fits every time he opened his eyes. They’d last about a minute each time.’
It’s a strange medical phenomenon that twins often share the same ailments, even feeling the same pain, and after Patrick had fought for his little life, twin brother Anthony also fell ill. Anthony, too, was admitted to Queen’s. The doctors diagnosed diarrhoea, but said it could be trauma triggered by being parted from his identical brother.
Hazel remembers: ‘Anthony was screaming a lot and they thought it was because Patrick was ill. He was missing him so much he was playing up.’
Eventually, both children were discharged and, once he was home, Patrick’s fits stopped altogether. Hazel often wondered what had happened to cause her son to stop breathing on Ward Four. Later, she would take Patrick back to Grantham and Kesteven Hospital for a check-up and find out more about the night her baby almost died. She would discover that his heart had stopped beating not once, but twice, in the space of four hours. But even then nobody could tell Hazel Elstone why it had happened.
At the Queen’s Medical Centre in Nottingham questions were being asked about the high number of seriously ill children who were being transferred from Ward Four at Grantham.
A number of doctors expressed concern. Five children had been rushed thirty miles along the A52 from Grantham to Nottingham for specialist care in less than two months – normally the number they would expect in an entire year. All of them had made a recovery but the doctors at the QMC were sufficiently worried to approach a senior consultant.
What on earth, they wanted to know, could be happening?
6. Claire — ‘Crikey, Not Another One’
It took the death of Claire Peck finally to bring detectives onto Ward Four at the Grantham and Kesteven Hospital.
Three children, Liam Taylor, Timothy Hardwick and Becky Phillips had died. Eight other youngsters, Kayley Desmond, Paul Crampton, Bradley Gibson, Henry Chan, Katie Phillips, Christopher Peasgood, Christopher King and Patrick Elstone had been a whisker away from losing their lives; yet Ward Four still remained open.
But after the death of Claire – child number twelve in the catalogue of tragedy – attitudes were to change.
It had been a routine case. Claire was an only c
hild, blonde-haired, bright eyed, just beginning to talk and find her feet. She was fifteen months old and asthmatic.
Her life hadn’t been in real danger when she was admitted to the ward on the afternoon of 22 April. Claire was gasping for breath as Sue and David Peck drove fifteen miles to the hospital from their home on the outskirts of Newark, but the family doctor had said twenty-four hours would bring a remarkable recovery in her condition.
Within four hours Claire Peck was dead. Sue would always remember the specialist sitting bewildered, with his head in his hands, shattered from the effort of trying to save Claire, telling her it should not have happened. At the time Sue didn’t understand what he meant.
Hairdresser Sue Peck, a friendly girl with a ready grin, had been married four years when Claire was born in the maternity ward at Grantham; she weighed 61bs 8ozs. She was surrounded by love, adored by David and their relatives and friends who would make a habit of calling in just to catch sight of her smile.
When Claire was fifteen months old she suddenly started to wheeze at night and Sue and David were plunged into despair. She would cough for hours on end, unable to sleep. The doctor diagnosed bronchiolitis and prescribed a Ventolin inhaler, saying it was too soon to know whether Claire was going to be asthmatic. By 18 April the wheezing was no better and the doctor declared she would have to be admitted to hospital.
On Ward Four nurses placed Claire on a nebuliser to clear her airways. Within half an hour she was 100% better. Claire remained in hospital until 20 April, improving hour by hour. A doctor admitted that Claire was asthmatic ‘to a slight degree’, and sent her home, advising Sue to administer a course of Ventolin syrup and use the inhaler when necessary.
The following morning, 21 April, was a beautiful spring day. It was to be Claire’s last full day at home, the day before she died, and Sue and David would remember it vividly. They took Claire for a walk in the country, carrying her some of the time, then watching her proudly as she tried to put one step in front of the other and walk.
They called in to see Sue’s grandma, popped in at her brother’s home, then went home to put Claire in the bath before bed. ‘It had been a beautiful day, lovely and warm, and we had had a wonderful time together.’
Claire woke coughing at 1.45am and, when Sue phoned the doctor, he told her to administer twenty puffs of Ventolin and some syrup. Claire recovered, played with her toys for an hour, then fell asleep. At 4.30am David left for work. At 6.15am Sue woke to the sound of her little girl coughing once more. The doctor was at the house before 8am, with a portable nebuliser, returning a second time at 2pm, but the second time it made no difference and, when David took Claire to the surgery, the doctor said she would have to go back to the hospital straightaway.
David left the surgery with the doctor’s voice ringing in his ears. ‘He said that, in twenty-four hours, there would be a remarkable recovery in her condition.’ Sue climbed behind the wheel of the couple’s Vauxhall Astra for the journey to Ward Four. David cradled Claire in his arms in the back seat as she gasped for air.
Sue was desperately worried. ‘I was frightened she would die. I thought perhaps we should have gone to the hospital earlier than we had. She was trying to cry, but she couldn’t get enough air to make any noise. She was just moaning, ruttling and gasping.’
In Ward Four Claire was placed on a nebuliser, but it made no difference and, when they tried to take her blood pressure, Claire’s arm turned blue. They attached a heart monitor but the machine didn’t work.
Nurse Allitt had been sitting at a desk as Claire arrived. Sue recognised her from the previous visit and remembered her as being very unfriendly towards them.
‘I had run out of nappies and Nurse Allitt had brought them in. She didn’t say anything when she gave them to me, she just slammed them down on the table and walked off. All the other nurses had made a habit of picking Claire up, playing with her and, when she was in the bath, they would come into the bathroom and splash her and tip water over her head. Claire loved it. But once, when she was in the bath, Nurse Allitt came past and just walked by, and ignored Claire. I remember clear as day turning to Claire, and saying: “We don’t care if she doesn’t want to talk to you, sweetheart …” so when I saw her that day I knew I didn’t like her.’
Sue finds it hard to think of Claire’s final few hours without shedding a tear. Time has done little to ease the pain. The nightmare began with specialist Dr Nelson Porter announcing that he proposed to insert a tube down Claire’s throat to open her airways. Sue couldn’t bear the prospect of watching and handed Claire to a nurse. It was 4.55pm, and Sue and David were told the routine procedure wouldn’t take too long. They left Claire in the treatment room and walked to the TV lounge to wait for news.
The medical team prepared to give Claire a new drug which had to be administered in such precise amounts that the duty doctor went in search of paediatrician Dr Porter for guidance, leaving Claire in the treatment room with Nurse Allitt and another nurse.
While he was gone Nurse Allitt agreed to stay while her colleague went down the corridor to tell Claire’s parents what was happening. Within seconds – even before the nurse had time to reach David and Sue Peck – Beverley Allitt cried for help from the room. She was shouting ‘Arrest, Arrest.’
And when other nurses and doctors dashed to Claire’s bedside they found she had suffered a respiratory failure and was having trouble breathing. They gave her oxygen and Claire recovered quickly.
David and Sue were on the verge of going to see what had happened when the ward sister, Barbara Barker, appeared. The news wasn’t good – the medical team was still working to improve her condition.
Claire’s parents asked only one question: ‘Is she going to be all right …?’ The Sister didn’t say yes, and she didn’t say no. Instead, she told David and Sue she hoped Claire would recover. It wasn’t the answer Claire’s parents had wanted to hear.
Sue recalls: ‘We were worried when she gave us our answer. Up to then we had never really imagined that she was going to die. My mum and dad had arrived by this time and they had expected to see Claire recovered.’
As the fight to save Claire continued in the treatment room Sue, David and her parents paced the TV lounge, desperately anxious for reassurance. They lost all track of time.
In the treatment room Dr Porter finally administered the drug himself and left Claire in the care of Nurse Allitt who was accompanied for a short period by another nurse until the Ward Sister told them it didn’t need two of them there. The second nurse had only just left when Nurse Allitt cried out again from the treatment room: ‘Arrest.’ This time Claire had suffered cardiac failure.
Dr Porter and Sister Barker had just asked Claire’s parents if they would like to see their little girl. Her condition was now stable and they had succeeded in stemming the attack with drugs, they told them. If Claire remained stable for the next twenty minutes then she would be transferred to the Queen’s Medical Centre in Nottingham where facilities were better.
David and Sue were on their way to the treatment room to see Claire – but they never made it. As they approached the door they heard a nurse shouting: ‘Come quick’.
The Pecks, overcome with fear, returned to the TV room. Again they asked the Sister if Claire was going to die. ‘I hope not,’ she replied. ‘Were things getting worse?’ asked Sue. ‘Yes,’ admitted the Sister, ‘they are, but the staff are doing everything they can.’
With Claire at crisis point David asked if they could see their daughter because, if she was going to die, they wanted to be with her. As Sue and David walked into the treatment room they were stunned by what they found. David closes his eyes as he recalls the scene. ‘The crash team was still working on Claire, they were giving her heart massage, electric shock and injections into her heart. She was surrounded by people, Beverley Allitt amongst them. They were all sweating, busy, working flat out as though they had been trying for a long time to save her.
‘When they
saw us they all stood back to let us look. I remember Sue saying: “Stop it. I think she’s had enough.” I wanted them to leave her as well.’
David recalls: ‘Allitt was sitting right behind us, all she did was stare at us, she just watched and listened.’
Sue broke down and cried as she remembered the sight. ‘Claire was dead, it was obvious, but they hadn’t given up hope. I suppose there was a one in a thousand chance they might pull her back, and they still wanted to carry on.’
David still lives with the memory. ‘We gave Claire a kiss. She was laid on a white table with a light shining on her. She had a lot of holes in her chest where they had injected her. She was very pale, almost white. They said they would carry on, and they asked us to go back to the TV room, but we realised we had lost her. Until then we hadn’t really thought she would go …’
In the next cubicle Sue Phillips was sitting at baby Katie’s bedside when Nurse Allitt walked in to tell her that Claire was dead.
Sue Phillips said: ‘She just walked in and started to talk. She just wanted to tell me every detail of what had happened. My Becky was dead, and there I was with Katie, and I couldn’t stop her talking. She said the worst bit was when Sue Peck wanted to hold on to Claire in her arms, and wouldn’t let go. She wouldn’t believe she was dead.
‘She was asking Dr Porter to prove that Claire wasn’t alive any more. Bev said Claire still had all the monitors on, and Dr Porter had to turn each one off so she could see it was running in a straight line and there was no sign of life.
‘He showed her the straight line where the heartbeat should have been and only then did Sue Peck finally agree to let Claire go. Bev was in tears and she told me she had to tell someone. She just had to speak to somebody about what had happened. It was an awful time because Becky had only been dead for seventeen days.
