Normal birth. 1 hour delivery. 04/10/70.
Extremely poorly, projectile vomiting
Major op 3 wks old to investigate jaundice. Cut open up her middle. No scans in them days.
We were told she needed a new liver, not a possibility, we would be lucky to have her 3 months.
She was always ill so had to come first, my husband last. The slightest sound I had to go to her.
Liver failure causes abdomen to fill with fluid, which has to be drained. Painfully and slowly.
This was done numerous time in her short life.
I had to take her to Professor S Sherlock at the old Royal Free Hospital In March 1971.
On my own, by train, with very sick baby. Terrifying!
We were there a week. I had 1 night in Salvation Army Hostel, rest of time in Nurses Quarters.
To earn my keep I had to wait tables in Nurses Dining Room, visit my baby at visiting time!
They couldn’t do nothing so came home.
When it was nearly her birthday, and her body was swollen with fluid, I made a deal with God.
If He let me have her for her birthday he could take her.
Visiting was always at visiting time no exception.
Last time I held her, and she knew me she was prised out my arms by a nurse. Visiting WA over we had to go. She screamed Mummy Mummy Mummy .. I could hear her several minutes.
That haunts me to this day.
Next day deteriorated, unconscious. My fault? Did she think I didn’t love her.
Next day coma, organs shutting down. Visiting ended we were sent away. Her time of death was minutes after we left her.
My husband blamed me. Medical profession accused me of trying to get rid of it
I was an outcast in my family. I started moving 1971 and have moved 41 times!