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One big step for Eleanor

It was only meant to be a cold, so how had it come to this?


Published by: Jean Jollands and Matthew Barbour
Published on: 18 October 2012

Stroking my daughter's fluffy blonde hair, I sighed. I still couldn't make her smile.
‘Poor sweetheart...' I soothed. Eleanor, eight months, was usually a lively little thing, but the last few days she'd been grumpy and off her food. She had a temperature, and had even been sick.
‘She's definitely not right,' I fretted to my hubby Duncan, 43, while offering Eleanor more milk.
Later that day, I was due to take Eleanor and our sons Ben, nine, and Nathan, three, for a few days at my parents' house in Cheshire, while Duncan stayed at home in Reading for work.
But, still anxious about Eleanor, I took her to the doctor.
‘It's probably just a viral throat infection,' he insisted, examining her. ‘Just keep giving her Calpol...'
At my parents' place, Eleanor seemed to perk up. ‘Well, she loves her Granny and Grandad,' my mum Joan, 72, cooed as she gave her a bottle.
Feeling better, I rang Duncan. ‘There's no need to worry,' I said. ‘Eleanor's getting better...'
Then I heard Mum shouting. ‘I thought she was dozing off!' she cried, Eleanor floppy in her arms. ‘But listen to her breathing.'
Raspy noises came from my little girl's throat and when I picked her up, she just flopped on my shoulder, eyes open but unfocused. ‘Mum, call an ambulance,' I stuttered.
Those next minutes were a blur as we rang 999, then Duncan, to tell him what was happening. Then the paramedics arrived and rushed Eleanor into the back of an ambulance.
While Dad watched the boys - who were still fast asleep - I followed the ambulance in a paramedics' car.
But just a few hundred yards short of Macclesfield District General Hospital, the ambulance screeched to a halt.
‘What's going on?' I screamed as a grave-looking paramedic climbed into the back to help his colleague. I've lost her, I thought,
I sat there for what seemed like hours but finally the ambulance pulled away. Blue lights flashing, we chased it down the road.
‘Can I see her?' I gasped, running in to A&E, but when I was taken to Eleanor's room, my legs buckled. Half of her head had been shaved to attach electrodes and her tiny body was dotted with tubes to keep her alive.
‘What's wrong with my baby?' I begged nurses.
‘She's very poorly, with a bacterial infection,' one said, gently. ‘It's not good, I'm afraid.'
‘But my husband's still in Reading,' I babbled, bewildered. ‘Well, you need to get him here...' she said.
One minute I'd been told Eleanor had a cold. Now Duncan might have to say goodbye to his little girl...?
Mum had rushed to the hospital to be with me and, as we waited for Duncan, I sat by my little girl's bedside, distraught.
I thought back to when she'd first been born, a 7lb 14oz bundle with tufts of blonde hair. ‘After two lovely boys, a girl at last!'
I grinned to Duncan. Was I really going to lose her now?
When Duncan arrived, I fell into his arms, sobbing. But a few hours later, as doctors prepared to transfer Eleanor to Alder Hey Children's Hospital in Liverpool, she started to develop purple pinprick-sized bumps on her body.
‘It's meningitis...' I whispered, horrified.
‘Eleanor has meningococcal septicemia - the blood poisoning associated with meningitis,' a consultant confirmed.
‘We'll do everything we can, but you must prepare yourselves for the worst.'
As we were led into intensive care, I barely recognised my darling little girl. Her face and body were bloated from the fluids being pumped in to her.
‘She looks so helpless,' I sobbed to Duncan. I longed to scoop her up in my arms, but
I was terrified to even touch her. Just a week ago, me and Duncan had taken the kids to a local park. Eleanor had giggled with joy as the boys took it in turns pushing her on the baby swings.
‘She was so happy and carefree,' I wept. Now, she was barely clinging to life.
Duncan and I kept a vigil for Eleanor as Mum moved into ours to look after the boys.
But as the septicemia spread, her body turned from purple to black. Her legs looked like off bananas, her tiny fingers shriveled and dark.
Three days after Eleanor was admitted to hospital, the consultant ushered us aside.
‘We've managed to stabilise your daughter's condition,' he announced. ‘But we might have to amputate her arms and legs.'What? Amputate?
Every inch of me shuddered - she was just a baby, her whole life ahead of her.
But if they didn't stop the infection, it could spread and she would have no chance of surviving.
‘Just do what you can to save my little girl,' I sobbed.
Two days later, doctors made the decision to remove her right leg from the knee down.
‘We never even got to see her take her first steps,' I sobbed to Duncan.
When we were finally allowed to see Eleanor, she was heavily sedated, a well-bandaged stump where her leg had once been. I wondered if she'd ever walk, run or skip like other kids.
When I'd finally had a girl, I'd imagined rushing out and buying her pretty shoes, taking her to ballet lessons... That image came back to taunt me.
I left the room when doctors changed her dressing, unable to face the reality. But three weeks later, as the nurse changed her dressing again... ‘I'll stay,'
I said, quietly. Doctors had already performed a skin graft over the wound, but my stomach still tightened when I saw it.
I knew I'd do everything to make sure Eleanor had as normal a life as possible, though.
On snatched visits back home we'd told Ben that his sister was poorly. He'd taken it in his stride while Nathan was too young to understand. But now, as they visited the hospital, I wondered how they'd cope.
When Nathan first saw Eleanor's stump, he just stared at it.
‘Eleanor's leg's gone,' he frowned, bemused. But he wasn't scared or upset. The boys taking it so well made things so much easier.
And when doctors also had to amputate all the fingers on Eleanor's left hand down to the knuckle I made sure I stayed strong. I've still got my girl, I kept telling myself.
Seven weeks after Eleanor first became ill, we were finally allowed to bring her home.
A support team of physios and doctors were put in place to help her and, as the days passed, she adapted her own little bum shuffle to get around the house.
Five weeks after Eleanor came home, she was fitted with a prosthetic half leg. Then, one day, when she was 18 months old, she finally took her first steps.
‘Well done you!' I wept, as she stumbled, giggling, towards me.
Eleanor's two now. Her hearing is impaired on her left side as a result of her illness but she's still a cheeky little thing who loves splashing her brothers with water and playing with her favourite pink handbag.
I worried people would stare at her or she'd be teased, but we've been fine. Despite her missing fingers, Eleanor can still pick up her toys and feed herself, and there's no reason she won't live life to the full.
When I watch her laughing and wrestling with her brothers on the floor, I'm so proud of my brave little girl.

• To raise funds for Alder Hey Children's Hospital, visit www.justgiving.com/RRCAll-Stars


Alison Coneybeare, 44, Reading, Berkshire