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The cruelest question

Little Daniella was always asking questions. Now I'm haunted by just one...


Published by: Amy thompson
Published on: 26th May 2011

The cogs were whirring in my two-year-old’s head. Any minute now she’d ask yet another question. I could tell by the little frown crinkling her brow. ‘Mummy,’ Daniella started, watching her nana Georgina pouring water over her flowers in the garden. ‘Why’s Nana doing that?’
She was forever asking why, always wanting to know how something was done.
‘Plants need water to live,’ I said. ‘Like you and me.’
Next thing I knew, she was skipping out the back door with Tigger, her favourite teddy, to quiz her nana.
I couldn’t help laughing. ‘She’s going to ruin your mum’s garden,’ I chuckled to my hubby Dave, 36. ‘Look at her drowning those plants.’
‘Bless her,’ he grinned.
All parents cherish their kids, but to us Daniella was extra special.
After she was born, I’d been diagnosed with pulmonary hypertension, a condition that causes high blood pressure in the lungs. I’d been warned that having more children could kill me.
We’d been devastated, but it made Daniella even more precious.
Still, as much as we’d have liked to, we couldn’t spend every second with her. Dave worked as a bookseller, while I was a web analyst.
The next week, I dropped her off at her grandparents’ again while I went to work.
‘She’s got a cold,’ I told Georgina, 60.
‘Poor love,’ she frowned, picking Daniella up. ‘You’re a bit warm too. We’ll get Granddad Cameron to make you a nice cool drink.’
‘Where are you going?’ Daniella asked me.
‘To work,’ I chuckled. ‘See you later, Munchkin. Love you.’
‘Love you more,’ she smiled.
Blowing her a kiss, I got in the car and went to work. But a few hours later, Cameron, 61, showed up in reception. ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked, worried. ‘Is Daniella okay?’
‘She started having convulsions…’ he began.
‘Oh God!’ I gasped.
‘She’s okay now,’ he said. ‘We took her to Basingstoke and North Hampshire Hospital. The doctor said it’s quite common in kids under five with a temperature. But they’re keeping her in overnight to be safe.’
By the time we arrived at the hospital, my little girl was feeling better. ‘What’s wrong Mummy?’ she asked. Even when she was sick, she couldn’t stop asking questions!
‘You’re poorly,’ I told her. ‘The doctors are making you better.’
‘Where’s Tigger?’ she asked. Always another question. But I was ready with the answer.
‘Right here,’ I smiled, tucking him in beside her.
Taking her home the next day, I couldn’t stop watching her. ‘What if she has another convulsion?’ I fretted to Dave.
‘She’s fine,’ he soothed. ‘You heard what the doctor said. It’s normal in young kids. I mean, look at her now…’
He nodded to Daniella playing outside, picking up leaves and happily decorating a nearby bush with them. He was right, I couldn’t question every little sniffle.
Well, that’s what I told myself while she was fine. But six months later, when she got another bug and started being sick, I panicked.
‘I’m taking her to the out-of-hours doctor at the hospital,’ I told Dave over the phone. He was working late, but I said I’d call him if there were any problems.
But when we arrived and saw the doctor, she didn’t seem as concerned as me.
‘She’s got a high temperature,’ she agreed. ‘But she should be fine. Make sure she has plenty of water and bed rest.’
‘Thanks,’ I smiled.
Okay, so I’d clearly overreacted. At least now I could sleep easy.
At home, I gave Daniella some water and lay down on the sofa with her as she drifted off to sleep on my chest. ‘Everything okay then?’ Dave whispered, walking in.
‘Fine,’ I mouthed back. ‘In fact, I’d better put her to bed.’
Heaving myself off the sofa with her draped across my shoulder, I wandered into her pink bedroom, covered with Winnie the Pooh teddies, and tucked her in.
An hour later, Dave said he’d check on her. ‘Careful she doesn’t wake up,’ I warned. ‘You know what she’s like.’
He nodded. ‘No matter how quiet you are she always opens her eyes and flashes that cheeky smile…’
‘…before asking what you’re doing!’ I finished.
He crept into the room. ‘Gail!’ he screamed. ‘Call an ambulance!’
Rushing to the doorway, my blood ran cold. On the floor, surrounded by toys, Dave was frantically pumping our little girl’s chest. Her face was blue. ‘No!’ I sobbed, grabbing the phone and dialling 999. What had happened to my baby?
Paramedics arrived in minutes and worked on her until they got her to the hospital. In an emergency room, I watched in horror as doctors surrounded her. Hooking her up to monitors, putting an oxygen mask over her face, doing everything they could to start her breathing.
For half an hour, we stood by helplessly. Then, the doctor came to see us. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said.
My world crumbled. ‘Please… You have to…’ I begged, my body shaking with sobs as I collapsed in Dave’s arms. How had this happened? I couldn’t understand it. She was only two-and-a-half and had always been fit and healthy.
But in the blink of an eye, my little Munchkin had gone.
‘H-how?’ I asked. ‘She only had a high temperature.’
The doctor said gently: ‘We won’t know the cause of death until her inquest.’
A week later, at Basingstoke Crematorium, we said goodbye to our precious little girl, not knowing why she’d been taken from us. At least the inquest would answer that.
But two agonising months later, even the coroner couldn’t explain what had happened.
‘The only way I can describe it is… it’s like someone turned her electricity supply off,’ he said.
No one had an answer for me when I needed one most. To top it all, the doctor I’d seen at the out-of-hours clinic said if she’d been told Daniella had suffered convulsions six months earlier, she’d have kept her in overnight.
‘I didn’t even think of it,’ I wept to Dave. ‘She was just a bit poorly, why would I have connected it with something that happened six months ago? Was it my fault?’
He hugged me tight, shaking his head. ‘You did everything you could,’ he reassured me.
Seven months on and I still don’t know what happened to my girl, or what would’ve happened if she’d been kept in hospital. I’ll never find out and, even if I do, it won’t bring her back. We’ve kept her room as it was. The thought of touching it, or getting rid of anything…
Her third birthday was last week. I think of how excited she’d have been, how many questions she’d have asked about her presents, her cake… It breaks my heart that I’ll never hear them. I’ll never hear any of her questions again. All I’m left with is one of my own – why?
Gail Robins, 34, Basingstoke, Hampshire