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My boys are twincredible

Things were looking bleak for tiny Finn- that was until his brother stepped in...


Published by: Rebecca Greenow and Jean Jollands
Published on: 7 June 2012

They were picture- perfect. Tiny twin bundles in matching blue babygros, laying side by side in the Moses basket, noses touching. Kian and Finn were only a week old, but there was already a strong bond between them.
‘I can't believe they're ours,' I sighed to my hubby Pat, 41.
‘You better believe it!' he chuckled. ‘We've got some serious nappy changes coming our way!'
Those next six weeks were a whirlwind of nappies, winding and feeds. But I started to notice little differences between my boys. While Kian napped peacefully in his cot, I paced the floor with Finn. The poor mite would cry inconsolably.
‘There, there, little man,' I hushed, offering him some milk. But he turned his little chin away. Odd, Kian was gaining weight and increasing his feeds, but Finn wasn't interested.
All right, they weren't identical twins but, even so, these differences seemed...worrying. Kian was already shooting us gummy smiles and looking around him. His brother was in a world of his own - at times his eyes seemed to shake from side to side, too.
Worried, we took him to our doctor, then a neurologist at Hammersmith Hospital. An MRI scan revealed the problem.
‘Finn has a large intracranial mass on his brain,' the consultant said gently. ‘A tumour.'
A tumour? He was only 13 weeks old! Please don't let this be happening...
But it was. Pat and I were devastated. Kian was checked over too but, thankfully, given the all-clear. My sister-in-law Marie looked after him, while me and Pat went with our poorly boy to Great Ormond Street Hospital in London.
Those next weeks went by in a daze of operations, diagnosis and treatments. ‘Finn has got hydrocephalus, or water on the brain,' his consultant Mr Dominic Thompson explained. ‘We have to remove it to release the pressure on his skull.'
After two ops to drain the fluid, Finn faced yet more surgery - a pioneering operation using a magnifying scope to go through his groin, right up to his brain. Surgeons would then try to cut off the blood supply to the tumour. What we'd have done without everyone at Hammersmith and Great Ormond Street hospitals doesn't bear thinking about - they were all wonderful.
Still, seeing my boy with a bandage around his head, hooked up to tubes, broke my heart. ‘He will make it, won't he?' I wept.
‘He will,' Pat hushed. ‘We
just have to stay strong - just like he is.'
As a new mum, this was overwhelming. I wanted, needed, to be by Finn's side. But longed to hold Kian, too. When Pat brought him to hospital one day, I hugged him as though my life depended on it. Instantly, I felt calmed by the connection I felt between us.
Gently, I placed him beside his brother, nose to nose as always. Immediately, Finn seemed happier, more settled. He felt that connection with his twin, too - like he was drawing strength from his brother.
He needed all that strength too. Because 10 days after being admitted to hospital, he contracted meningitis. A battler, he overcame it, though.
But just a week later, Finn faced his biggest test yet - a seven-hour operation to locate and remove the tumour.
‘As with any op, there's a risk he might not wake up,' the doctors warned me.
‘You can do this, Finn,' I urged. For good luck, I put a photo of Kian in his arms. On the back I wrote Can't wait till we play football together. Love you.
With his stronger brother to urge him on, I prayed that Finn would be okay...
Afterwards, the surgeon emerged. ‘The op was a success! The tumour was the size of a golf ball,' he announced. What's more, a biopsy showed it wasn't cancerous.
Finn wasn't out of the woods yet, though. Fluid on his brain kept building up - at six months old, doctors inserted a permanent drain to relieve the pressure.
‘We don't know if he's suffered any permanent brain damage,' doctors admitted. He might face long-term physical and mental delays. Still, at least, he was allowed home, finally.
It was a bittersweet moment, though. Side by side again, he was so different from Kian - underweight and listless.
One day, Kian played happily on the carpet holding a teddy bear. Little Finn tried to lift his left arm to reach towards his brother... but he couldn't. I felt so sad for him.
‘How will he cope at school?' I fretted to Pat. ‘And when he's growing up... the thought of him and Kian never playing together is just awful.'
‘There must be something more we can do for him,' he sighed, squeezing my hand.
I got on the internet, Googling people who worked with young children with brain injuries. Hmm, this Andrew Brereton bloke sounded interesting. He'd set up something called the Snowdrop Foundation after his own son Daniel had been born with a profound brain injury.
Andrew had developed a specialised programme to aid his development. The results had been impressive...
At the appointment, Andrew carefully observed eight-month-old Finn playing. Then he developed a stimulation programme especially for him.
‘Here, take these,' he said, handing me some coloured flashcards to use with Finn. Other activities included repeating sounds to my son, and brushing techniques to stimulate arm movement.
We did the activities in short bursts of a few minutes, up to a maximum of two hours a day.
As the weeks passed, Finn became more vocal. His eyesight and interaction improved, too. Four months later, he and his brother turned one. I was sitting playing with them when...
‘Dada!' Finn babbled. His very first word!
It was another six months before Kian said his first. Somehow, his battling brother had overtaken him! I couldn't thank Andrew enough.
But Finn's biggest helper had to be Kian. He constantly strived to copy him. When Kian started walking at 14 months, Finn tried to shuffle along, too. At 21 months, he finally took those very precious first steps.
They became quite competitive. Finn wanted to ride his bike as fast as Kian, play with the same toys, and make as much noise as him! He was frustrated when he couldn't, but that only made him even more determined.
When they turned two, Pat and I bought them both little scooters. Kian sped around on his, but Finn struggled.
‘Come on, Finny - you can do this!' urged his brother. And he could - he mastered that little scooter, no problem. His twin was turning out to be the best physio ever!
The boys are four now, and Finn is equal to Kian in every area - he might even be ahead with his language.
They say there's a stronger bond between twins, and I believe that bond helped Finn's miraculous recovery. He still has regular check-ups but, thanks to Great Ormond Street, the Snowdrop Foundation and, most of all, his brother, he's overcoming all his problems.
Side by side, as ever, the two of them can take on the world!
Claire Warriner, 41, Ealing, West London