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Ok. I'm fat. And unfit. Running up the stairs leaves me a little out of breath. There are too many x's on my clothes labels. I sit at a desk. I eat crap. Whilst writing this I have wine in one hand and a cookie in the other (not literally.... That would be good typing skills) but as of now it has to change.

It has to change because my cousin said, "do you fancy doing the cycle to Paris from London?” I must have been high on cookies and wine (even I'm noticing a trend here) at the time because I said yes. 

Me and my moobs are going to pedal to Paris. 

Paris is not near my house. 

Paris is very far away. 

I am very far away from Paris. 

I am going to Paris on a bicycle

Sounds pretty impossible.

I'm looking forward to seeing how big the ramp is at Dover...

Aside from my poor attempt to be humorous, the reason I'm doing this.

On June 25th 2011 my heavily pregnant wife and I went to Colchester Hospital to get ready to have our twins. After just over 39 weeks the doc's had decided it was time for George to be induced.

I think we were both as ready as you can ever be. We didn’t have kids so there was no barometer to gauge just how much our life was going to change. I think the immediate anxiety of labour and childbirth mixed with a little excitement was there, but I don’t really remember too much about that day.

George was induced just after lunch and the effects were pretty immediate, with contractions coming as expected. Through the afternoon and evening George's labour progressed as expected and with the ever vigilant team on hand George was coached through the experience, whilst I felt the spare part that I’m sure most dads-to-be feel at this point.

Through the early hours and into morning it became obvious that a long and hard labour still had a fair way to go, and with George's energy slipping we were advised of the options open to us.

With the sound advice of the medical team we elected for a natural birth, but in a theatre supported by what seemed to be an army of doctors and nurses (forever my heroes)

Gowned and prepped we were ready to go, first George and then me.

Sitting by George I was surprised at how calm she was, I'll always remember that she was lying there asking me if I was alright.

That is my beautiful wife.

That is her way.

Everybody else first. Herself second.

After an enormous amount of effort our son was born. Our beautiful son. He was laid on George and we got a look at our little man for the first time. I was a Dad. George was a Mum.

After a few minutes our son was passed to me to look after while George got ready to push for our second child.

The same amount of effort came, the visible and audible effort. The same, but this time, different.

George started to say that she felt she couldn’t breathe. An oxygen mask was placed on her mouth and she continued in her efforts.

George again said about the breathing, then alarms.

Lots of alarms.

The next bit, to me, is a fairly broken memory, almost like photographs. So I'll say it as I see it.

Alarms.

George not breathing.

Our daughter, our beautiful daughter,  being pulled into the world.

Our daughter not breathing.

Noise, lots of noise.

Chaos around George, bags on her face.

Chaos around my daughter, surrounded by white coats.

Lots of surgical masks and rapid movement.

Me placing my son down and standing up.

Somebody talking to me.

A finger pointed at me... 'Get him out'

Led away.

Shouting at somebody about staying.

Through the doors.

Muted chaos.

Spoken to, trying to look back, being led forward.

Led to a room.

Sat down.

Wait here.

People around me.

Everybody looking at me, talking to me.

That is genuinely how I remember it, it doesn't flow at all.

I was placed into a room whilst the midwives ran between theatre and me, giving me updates.

I know I didn’t react the way I should have when some of the news was given to me, but it was not real. It couldn’t be happening to me. No way. I think I only really realised how bad things were when they told me they would need to ring our families now and I had to give them the numbers. At first I remember saying no, that it was ok, I didn’t want to worry them. It was the insistence of the lead Doctor that finally broke through my shock and made me realise what was happening

George had arrested… her heart had stopped. She had arrested before our daughter was born, meaning she had no oxygen and was born not breathing. The skill of the people in that room of noise meant that our daughter, Connie, was resuscitated and sent to the special care baby unit. Our son, Oscar, the little fella I had put down when my world started falling down, was also sent to special care to be cared for.

During those two hours George arrested a further three times. She’d had an Amniotic Fluid Embolism. A rare occurrence caused by debris entering the bloodstream and causing an allergic reaction. The heart stops. The lungs collapse and your blood can’t clot.

Those people, the ones in the masks, people I didn’t know, brought my wife back four times.

After her fourth resuscitation they felt that George could be moved to a critical care unit.

I finally left that room I had been placed in, although I wasn’t too sure where to go.

By this time our families were with me. We were taken to another room and I was fully updated by people who had been in that room of noise with my wife and children.

Connie was in intensive care at SCBU

Oscar was in medial care in SCBU

George was on full life support and was given a 5% to 10% chance of survival.

I went to see my kids, and then I went to see my wife.

My wife, my beautiful Wife and my wonderful children then started to show the world what it means to want to survive.

George survived the first night, described at the time as a miracle. Connie stabilised and Oscar continued to do well.

My life then took on a strange timetable. Apart from sleeping at home at night I spent my days at the hospital, between the Critical Care Unit and the Special Care Baby Unit, supported by our wonderful family.

I could fundraise for at least 5 different departments in Colchester, all of whom formed part of the care package offered to George, Connie, Oscar and indeed me.  However I have chosen, on this occasion, to raise the money for SCBU.

During our time in SCBU I was schooled on being a parent and my kids were cared for beyond anything I was capable of at the time.

The people in there; they knew me. They talked to me. They cried with me. They cheered with me as George’s recovery continued. They held my hand when my beautiful kids passed test after test following their traumatic birth. They caught my eye when I was staring off into the distance. They made me feel safe. They guided me with the right amount of distance. They spoke to me about me. I lent on them, so much at times, and always found them listening. They even made me laugh.

I have so many fond memories of that place, perhaps a little strange to say that, but I do. There were so many victories and they shared each one with me

A special care baby unit is a place you’ll never be aware of unless you are there. You, like me, will have seen them on the telly, but I can assure you it’s not just the babies they look after.

I hope that my fundraising efforts, can, in some way, repay part of the debt I owe to them as a department, as well as the entire hospital.

Because of these people I went sledging with my kids the other week. I had Connie screaming as we wooooooshed down the hill (her words not mine)

And George? She was in the other sledge with Oscar, but Daddy was faster….

Please, if you have a spare quid, stick your hand in your pocket

 

Sean