Running for Fred, Bertie, and Great Ormond Street Hospital

On January 24th, 2023, our world turned upside down. Our four-month-old son, Fred, was admitted to Great Ormond Street Hospital and diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukaemia. Over the next eight months, Fred endured four gruelling rounds of chemotherapy and received a lifesaving bone marrow transplant. Through it all, he showed unimaginable strength, courage, and resilience.

On the 7th of September 2023, Fred loudly, and proudly rang the End of Treatment Bell, and much to my surprise, Fred's Dad got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. We got to bring our baby boy home for good, and I was (and still am) engaged to be married to the love of my life.

On the 25th of September 2023, we welcomed Fred's little brother, Bertie in to the world and have since been basking in Family of Four life. (Yes I was pregnant all throughout Fred's treatment, but that's a story for another day!) With two beautiful, funny, handsome, intelligent toddlers, who are the best of friends in tow, we live our life to the fullest. We spend every day in joy and in love, with our life, and with each other.

Without Great Ormond Street, we would not be living the life we are now. In particular, our Hematology consultant, fondly known as Captain Jack, with his incredibly sunny disposition, saved Fred's life. Fred was then given a second chance at life, when he received his Bone Marrow Transplant on the 28th of July 2023.

Our team of Consultants, Drs, Nurses, HCA's, Porter Staff, Cleaning Staff, Administrators, Play Teams and wonderful volunteers made each day a little brighter and on the days that were so dark and there wasn't any room to make anything brighter, they held us up, in love, in encouragement, in hugs, tears, deliveries of tea. They held our and hands, and held our hearts. They wrapped Fred in love and light and treated him with the upmost care and love and respect. The nurses on Giraffe and Robin wards in particular, because bonus Aunties and Uncles to Fred, he loved them all.

While I focus here on the positives, I do think it is really important to highlight that the eight months we spent living in Great Ormond Street , and the many months that followed were truly the darkest, scariest, most tumultuous times of our lives. I personally, coped well while we were in the hospital, but when we were discharged and allowed home to return to normal life, the fear, anxiety and depression really began to seep in. I sometimes felt like I was drowning, drowning in life, in fear, in trying to raise two children while deep down knowing that I was not ok.

In the depths of depression, I turned to food as a coping mechanism. Having poured all of my energy into my two children, there was nothing left to give to myself. At my heaviest, I weighed over 20 stone. Feeling completely and totally lost, I had no idea where to turn.

Now, I’m on the long road back to health. I’m learning to give myself grace because no one could have prepared me for how deeply a child’s illness can break and reshape a parent. So I’m not just running the London Marathon for Fred. I’m running for Bertie. I’m running for Great Ormond Street. And I’m running for myself, and for every parent who’s ever felt lost in the storm of caring for a sick child.

I’ve asked myself a thousand times, how do you thank the people who saved your child’s life? How do you repay a debt so deep? The truth is, I never fully can. But I can try. I can run.

This is one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever done, but it’s also one of the most meaningful. Every mile I run is a thank you. Every step is love. Every ache is a tribute to Fred, our little superhero, and Bertie, our sunshine in the dark.

Please help me give back to the hospital that gave us everything.

This one’s for you, Fred.