We ferried our bags to the door in a wheelbarrow, which Martha and her younger sister, Lottie, wanted rides in, too. It was a small, old farmhouse with low-slung beams and no wifi or phone reception parking was at the bottom of a hill on which sheep grazed. I had booked a cottage on the outskirts of Snowdonia national park. You so badly want to go back there but you never can. But if I’d been more aware of how hospitals work and how some doctors behave, my daughter would be with me now.Īs another bereaved parent told me, life after the death of your child is like being on an island, separate from the mainland where the “normal people” live. It’s not that I think I’m to blame: the hospital has admitted breach of duty of care and talked of a “catastrophic error”. No matter how many times I’m told that “it was the doctors’ job to look after Martha”, I know, deep down, that had I acted differently, she’d still be living, and my life would not now be broken. There’s no need for the usual political arguments: as the hospital in question has confirmed to me, what happened to Martha had nothing to do with insufficient resources or overstretched doctors and nurses it had nothing to do with austerity or cuts, or a health service under strain. I am a fierce supporter of the principles of the NHS and realise how many excellent doctors are practising today. In a small way, I hope Martha’s story might change how some people think about healthcare it might even save a life. What I learned, I now want everyone to know. What follows is an account of how Martha was allowed to die, but also what happens when you have blind faith in doctors – and learn too late what you should have known to save your child’s life.
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