3 Weeks In and Counting...

3 weeks ago yesterday, we were admitted to hospital. Sometimes it feels that we are no further along. Yesterday was one of those days. Grim.

Madam had a high fever continuously and medication had little effect. The rash covered her whole body in huge scarlet patches.

We had a scan that showed fluid is present in all her joints, which, like her face, have swollen dramatically. They took some fluid from her knee (without any anaesthetic...) and it has gone to join her other fluids on the shelf in the lab, next to her gallons of blood, for more tests.

The latest theory is that the rash and swellings are not, as initially thought, a reaction to the antibiotics - which have been changed again - and this 'thing', whatever it is, is no longer behaving like an invasive biological infection, so they are now investigating rheumatic and autoimmune diseases.

She had her eyes checked. Apparently the blood vessels at the back of the eyeball can hold clues - but it was all clear and her vision has so far not been affected.

A doctor - of the very junior variety - was called in the middle of the night as there was some concern about her oxygen saturation. By the time he arrived her stats had improved, but he decided that blood tests needed to be done immediately. I'm afraid I told him, gently but firmly, that he was mistaken. Blood tests did not need to be done immediately. It could wait until morning. We had had enough of needles for one day.

And then she slept and slept.

It is now 6.30pm on Friday and since midnight last night we have had... wait for it... NO FEVER!! In fact, we have had an all-round much jollier day.

The urgent blood tests that apparently needed doing in the middle of the night did not materialise today, indeed the cardiac team and the IDU agreed that the junior night doctor may have been a little... rash. Talking of which, ours is starting to recede and the teams have decided to have a period of no intervention while test results filter back. They have replaced the massive doses of Ibuprofen with massive doses of Aspirin. Oh, and we had x-rays this afternoon on knees and hips to see if there has been any bone damage.

At least there is one thing on which everyone is agreed - we are not infectious, so we have been allowed out of our room! We even managed to potter down the corridor to the playroom with The Husband when he visited. The new antibiotic tastes hideous so we have eaten a lot of chocolate today and we have watched Peppa Pig on DVD several times (so far an improvement on Mr T, but I might not be saying that by the end of the weekend).

In the sandwich shop this morning, I asked a man if he was at the end of the queue.
""You go first," he said.  "I don't mind."
I thanked him.
"That's OK," he said. And then, "We only came in last night and today everything has changed."
His little girl had been suffering from headaches for two weeks before she was rushed to A& E. They found she has an inoperable brain tumour.
"How am I going to tell my other children?" he said.

Puts the bad days into perspective, doesn't it?

Day 20 and we're in a Spot of Bother

Blimmin' Heck. A lot has happened in the last 24 hours.

Madam has had a temperature every day since we've been here, but the periods between each spike are getting shorter. She has been running a high fever pretty much straight since Monday morning. It comes down when we remove her clothing and direct a cold fan at her, only to creep back up again. Sometimes Paracetamol does the trick, sometimes not. She is on huge doses of Ibuprofen as part of her treatment, for its anti-inflammatory properties, and that helps in the fight to keep her temperature under control, but in a 24 hour period, she is now feverish more than not.

The general consensus seems to be that the ULI is still active, still aggressive, and that somewhere inside her is another site of infection.

Yesterday, the Cardiac Consultant did his job and consulted with the Infectious Diseases Unit (IDU). I must admit I had to stifle a giggle at the thought. I am still being asked if we've been abroad recently. No, not recently. Recently, we have mostly been in hospital.  Anyway, the IDU (not to be confused with 'Intravenous Drug Use' or my favourite acronym, 'I Don't Understand') have said that Madam will require an additional antibiotic in the mix and must remain on her IV cocktail for another month. Yes. Exactly. That's just what I said.

If that wasn't enough to be going on with, at bath time yesterday, I realised she had a rash on her torso. Doctors were called. Somebody thought it might be chickenpox, except they weren't sure as they had never seen the chickenpox rash in its early stages - (I have added it to my Dorling Kindersley pitch). Then her temperature began its evening climb and I noticed that her left knee was swollen. I know, I know. It sounds ridiculous. Doctors were called again and everyone agreed that we should see what happens.

So, today that's exactly what we have been doing - watching. Watching her temperature climb dramatically and then fall, climb and fall. The rash has spread to cover her whole body, her face has swollen and her knee is getting bigger. The theory this morning was that it is a delayed reaction to the antibiotic, so the lunchtime IV was cancelled to see what happened. Then it was reinstated, just in case the rash and fever were not a reaction to the antibiotic. Do try and keep up.

The IDU came in this afternoon to start their own investigations. Both knees were swollen by then and there was limited mobility in one shoulder joint also, so in the morning we are having scans done on these areas. The antibiotic is being changed in the hope that the rash will either disappear, showing it was a reaction to the other one, or will remain, showing that it is another symptom of the overall infection. More blood was taken - is there any left? - and more biological cultures will be grown. And in the meantime we are confined to this little room and not allowed out in case we are infectious.

But that's not the worst of it. The worst of it is not being able to escape from Mr Flaming Tumble, who must take the Most Irritating Children's TV Character Biscuit and who appears on Cbeebies about forty-five times a day. With his spotty bag.

Can We Go Home Now, Please?

I should have been in Ludlow today, saying a final goodbye to a dear man. I've been thinking about him and his family all day. Instead, despite feeling so positive last week, we are still here and it does not look like we will be getting out any time soon. As much as it is a very nice place with some very nice people... I WANT TO GO HOME NOW.

Madam started running high temperatures again at the end of last week. On Thursday a big mass was seen on her heart, on Friday it had started to gather itself into a ball shape and there was conjecture that it might be an abcess that would require surgery. On Saturday, the abcess theory was ruled out, her drips were removed and her antibiotics were switched to oral. The consultant dared to suggest that possibly Monday might see us being discharged if progress continued to go well. He shouldn't have said it out loud.

The temperatures got higher over the weekend, she did not seem to be responding to the new antibiotic. They were concerned that her heart may have deteriorated and become enlarged again, but today's ultrasound showed the fluid and the mass are shrinking. Today her canula was put back in, by the Competent Registrar you'll be pleased to hear not the FHD (*king Hopeless Doctor). So tonight she is back on IV antibiotics and tomorrow the cardiac team are meeting with the Infectious Diseases Unit to look at doing more investigations. The consultant admitted today that they are foxed - the ULI remains very U. Apparently it didn't matter too much when she seemed to have made such progress last week, but because things have ground to a halt and her recovery is stalling, the hunt to identify the ULI is back on with a vengeance. They need to know what it is so they can figure out what to do next. Can't help but feel we have taken a giant stride backwards. Really missing the boys and the togetherness of family. I want to take her home where she is free.

Encouraged by the nurses, I escaped to the outside world on Saturday night to spend a couple of hours at the 40th birthday party of Very Young Lovely Girlfriend. Felt like an out-of-body experience after being shut away in here for two weeks. Completely Brilliant to hold The Husband's hand because I could, rather than for ballast at a bedside. Also Very Brilliant being back in Real World with Dear Friends despite some Insensitive Censoriousness. Oh dear, can't seem to stop all these Capital Letters creeping in. Time To Sign Off I Think. 'Night All.

Are We Nearly There Yet?

Madam is definitely on the mend. Today she put clothes on and went for a walk off the ward down to the lobby. It was a bit like watching somebody liberated after years of incarceration. She was wobbly, but shrieked and pointed at interesting things like "STAIRS!", "MAN!", "SHOP!"

She had a return of the hideous diarrhea this afternoon and so we gave up changing our outfit after each episode and went back to being sans vetements. She fell asleep in my arms before supper, but she didn't miss much. It was the same brown gloop they had served up as Bolognese at lunchtime, only by 5pm they were calling it Shepherd's Pie.

I've had a lot of time to think while we have been in here, especially in the last day or so now that things are a little less scary. I have a lot of questions: not least of which is why there is a 100 Piece Cake Decorating Kit for sale in the sandwich shop.

It seems we will never know what exactly Madam contracted. Her test results have not revealed the answer. She continues to improve daily, her fevers are diminishing, her heart function is stronger than ever, the fibrous mass seems to be reducing. They are talking about changing her antibiotics from IV to oral... which means we are coming home! They won't make that judgement until she has had a good 48 hours of feverless improvement and the scan shows the matter around her heart is no longer volatile.

Fingers crossed it is soon. If I see another sandwich I might lose the plot, my roots are starting to show and my eyebrows look like Denis Healy's.

Oh, Happy Day

When the cardiac consultant and his team arrived yesterday morning, I was knackered and so was Madam after the dramas of the Useless Nurse and the Very High Fever. They did an ultrasound which showed the fluid on her heart is diminishing at last but the fibrous matter is significantly worse. I held my breath and waited to hear that we were off to Southampton, but the pronouncement didn't come. Instead they decided to change her antibiotic to see if that might do it...

Of course, they aren't go to let us out of here any time soon - unless she shows a marked improvement and they are sure her heart won't suddenly pack up in Sainsburys. That means no fevers. There is some talk of administering the antibiotic orally at some point, rather than IV, which would mean we can do that at home...

So oddly, I felt rather better about things after that consultation. And the day just got better and better.

We read a lot of stories, covered everything we could in stickers, ate ice cream for lunch and all day the fever held off. She even started chatting to some of the nurses, instead of cowering in her cot. At bedtime I tucked her in and said goodnight. I had the last fag of the day with The Husband, before getting in to bed myself with my book.

Well, we both had the best night's sleep we have had in months!! She slept through with no complications, no Useless Nurses or fevers. The Whole Night. Huzzah! Until the 6am check, when a fever had crept in... and I look out of the window and it is raining. Bugger.

Hungry and Hacked Off

So, today I am in fighting mood. In case any of my Aunts of a Nervous Disposition are reading this, please excuse any expletives that might creep into the narrative.

Yesterday could have been a glorious day. At midday, the Oxford Chapter of the Harley Davidson Owners Group arrived at the front of the hospital on their annual toy run. They roared up in convoy, a spectacular sight - all that chrome in the sunshine ... anyway, I did shed a tear or two - just seemed rather wonderful, all these leather-clad toughies bringing toys for the little ill children.

We had a family visit - The Husband arriving with the boys, my brother and parents, which was jolly but afterwards things took a turn for the worse. It started with the appearance of a young doctor, whom we had the dubious pleasure of meeting a few days earlier when she, very cack-handedly, inserted a canula into Madam's foot after a couple of botched attempts. It was not pleasant, and it seemed she had not been practising since. Once again she faffed about while my poor little girl howled. She broke two and had to go off to get some more which she also promptly bent, seemingly unable to find a vein. At this point I called time and suggested that they either find another way of getting Madam's IV antibiotics into her, or go and find someone else who bloody well knew what they were doing.

The duty registrar was summoned and did the job efficiently, quickly and with no faffing whatsoever. I really think Dorling Kindersley have missed a trick. There is patently a niche for medical textbooks with bloody great diagrams and lifty-up flaps.

Anyway, we were both fed up and hungry after the drama, so I went off in search of a sandwich, only to find that because it was Sunday and obviously nobody wants to eat anything on a Sunday, all the sandwich places were closed. So I legged it to the canteen in the main hospital, which I hadn't dared to do before in case something hideous happened while I was gone. It was my first hot meal in 10 days. Absolutely fab and they put it in a polystyrene box like they do at festivals, so I could run back and eat it with Madam. In case you were wondering, it was spinach and chickpea curry, very delicious and only £2.75.

We both fell asleep about 6.30pm. When I woke at 10, Madam was shaking violently. I called for the nurse and asked if she had been in to check on her while we slept. "I didn't want to wake her," she said. "so I just stuck my head round the door and she looked fine." On further investigation (the same investigation the nurse should have done two and a half hours previously), it turned out her temperature was 40.2, her heart rate was 180 and she was a couple of hours late with her meds. "Don't worry," said the nurse, "patients' heart rates always go up when they have a temperature." I pointed out that the doctors are keen for her NOT to have a raised temperature and rollicking heartbeat because it isn't very good for somebody whose heart doesn't work very well and that's why the nurse was supposed to do these checks regularly and give her medicine on time... or words to that effect.

I spent the rest of the night, as I have the previous few nights, with Madam curled up next to me, trying to keep her upright while I attempted to only half-sleep so I could make sure she was still breathing.

So you can see why I began today a trifle Hacked Off.

Missing Home

The day didn't start well after a very very difficult night, with Madam unable to settle. She ended up squishing in to my bed with me which seemed to comfort her, but she was dreadfully uncomfortable, in lots of pain and inconsolable. One of the nurses promised to sneak me some toast, but she set the fire alarm off using the toaster, so I took advantage of the racket to make a cup of contraband coffee in my cupboard.

The cardiac team did their rounds and said that lying flat would not help either the pain or her heart function, so have suggested she remains sitting upright through the night. Today's ultrasound showed that the fluid on her heart has not reduced and the fibrous matter is causing some concern. A decision will be made on Monday whether to transfer her to Southampton for surgery to drain everything.

We have been looking forward so much to seeing the boys all week and today they came in to visit. Madam was overjoyed and very chatty. She was definitely quieter today, and her temperature has spiked a few times, but seeing her brothers was a tonic for us both.

I just want to say thank you to all of you whose messages of love and deliveries of cake, salad, pyjamas and bunny ears have made this a little more bearable. Wishing it won't be long before we are back in our village and doing ordinary things with our extraordinary friends. We miss you.

Funny Old World

Today has been a magical day - who'd have thought that a week after being in Intensive Care Madam would be free of her machines and sitting up in bed playing chuck-the-bricks-off-the-bed while wearing pink bunny ears? Funny old world.

The ultrasound shows the lungs are virtually clear of fluid. The heart is not, but is healing and so far the fibrous tissue is not affecting function. She has had a higher temperature today, but they are content to just watch it, her tummy bug seems less...violent.

Just to hear her giggle as I scrambled to pick up the bricks was amazing. She ate a hearty lunch and enjoyed reading her book on Dad's knee. She deteriorated slightly early evening, but is sleeping soundly now. Is it too much to hope we are over the worst?

Hanging On In There...

Just a quick update this evening as Madam and I are both a bit zonked.

Last night very disturbed, temperature and heart rate up.

No ultrasound this morning - progress on heart & lung fluid very satisfactory.

Some particularly welcome special visitors today.

She has now developed slight rash and yukky stomach bug - not sure if it is part of overall picture or contracted in here. Tests tomorrow.

Very tired, lethargic, quiet, tearful girl today but at least the whole heart/lung drama looks like it is nearly over. Just "Name that ULI" to play now.

Thank you so much for your continued messages of love and support xxx

Hard Times

Today has been a funny sort of day - a bit up and down. Sorry for worrying everyone with a late update from yesterday, but the internet connection is not always reliable.

Madam had the usual ultrasound this morning which showed little change in the heart but the fluid on the lungs looked hugely better, so the drain was removed. It was a bit horrid for her, and as she had been on nil by mouth since she woke in case emergency surgery was required, we had a very late breakfast of chocolate Easter egg.

Had a lovely visit with Number 1 and Madam slept while I caught up with my oldest boy. But the cardio team were concerned that she was very sleepy, so another ultrasound was done and showed a huge mass over her right lung. Things got a bit panicky with lots of hushed phone calls being made to other departments and I was told the drain would have to be put back in. All I could think about was that hideous time in Intensive Care and putting her through it all again. They called for a chest x ray to confirm what was going on and it showed that the mass was actually her stomach which has become terribly distended. (Probably all the chocolate.) Relief was huge, as you can imagine, although I am considering buying the cardio doctor one of those Dorling Kindersley books with diagrams labelling parts of the body. Poor little girl - she has been very distressed since then, tired and in pain. When she gets out of here, I'm going to be less strict about things like broccoli and teeth brushing and feet on the sofa. Chocolate is going to feature more regularly and new shoes. She deserves a lot of spoiling.

This is not easy. And the Unidentified part of the ULI remains Unidentified. Not sure even Dorling Kindersley can help. Thanks for all the love - need it tonight. Will try and be more cheery tomorrow and will tell you about the ultrasound machine I nearly blew up this morning. Just off to my cupboard now to make a coffee before her meds are due in an hour. 'Night all.

Day 6 in the Horrid Hospital

We are so lucky.

In the bed next to us in the Intensive Care Unit was a child whom, the doctors say, is unlikely ever to wake up again. There is a baby down the corridor who has acute pneumonia and the nurses say she hasn’t stopped screaming for four days and nights. And yesterday I met a woman who has been in here for three months with her little son who was born with some of his organs outside his body. It is true that there is always somebody worse off.

So yes, we are very lucky. Madam had two pieces of bread and jam for breakfast, half an easter egg for lunch and four chips for supper. She has had moments where she is bright and smiley… until anybody walks into the room and then she shrivels up, closes her eyes and waits to see what horrid thing they are going to do to her today. Well, nothing as it turns out. Towards the time when her painkillers are due, she gets distressed and her heart rate and temperature rise, but when her medication has kicked in she remains steady. Tomorrow they will take out her chest drain and are not expecting to put one in for her heart as it seems to be improving slightly. They are wary that some fibrous tissue is developing around her heart, but will continue to monitor it.

So all in all, a much better day. Of course there is still the little matter of the ULI to contend with - the Unidentified Life-threatening Illness. Which part of my daughter will it attack next and are the antibiotics going to be effective? Tune in tomorrow to find out…

Lots of lovely surprises happened today. A loving uncle arrived bearing a coffee machine, which is now stashed in my cupboard and brought out surreptitiously when no one is about. I have a coughing fit to disguise the noise and waft my towel about to disperse the aroma. So I no longer have to leave her to go in search of the watery rubbish they serve in the not-open-on-bank-holidays café downstairs. (Which means I am a nicer person.) Number 1 Son visited and admitted he has been doing laundry and washing-up. Our old postman emailed me.  But best of all, Madam was disconnected from her machines for long enough to allow a cuddle with a very grateful mum and dad.

The Signs Are Good

Day 5 did not start on a good note. When The Husband's alarm clock went off this morning, through my addled sleep I thought it was the emergency phone ringing from the unit to summon us to her bedside. Then, the only good coffee place was closed, because apparently in the real world it is a bank holiday, and obviously nobody drinks coffee on a bank holiday. So I began on the back foot.

It turned out that she had had a very settled night. Her heart rate had dropped and was steady. The ultrasound showed the fluid on her heart may have decreased somewhat, enough to decide that she would not need a heart drain today. Some of the effusion has entered her heart but at the moment it doesn't seem to be affecting cardiac function. We were warned that if it worsens she will be transferred to Southampton for an operation to scoop it all out (I think that's the correct medical terminology), but they think that is an unlikely scenario. They will continue to monitor it every morning. So she is no longer nil by mouth. Hamburgers all round. The lung drain has worked splendidly, the bucket by her bed is filling up nicely and her breathing is easier.

We are still no closer to getting to the root of all this and it is still too early to tell if the antibiotics are working. We were warned that her treatment is going to take weeks but the Cardio Consultant says we are shuffling slowly in the right direction.

The Husband has had to go back to our other life and I miss his lame jokes. (Actually, that's not strictly true...) She continued to sleep through much of the day, occasionally waking to say "Daddy gone", until - get this - we were moved back to the children's ward! (Insert loud whooping sounds here.)

However, oddly, I have found this the most difficult day so far. As soon as anyone approaches her bed she disintegrates. She has been so incredibly brave, but today, everything was just too much. Even listening to her chest or taking her temperature has had her distraught. She is, justifiably in my opinion, terrified of what they will do to her next. Because of all the machines she is wired up to and her drips and the drain, I am not allowed to pick her up and have her on my knee. She has found that very hard. So I have taken to climbing into the cot with her for a cuddle, bugger the rules.

Arriving back on the children's ward was great - lovely to be greeted so warmly by the nursing staff. Then to discover that she had been put in a busy, noisy room shared with three other children - her bed next to the children's play area with assorted parents sleeping on camp beds on the floor... I'm afraid I had a wobble. I pointed out that my daughter had been in Intensive Care just 24 hours previously, that we are going to be in hospital for at least another few weeks and that it was, well really rather rubbish.  I am ashamed to say I had a bit of a weep. Marvellously, a little room was found. So now we have relative peace and quiet again. Madam had warm milk and ate six little squares of bread and apricot jam and we watched Iggle Piggle on the overhead TV and she smiled.

Was I unreasonable? Maybe. But hey, she smiled. I have found it very hard to keep positive today, despite all the significant battles she is winning. That little smile helped a lot.

On a jollier note, I have been trying out every external door I come across to find the best place to have a sneaky cigarette. There are piles of fag butts everywhere where people have been before me, but my favourite so far  - and I'm not making this up - is under the big red notice that says NO SMOKING HERE, next to the sign pointing to the Coroner's Office.

It is your messages that are keeping us going and The Husband specifically asked me to mention what an enormous boost it gives us. Thank you all so much. Let's hope tomorrow brings whooping.

Rollercoaster Ride

They brought the x ray machine and the ultrasound back to her bed this morning to check on the levels of fluid on her heart and lungs. Both had increased, the left lung by twice as much. The decision was made to do a chest drain, but we were warned that with the elevation in her heart rate and her laboured breathing, it was likely she would have to be put on a ventilator. Her haemoglobin levels were down, so a blood transfusion was also probable.

Because of all these factors it was decided that it would be unwise to put her under a general anaesthetic and we were asked to leave while they carried out the procedure using light sedation. They tell me she was incredibly brave.

Well, she surprised them all. She endured and kept going, kept breathing all on her own! The second piece of good news was that her breathing eased and her heart rate dropped. Another ultrasound confirmed that the lung fluid was reducing. Her haemoglobin levels stabilised.

However, the cardio consultant was quick to point out that we are not out of the woods yet. More chest x rays and ultrasound this afternoon showed that the fluid on her heart is slowly increasing and tomorrow they will decide whether she is strong enough for them to drain that too. And we still don't know what the hell we are fighting. There is talk of the possibility of an autoimmune disease. The incessant tests continue - they are now having to use her feet to take bloods.

She was considered stable enough to move out of Intensive Care into the High Dependency Unit late this afternoon. If I were an American, I'd be whooping, "Go Girl!"

They have moved me into some proper accommodation in the hospital now, with kitchen facilities and a shower that works. It is called the Ronald Macdonald House and The Husband has joined me, but if he cracks the same joke again about whether we get free hamburgers with it, he'll be going home.

Oh, and I've found real coffee. Alleluia.

We are both absolutely overwhelmed by all your messages of love and support. It is enormously comforting to know that our little girl has so many friends and family willing her on. Thank you.

Tonight she is sleeping soundly and her heart rate is steady. I feel a whoop coming on.

A Long Day

It's 1am and I've just left my baby. It's been a long day.

This morning the consultant cardiologist did an ultrasound on her heart. Because she is hooked up to all these drips, they wheeled the machine into her room so we didn’t have to move her. The MRI scan and chest x-rays yesterday showed that her heart was enlarged and there was something on her lungs. The ultrasound confirmed that there is quite a lot of fluid in both lungs and around the heart. This is apparently another marker that her system is fighting something virulent, along with her extremely elevated white blood cell count. 

Although she rallied yesterday afternoon for an hour or so and sat up and was quite chatty, she was asleep and unresponsive most of today. She vomited a lot this morning and won’t eat, so was on IV fluids. She is being treated with antibiotics for viral meningitis as a precaution. 

This afternoon she deteriorated rapidly and was struggling to breathe. The fluid in her left lung increased. Her temperature suddenly elevated, despite all the medication, as did her blood pressure and heart rate. I called for help and they gave her oxygen and more meds. She was moved to Intensive Care around 7.30pm. She is now more stable and there is a precautionary ventilator next to her bed. She has had local anaesthetic applied to her chest and side in preparation for any emergency drain they might need to do in the night, although they'd like to avoid it so they can do it more easily in theatre tomorrow. It is likely she will be put on a ventilator for a while. She is hooked up to lots of machines and looks very small. They have found me an empty room for tonight, but it is miles from her in the old part of the building next to the offices, but at least there's a bed. They wouldn't let me stay and sleep in the chair next to her. 

It was very hard to leave her. 

We are hugely comforted by all your lovely messages and thoughts. Thank you and keep the Love coming this way. 

A Tough Little Cookie

Didn't plan to do much over the Easter weekend. Maybe deliberate about furniture placement in the new abode and consume industrial quantities of chocolate.

Instead I am sitting beside the hospital bed of my two year old daughter.

Hadn't planned for that. We will be here for some time. They are trying to discover the site of a raging infection located somewhere inside that tiny frame. All the clues point to her neck and head. Yesterday she had a brain scan, an MRI scan, a lumbar puncture, chest x-rays and several blood tests. On the face of it, it seems it is Good News. She does not have bacterial meningitis or an obviously large brain tumour.

However, now they have to analyse the data in more depth and detail. All we know for sure is that she seems to have some spinal damage and there is something showing up on one of her lungs. Some of the test results won't be through until middle of next week. It is a long time to wait.

Over the last couple of months, I have watched that little girl fade away to a shadow of the lively, busy, funny scrap she used to be. I held her in my arms yesterday as they administered the general anaesthetic, and kissed that pale face as she slipped into unconsciousness. She seemed so fragile and tiny. But afterwards, the doctor remarked that she was a 'tough little cookie'. I am holding on to that thought this morning, as I hold her cold tiny bandaged hand and listen to the beep of the monitors and the whir of the drip and just wait.