Amazing
I thought my husband had a bit of the Sunday blues. Little did I know what was about to happen...
Leanne Griffiths, 35, from Rotherham
Reaching for the remote, I switched on an old episode of Britain’s Got Talent. ‘Come on then kids,’ I said, scooting over on the bed so my two boys, Alfie, now 13, and Brody, now nine, could squeeze between me and my husband Sam, now 34.
On Monday 29 August 2022, it felt like a Sunday.
We’d spent the last day of the bank holiday relaxing at home with my mum Debra, 58, popping round for a family tea.
Sat eating meat and potato pie, we made the most of the last bit of the weekend.
‘Back to school tomorrow,’ I said, clearing the plates. ‘Early nights tonight.’
And after getting the bookbags and lunches ready, we all had a touch of the Sunday blues.
So, it was nice snuggling up in bed for a little bit before we went back to the grind.
Alfie was staying with Mum for a sleepover, so at half eight, after BGT, he went a couple doors down to hers and we tucked Brody up in his bed for the night.
‘He’ll be back in with us later,’ I said to Sam as we flicked through the channels.
Brody always tried to clamber into bed with us in the night. And to be fair, we’d always let him.
Brody always got in bed with us
‘Good night, love,’ Sam said at about 10.30pm. ‘Sleep well.’ ‘Goodnight,’ I replied, turning off the lamp.
Around 3am, I felt a little hand shaking my shoulder.
‘Move up,’ Brody said groggily.
‘Move up Mummy, I’m getting in.’ ‘Come and squeeze in,’ I soothed, lifting the duvet.
Brody always liked to sleep cocooned between me and Sam. And before long, we had all drifted back to sleep.
Only at about 5.30am, Brody woke me up.
Groggily opening my eyes to my little boy shaking me, I looked up at his scared face.
‘What’s wrong with Daddy?’ he asked me, quite distraught.
What? I thought, sitting upright in bed.
Looking over at Sam, he was shaking uncontrollably – the whole bed was moving.
Led on his back, he had his arms on his chest with closed, tight fists.
‘Sam,’ I said, panicked. ‘Sam, are you alright?’
Letting out horrible groans, Sam was turning blue.
‘You need to do CPR, Mummy,’ Brody urged – he’d recently done some first aid training at his school.
Grabbing my phone off the nightstand, I dialled 999.
‘I need an ambulance,’ I told the dispatcher. ‘My husband’s fitting.’
Somehow, I managed to reel off all of Sam’s personal information to the dispatcher calmly – I think the adrenaline must have kicked in.
‘He has a heart condition,’ I said. ‘It’s Wolff-Parkinson-Syndrome.’ This is a c
