DEVASTATING REAL LIFE
Sharna Andrews, 30, from Tredworth, Gloucester, experienced a life-changing tragedy in a split second…
OUR ANGELIN HEAVEN
Sitting on the sofa, the telly lit up as the footie players dribbled across the screen.
Only, it wasn’t a live match that me, my son Harry-Lee, seven, and my daughter Zofia, then six, were watching.
Instead, with his PlayStation controller in hand, Harry-Lee was the man of the match. ‘Come on!’ he yelled.
Playing FIFA was Harry-Lee’s favourite hobby – unless he was watching Liverpool FC. Although he’d never seen a live match, I promised he’d get to see Mohamed Salah – his favourite player – one day.
‘Mum, I want to be a pro footballer,’ Harry-Lee told me.
He loved kicking a ball about with Zofia in the garden.
Only, I didn’t let him join his school’s footie team.
As when he was four years old, Harry-Lee was diagnosed with asthma – just like me.
From then on, Harry-Lee had his inhaler twice daily and
10 took a tablet before bed to stop his airways narrowing.
Although it was frustrating, as he had to take breaks from running around, Harry-Lee took it in his stride.
He’d never had an asthma attack or complained when his asthma flared up.
Until one evening on 12 February 2022.
Arriving home from work at around 8.30pm, Zofia and Harry-Lee ran up to me.
‘Can we go to Nanny’s tonight?’ Harry-Lee begged.
It was routine for them to spend Friday evening with my mum, Charlene, 52.
Always baking cakes with Nanny, they were spoilt rotten. Only, I noticed Harry-Lee’s chest rising and falling heavily.
‘Zofia, you can go to Nanny’s,’ I said. ‘But not you Harry-Lee. I’m not happy with your breathing.’
I chose for him to stay home so I could keep an eye on him.
Sighing, Harry-Lee stropped over to the sofa. After dropping Zofia off, I watched Harry-Lee play FIFA. Only, his breathing became more laboured.
‘Can you take your top off for me?’ I asked him.
And he did, so I could easily monitor his breathing.
That night, we ordered a McDonald’s takeaway.
But after eating his chicken nuggets, Harry-Lee’s breathing worsened.
Every few seconds, he’d take a deep breath.
Wanting to be safe rather than sorry, I rang 111 at around 10pm.
‘An out-of-hours doctor will call you back in two hours,’ the operator said.
At least they don’t think it’s anything serious, I thought.
I decided to keep Harry-Lee awake so I could keep an eye on him for the next two hours.
Only, as Harry-Lee played FIFA, he started panting.
Jumping up from the sofa, I headed for my phone, which was on charge on t
