Laura Billington, 31, is determined to get her little girl the help she needs
Pushing open the door to my daughter’s bedroom, I already had a smile on my face. I loved mornings with my 20-month-old, Margot. She’d greet me with her infectious grin, reaching out for a morning snuggle. I’d enjoy the tickle of her hair on my chin as she’d bury her head in my chest.
Usually, Margot was an early riser and had me and her dad Ben, then 39, out of bed by 5am. Only this day, in May 2021, was different. It was past 7am and I assumed she was just giving me a much-needed lie-in, while Ben had already gone to the school where he worked as a teacher.
‘Morning Margot,’ I said, moving towards her cot. But as I clamped eyes on her, shock coursed through me. There was no smile, no crinkly blue eyes or reaching out of her podgy hands. Instead, my darling girl looked like a rag doll, floppy arms and legs, and quietly groaning in pain.
‘Margot!’ I panicked, reaching down to touch her face, but she was unresponsive. I immediately fished my phone out of my pocket and dialled 999. The minutes it took for paramedics to arrive felt like hours as I stood by Margot’s cot gently holding her hand, too scared to move her.
Paramedics rushed Margot to Northampton General Hospital and I phoned Ben on the way, telling him to meet us there. As soon as we arrived doctors wheeled Margot away and when Ben got to the hospital we just fell into each other’s arms as I struggled between sobs to tell him what had happened. ‘I just don’t understand what’s wrong,’ I cried.
After an agonising wait, a consultant came to find us. ‘Margot has had a significant bleed on her brain,’ she said, explaining there was no reason for it, that bleeds could just occur. Our beautiful little girl had been put in an induced coma and was now on a ventilator to help her breathe. Staring at the doctor, I was speechless.
TOUCH AND GO
They needed to transfer her to the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford, so while she was driven there in an ambulance, Ben and I followed behind in silence. Neither of us knew what to say, we were just both consumed by our own thoughts and fears.
When we arrived, Margot was already undergoing tests but it was another three hours before we saw a surgeon. ‘Margot has had a brain haemorrhage,’ he confirmed.
They needed to move quickly so she was taken to theatre for a craniectomy, an operation to remove some of her skull and relieve p
