Caitlin Bell, 32, was determined to give her little girl something to look forward to
WORDS: MATTHEW BARBOUR, TRACIE COUPER
Sitting with my fiancé Jamie, 32, in the doctor’s office at a hospital in Bath, I felt sick with terror. ‘I don’t understand. Sorry… what does that mean?’ I asked. It was September 2022 and we’d taken our daughter Delilah, then seven, to A&E. She’d been sick and dizzy after a knock on the head while playing with her big brother Murphy, then 10. I’d thought she might be a bit concussed, but never imagined something more sinister.
Yet an MRI scan had found a huge tumour in her brain - a high-grade medulloblastoma. I couldn’t comprehend what the consultant was telling me and when I looked over at Jamie, I could see he was fighting back tears, as distraught as me. The consultant began talking through treatment plans but everything became a blur, my whole body felt numb with shock.
‘If you’d come in just a week later, we might not have caught it in time,’ the consultant told us as I shuddered.
On the ward, I pulled Delilah on to my knee, breathing in the fruity scent of shampoo from her hair. ‘Sweetheart, the doctors have found something growing in your brain,’ I explained. Delilah looked at me, eyes wide with worry. I gently told her that she’d have an operation, then some medicine to help her get better. But it took all my strength to keep my voice steady.
FIGHTING BACK
Until this day, we’d all been so happy. We’d welcomed our youngest, Idris, nine months before, and Jamie and I had set a date for our wedding the following August. Delilah and Murphy adored their baby brother and were excited to see their mummy and daddy get married. But now, all that mattered was Delilah and making sure she beat this deadly disease.
Delilah was transferred to Bristol Royal Hospital for Children and the night before her operation, one week after her diagnosis, I sat by her hospital bed as she slept. ‘I love you so much, baby girl,’ I whispered. ‘You are amazing and I’m lucky to be your mummy.’ I prayed that these wouldn’t be the last words she heard.
While Delilah was in surgery for more than 10 hours, Jamie and I pounded the streets of Bristol with Idris in his pram, too nervous to sit still. We just walked up and down, barely uttering a word. Finally a doctor called to say the operation had been successful and I let out a sob of relief.
De
