On Thursday, 10 April 2025, my ten-year-old daughter, Penelope, woke up and complained of feeling sick. She had woken during the night and vomited twice. She had a slight temperature and said she felt tired. It was 6am, and she asked to watch TV with her dad and have some breakfast.
I arrived at work at 8am. Twenty minutes into my shift, Penelope’s dad sent me a message saying, “Penelope wants to go back to sleep. She’s saying she’s tired and wants her bed. I’m going to give her Calpol, check her temperature again and put her back to bed.” He attached a picture of her. I was taken aback. She was so pale and looked worse than I’d ever seen her.
I rang her dad instantly and said she might need to go to the GP. He agreed and said he’d monitor her closely to see if her symptoms worsened. She hadn’t been sick since the night before and was completely coherent. They were watching one of their favourite TV shows, and she hadn’t complained of any unusual symptoms. I felt at ease after speaking to them both. No one seemed panicked, and I felt reassured.
Twenty minutes later, I had three missed calls from her dad. I returned his call, and this time I could hear pure panic in his voice. While taking Penelope’s temperature, he’d noticed a small purple dot on her neck that had just appeared. He applied pressure to it (the glass test), and it didn’t disappear. He was getting her ready to go straight to A&E.
I left work immediately. Luckily, I’m only a five-minute drive from home.
When I arrived, Penelope was standing up, barely able to hold her own weight. Her dad showed me another purple dot, this time much bigger and on her knee. It looked like an unusual bruise. I quickly snapped a photo, and we set off for our local children’s A&E. It’s approximately a 25-minute drive, but with early morning traffic and temporary traffic lights, it took just under 40 minutes. It felt like a lifetime.
Penelope’s dad had to carry her in. I went straight to reception. Unable to find the words to explain, I just showed the photo on my phone. A receptionist stood up immediately and rushed us to triage. We were there for only a few minutes before being taken into a treatment room. A doctor, nurse and healthcare assistant began administering antibiotics and fluids through her left arm.
Within five minutes, the room was full of medical professionals. Penelope’s dad and I were taken into the room next door, where a doctor explained they were treating Penelope for what they suspected it might be.
During this time, Penelope was still awake. She was talking to the doctors, saying she was fine and just feeling tired.
Slowly, more purple and red dots appeared all over her body. Her body began to swell, which made it harder for the doctors to find access for the antibiotics and fluids. They could only use the one in her left arm.
As her parents, we just watched, trying not to react and stay calm. We stroked her hair and told her everything was going to be okay. She was in hospital and getting the medicine she needed to get better.
Moments later, we were taken back into the other room. A doctor said, “I’m going to tell you a very scary thing and a very scary word. Penelope has meningococcal septicaemia.”
I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to ask a million questions, but I couldn’t move. I froze. It didn’t feel real. She was still awake, still talking. We had to go back into the room and pretend everything was going to be alright.
It was explained to us that Penelope was going to be put to sleep, essentially into a coma, so her body could fight the disease. They told us she couldn’t stay at that hospital because she would die. She needed to be at a hospital that could treat her: Alder Hey. They said moving a child as poorly as Penelope could kill her, but that she needed specialist care to survive.
A special ambulance was on its way, with equipment to stabilise her for transfer.
We went to Penelope and told her we loved her. We explained she was going to go to sleep and that when she woke up, she’d be in a different hospital. We didn’t know what she’d remember, but we wanted her to stay calm and not be afraid.
As soon as she was put to sleep, I cried.
Only one parent was allowed in the ambulance, so I stayed with Penelope. Her dad went ahead to Alder Hey. It took four hours before she was stable enough to be moved.
She made it. But what followed was one of the most heartbreaking and terrifying experiences of our lives.
Penelope was in a coma for two weeks. She fought off the meningococcal disease, but she was left dealing with the effects of sepsis. Her internal organs were damaged and needed time to heal. There were so many scary moments where we almost lost her. But she managed to come off the ventilator and multiple medications, and we were moved to a high-dependency ward.
However, this lasted only one night and day. Swabs taken from her damaged limbs and skin came back positive. She had developed a rare fungal infection in the dead tissue.
Penelope had to undergo emergency skin debridement surgeries, followed by a triple amputation. She lost her right arm up to the shoulder and both of her legs.
After surgery, she had to fight off the fungal infection. Thankfully, it wasn’t invasive. She is still in hospital —104 days later — undergoing skin grafts and rehabilitation.
We don’t know what the future holds, but we are beyond grateful we got her to hospital in time and that she’s still with us. We know this could have had a very different outcome.
We believe that if she hadn’t been vaccinated, she would have died. And if her dad hadn’t been so vigilant, she wouldn’t be here.
We believe that awareness and understanding of meningitis can help save lives. That’s why we wanted to share Penelope’s story.
She’s our hero.