Sue March's story

It all began one morning in March 1993. The night prior, our youngest of our twin daughters, Polly, wouldn’t sleep or feed. She lay on my chest all night, panting, as a small, mottled rash began to appear on her skin. So, the next morning, we called our doctor, Dr. Phillips, who came to see us at home – this was the nineties, when that was still common. After examining Polly, she immediately referred us to A&E (accident and emergency), concerned it could be sepsis.

 

Rushed to hospital

I called my husband at the school where he was teaching. It was so early that he cycled home before classes had even begun. We said goodbye to Sophia, our three-year-old daughter, leaving her with one of our many incredible neighbours who would be such a support for us over this period, and drove to St George’s Hospital in Tooting.

What I thought would be a day spent in A&aE, where doctors would hopefully reassure me and discharge us with simple medication, turned into two weeks in hospital, moving between the paediatric intensive care unit and the ward where I stayed overnight.

Doctors quickly confirmed it was serious. Polly was taken straight to intensive care, where she underwent blood tests, an MRI scan, and a lumbar puncture – a procedure where a thin needle is inserted into the lower back to collect cerebrospinal fluid or measure its pressure. During this time, she began having small seizures. Soon after, we were told she had meningitis.

 

As one twin began to recover, the other became unwell

While Polly remained in hospital for treatment and monitoring, our other twin, Felicity, began to show the same early signs. As one daughter began to recover, the other became critically ill.

Philip remembers arriving one morning before work and going straight to the ICU. He looked at the baby in the incubator and thought, “She looks different…?” It was only when he came upstairs to bring me fresh clothes that I told him Polly had been discharged to the ward with me and that Felicity was now the one in intensive care.

Those two weeks passed in a blur. Philip brought Sophia to visit a couple of times, but with him back at work, she was being cared for by neighbours and my sister at weekends. She was incredibly brave but confused. As much as I’m sure she loved the time she had with just her dad, she also wanted her mum.

Looking back, 33 years later

Looking back now, I also remember the other children on the ward, each fighting their own battle. One child had travelled all the way from Kent because the services they needed weren’t available locally. I felt so grateful that we lived just a short drive from the hospital – time that undoubtedly made a difference.

Another memory that has never left me is of a child, perhaps four or five years old, who did not survive during the time I was there. As a teacher, and a young mother of three, being surrounded by young children made it all the more heartbreaking and terrifying. I have never forgotten him.

 

The unsung heroes

The doctors and nurses worked tirelessly to save our daughters. I remember one young doctor who came in to carry out a procedure that had become common practice for our daughters – either inserting a tube or taking blood. He paused and said, “I’m so tired, and she’s so fragile – I’m scared I might hurt her.” He stepped back and asked another doctor to take over. At that moment, we just felt immense empathy for him. He recognised the sheer exhaustion he was feeling – no doubt from working hours of overtime – and rather than risk causing any harm – something we never questioned in our time there – he asked for help. That, too, is bravery.

Thirty-three years later, as our two fit, healthy daughters prepare to run a marathon, those weeks feel both distant and unforgettable.

Sue’s husband Philip has also shared his experience. Read Philip’s story.

Read Polly and Felicity’s story.

 

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