Our lovely mum spent her life battling one of world’s rarest diseases
SHE WAS never expected to live long. The doctors didn’t think Mummy would reach adulthood, let along go to university, become an executive at British Airways, fall in and out of love and give birth to me and my brother Kieran, 14.
Along with my uncles, Kevin and Andrew, she suffered from an extremely rare autoimmune disease that attacked her glands and caused her body to start shutting down.
She spent her childhood until she was nearly 12 in Great Ormond Street Hospital. She grew up there, not at home in Slough with my nan and her brothers.
Her illness was so unusual the doctors struggled to diagnose it. But they knew they had to try to manage her hopes and dreams because Mummy was ambitious.
She was a dreamer but also a battler. Somehow she defeated the odds, endured the pain and, with the help of 27 tablets a day and endless injections, resolved to live life to the full.
She became an accomplished artist, a talented pianist and a successful businesswoman who raised tens of thousands of pounds for charity.
She adored shopping, days out at Farnborough Airshow and dressing up to the nines for Ladies Day at Ascot.
But most of all, she loved being a mother. She was the best: kind, loving and incredibly patient. She helped with our homework, cooked us spaghetti bolognese and lasagne and gave great advice. She loved cuddling up on the sofa with us when she got home from work, walking our dogs in the woods and taking us for days out to Thorpe Park, Legoland and the Shard in London.
When I was born in 1996, the local paper called me ‘Maria the Miracle Baby’. My brother, Kieran, followed in 2004.
Mummy loved us so much, but often her illness made motherhood very frustrating. With only 63 fellow sufferers in the world, the doctors treating her were working in the dark. She wasn’t strong enough to enjoy a game of rough and tumble with Kieran. She came to Zumba classes with me, but would have to stop often for a breather.
She was continually in and out of hospital, and so relied on our grandmother to look after us. She wasn’t able to create her own adrenaline, so her body couldn’t cope with stress and she needed hydrocortisone injections to stabilise her.
Physically, she may have been small and delicate, but mentally she was a gladiator. She suffered more hardship than anyone deserves — my grandad cleared off when she was very young — but somehow she always bounced back.
My dad left when I was only a toddler, but a couple of years later Mummy met and fell in love with Andy East, Kieran’s dad.
Then, in 2008, Andy dropped dead of a heart attack. He was just 37.
Soon after, my nan’s car was stolen while she was doing the recycling at Tesco. Four-year-old Kieran was in the back. He was OK, but my nan broke both shoulders trying to stop the car.
Two years later, my uncle Andrew took his own life when the disease started attacking his pituitary gland.
Mummy was devastated, but I never saw her cry. She just got on with it. It would have been hard even for a healthy person to manage all that, let alone someone with her illness.
I don’t know how she did it, but she always kept a happy face on for us. She died following a fall during an adrenal crisis.
Her life was far too short, but it was full of love, smiles and fun. Somehow she remained positive, glamorous and an inspiration to all who met her.