Every BREATH you take

This wed­ding night was a mat­ter of life or death…

Pick Me Up! Special - - More Real Life -

SAn­drea Croft, 28, Pre­ston ip­ping on a vodka and diet coke in my lo­cal, I spied on the hand­some man at the bar.

Tall, dark and slim – he was ex­actly my type.

I no­ticed he’d come into my hair salon a few weeks ear­lier and I im­me­di­ately fan­cied him.

He caught me smil­ing at him and he came over.‘hi, I’m David Croft,’ he said, smil­ing at me.

‘An­drea,’ I replied, sip­ping at my straw to stop my grin. He never left my side all night. Elec­tri­cian David, 27, was re­ally out­go­ing and talk­a­tive and we soon started dat­ing.

My friends and fam­ily loved him, he was so charm­ing and charis­matic – it just seemed nat­u­ral to move in to­gether af­ter a few months.

When I was in Lon­don for a hair colour­ing course, David came to sur­prise me and took me to an ice bar in posh May­fair. Suit­ing up like Eski­mos, David turned to me. ‘An­drea, this past year you’ve made me the hap­pi­est man alive,’ he said. ‘Will you do me the hon­our of mar­ry­ing me?’ ‘Yes!’ I screamed. We started look­ing into our dream wed­ding, but two months later, I fell preg­nant and our plans had to be put on hold. Our beau­ti­ful girl Lily ar­rived, and she was per­fect. Af­ter

four years of par­ent­ing, we booked a gor­geous coun­try house for our wed­ding six months away.

Just be­fore leav­ing for his stag do, David com­plained of feel­ing out of breath.

The pain in his chest be­came so ex­cru­ti­at­ing, that we had to call an am­bu­lance.

‘Your lung has col­lapsed,’ a doc­tor said.

Ap­par­ently, it was some­thing that could just hap­pen - to any­one.

Af­ter surgery to in­flate it again and ex­ten­sive breath­ing tests, David was told to take it easy.

Two days be­fore the wed­ding, David came back from tak­ing out the bins as white as a sheet. ‘I can’t breathe,’ he wheezed. Rush­ing him into hos­pi­tal, David’s health de­te­ri­o­rated.

‘Your lung has col­lapsed again, we need to take you into surgery now,’ the doc­tor said.

David shook his head. ‘We’re get­ting mar­ried,’ he in­sisted, no mat­ter what I said.

So they re­luc­tantly agreed to in­flate his lung with a nee­dle in­stead. It seemed to work and the next night David re­turned home.

I can­celled my last night of free­dom with my girl friends so I could stay with him.

On the morn­ing of the wed­ding, David’s adren­a­line kicked in when all the lads came round in their suits.

My maid of hon­our, Claire, helped me get into my dream dress and, plac­ing a tiara on my head, I felt like a princess.

It was worth the wait to see David in his dap­per suit at the end of the aisle with Lily. All 50 of our guests were cry­ing and every­thing was per­fect.

David looked pale, but I thought it was just the nerves, but as we had our pho­to­graphs taken, he was strug­gling.

‘I think I need to lie down,’ David wheezed, as the pho­tog­ra­pher snapped away.

He could hardly walk up­stairs to our ho­tel room be­fore he col­lapsed onto the bed. ‘Can’t breathe,’ he gasped. I quickly called re­cep­tion, and the ho­tel man­ager called an am­bu­lance right away.

Quickly, I strug­gled out of my beau­ti­ful dress and back into my skinny jeans as paramedics ar­rived and car­ried David away.

I was sure to not let any­one see him in such a state and told my Un­cle Steve to let ev­ery­one party with­out us.

As David was in hos­pi­tal, we got loads of videos of peo­ple hav­ing an amaz­ing time and our daugh­ter cut­ting the cake.

Af­ter surgery, we both felt a bit down that we’d missed our day, but my un­cle came in with a sur­prise.

‘I put a kitty down at the wed­ding for your cel­e­bra­tion, part two,’ he grinned hap­pily. ‘It raised £420!’ Burst­ing into tears, I was so warmed by the kind­ness of our friends and fam­ily.

But at the end of the day, all that re­ally mat­ter­ered was that I was mar­ried to David.

Lit­er­ally in sick­ness and in health.

All that mat­ters is that we’re man and wife

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