‘Don’t make fun of bro’

My Harry’s in safe hands with his twin by his side...

2017-07-06 - By Charlie Beswick, 38, from Biddulph, Staffs

Adults nudged each other, one child burst into tears...

Picking out a double buggy, I felt like a supermum.

‘I’m having twins,’ I smiled at the assistant. It’d been a shock when we found out.

But once the news had sunk in, me and my then partner, Mark, 43, were thrilled.

Excitedly, we rushed out and bought two of everything.

I’d had a smooth pregnancy, until my waters broke at 32 weeks.

‘I think the babies are coming,’ I said to Mark.

Panicking, we rushed to Macclesfield Hospital. By the early hours, I was having contractions – only the first baby was breech...

‘We need to perform an emergency Caesarean,’ the doctor said.

At 6.30am on 30 June 2005, our twin boys, Oliver and Harry, were born – both weighing 3lb 9oz.

Because they were so premature, they were whisked off to the Special Care Baby Unit straightaway.

Mark saw Oliver, and got a glimpse at Harry – but he was all wrapped up.

We thought they were fine, if small.

Thrilled, Mark called everyone while I recovered.

‘We have two healthy baby boys,’ he beamed.

Then we waited, desperate to see our boys. Only, four hours later, the doctor came in...

‘Oliver is fine,’ he said. ‘But there are some problems with Harry.’ My heart dropped. As I listened, stunned, the doctor’s voice sounded muffled.

He explained half of Harry’s face hadn’t developed. ‘It’s as though it’s been erased completely,’ he said.

The doctor lifted his hand to his own face, made a sweeping gesture across the left side.

‘He has no eye on that side, no ear or nostril.’

How could this be happening? I thought. ‘I’m sorry,’ I wept to Mark. It’s all I said for 30 minutes. Because I was in recovery, Mark saw the boys first.

‘You can still see they’re brothers,’ he said.

Harry was transferred to Salford Royal Hospital for genetic testing.

Before he went, I saw him briefly. But he was on his front, facing away from me.

Those next few weeks are all a blur.

Mark had to phone everyone back, break the bad news.

I was absolutely traumatised, grief-stricken.

I remember waves of terror washing over me when I got to cuddle Harry for the first time.

Could I love him when I felt so guilty every time I looked at him? I thought.

I hated myself for it, fixed a smile on my face. But I felt empty.

Harry was diagnosed with Goldenhar syndrome – a rare, congenital defect caused in early pregnancy by some unknown event.

Harry could have surgery to construct a face when he was older.

But I was heartbroken because he’d never have the same life Oliver would.

After six weeks in hospital, we took the boys home.

But I was still convinced that Harry’s condition was my fault.

‘Don’t blame yourself,’ Mark kept saying. Yet I hid away. When I did dare venture out, it was horrendous. People would see the double buggy, race over to admire the twins.

Then recoil, gasp. Or stare, point.

Especially children – some even ran away screaming.

I’d see adults nudging each other, and one child burst into tears.

All this time, I still worried I wasn’t the loving mum my boys deserved

I then spiralled into

post-natal depression.

Then, one day, when the boys were 18 months old, I went shopping for baby things, taking them with me.

A trail of kids followed me as I browsed, sneaking astonished looks into the pram. I can’t live like this, I realised. It was time to help Harry face the world. So I stopped, turned the buggy around. ‘This is Harry,’ I said smiling, beckoning the kids over. Then I asked if they had any questions. ‘Why doesn’t he have an eye?’ one said. ‘He was born like this. But doctors are going to make him a new one,’ I replied. ‘Does it hurt?’ another asked. ‘Not at all,’ I smiled. After, the kids wandered off. It was a real turning point. People are just curious, I realised. I just need to answer their questions. From then on I felt more confident taking the boys out. There was less staring, the nudges barely bothered me. Soon after, I looked at Harry one day and realised I did love him. I had all along. Loved him like I’d always imagined I’d love my kids.

Unconditionally.

But while Oliver was thriving, Harry wasn’t developing as quickly.

At 3, he was diagnosed with autism.

Soon after, Mark and I separated.

Emotionally, we’d dealt with Harry’s condition separately and drifted apart. But we stayed close, shared custody.

Over the years Harry’s had three surgeries to reposition his eye socket, his eyelid stretched and a prosthetic eye fitted.

But he’ll always look different from most.

Thankfully, he has the fiercest protector in Oliver.

They go to different schools due to Harry’s needs, which is a shame.

But the boys, now 11, are so close. Oliver adores Harry.

‘Don’t make fun of my brother,’ he says when he spots kids pointing.

I’ve since met Andrew, 43, and the boys adore him. The feeling is mutual. Harry can easily wrap Andrew around his little finger!