He should still be alive
I was haunted by Dad’s last days...
Growing up, I idolised my dad Darren.
I remember watching the film Rambo as a little girl and being convinced it was about Dad.
Strong and fit, he’d trek off to the woods with the dogs. Hunting rabbits, swimming in the lakes.
As soon as I was old enough, he’d take me with him.
‘You’re a chip off the old block,’ he’d smile proudly.
My mum had left when I was 18 months, so Dad was my world.
In January 2016, age 17, I started working for the council and got my own place. I’d still stay with Dad at weekends.
Then, in July 2016, I met Jamie Kirkland, 22, through Facebook. He loved the gym, was super-toned and muscly.
‘He’s like a gladiator!’ Dad laughed when I showed him a photo.
Jamie was laid-back, like Dad. But, nervous about them meeting, I put it off. Dad was over-protective – I was still his little girl.
But in December 2016, I had no choice...
Dad had been coughing for weeks. Stubborn, he’d refused to go to the doctor. ‘It’s man flu,’ he wheezed. But his cough got so bad, he eventually gave in. The doctor sent him straight to Royal Stoke Hospital, where he was diagnosed with a severe chest infection.
Jamie came with me to the hospital as soon as we heard.
‘This isn’t how I imagined you meeting,’ I said as we arrived to find Dad in bed.
He looked pale, had a tube going into his chest.
‘It’s so the nurses can give me medicine,’ he explained.
It broke my heart seeing my tough dad so frail. Still, doctors reassured me his condition was treatable.
And, thankfully, Dad and Jamie hit it off!
We visited every day, doing jigsaws for hours.
Dad spent Christmas Day in hospital. I bought him a dressing gown and slippers.
‘I’m officially an old man,’ he smiled, shuffling around.
A few days later, I had a shock of my own. I was pregnant!
Jamie and I were thrilled. And when we told Dad, he grinned from ear to ear.
‘I bet you have a little boy,’ he said.
‘You’ll be the best grandad,’ I beamed to him.
Days later, Dad was discharged and we took him home.
‘You’ve still got your tube in,’ I frowned, spotting it tucked under his shirt.
But Dad seemed full of energy. Back to his old self!
He even bought a pair of tiny swimming trunks for the baby.
‘So I can take him down the pool,’ he smiled.
But at 4am on 5 January, Dad’s brother Paul, 42, called in a panic.
‘Your dad’s back in hospital with an infection,’ he said. ‘They think it’s sepsis.’ I gasped. When Jamie and I got to hospital an hour later, Dad was unconscious. He looked like a ghost. One of the doctors came to see us.
‘It was the tube in his chest,’ she said. ‘He shouldn’t have gone home with it.’ My jaw dropped. ‘Then why did he?’ I cried. She explained that there’d been a mix-up with Dad’s paperwork, and it was never taken out.
Back at hospital, doctors immediately removed it.
Dad started to come round, but was groggy, confused. ‘Is that you, Alex?’ he croaked. ‘Yes, Dad,’ I said, clutching his hand.
But he was seriously ill, his organs failing.
‘There’s not a lot we can do,’ the doctor said.
I was distraught. Couldn’t bear Dad to see me cry. I’d always
I sneaked into the hospital corridor and sobbed
tried to be tough – like him. But I sneaked into the corridor and sobbed my heart out. For two weeks, Dad lay in hospital struggling to survive. Jamie was my rock, stayed with me as I sat by Dad’s bed, willing him to get better. But one night, blood was pouring from Dad’s nose. The doctors couldn’t stop it. ‘I don’t want to die,’ Dad wept. ‘I’m scared.’ ‘Don’t be,’ I soothed. ‘I’m here.’ Afterwards, when Dad was finally settled, I felt exhausted. But I refused to go home. Jamie and I slept on the floor by Dad’s bedside. Before we settled down, I kissed Dad on the cheek. ‘I love you,’ I whispered. That night, I was haunted by how frightened my big, brave dad had been.
At 1.30am, I suddenly woke up. Felt cold all over.
Dad’s chest was rising, then it stopped.
‘He’s dead,’ I said quietly to Jamie.
Jamie cuddled me as I held Dad’s hand and told him I’d make him proud and take care of my baby.
My beloved dad had passed away, aged 46.
There was nothing anyone could say to comfort me. But I had to stay strong for the baby.
Weeks later, I had my 18-week scan.
‘It’s a boy,’ the sonographer told me. I smiled. Dad knew all along! I gave birth to Elijah Darren last September, with Jamie by my side.
An inquest into Dad’s death was held this March.
The coroner ruled he’d died from gross negligence.
His cause of death was a combination of multi-organ failure, septicaemia and sepsis. All triggered by the chest tube.
Elijah, now nine months, looks like Dad, has the same fat little nose. Dad would’ve adored him. I’m so angry with the hospital. Dad should be here with us, enjoying his grandson.
But my focus now is Elijah. He keeps me smiling.
And I like to think Dad is looking down on us all.