Every BREATH you take
This wedding night was a matter of life or death…
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.