My Cora is a star: the little girl I always wanted
Sheryl Bishop didn’t know what to expect when her daughter Cora was born
‘The bad news kept coming’
As I watch my daughter Cora, seven, pose for the camera, I can’t help but echo her grin with my own beaming smile. She’s such a natural, turning this way and that, giggling as she does so. I know she’s having such a great time and, as clichéd as it sounds, it makes me happy to see her happy. ‘mummy, when I grow up, I’m going to be a full-time model,’ she shouts across the studio. Given everything she’s overcome already, I’ve no doubt she will.
When my partner Daniel and I found out we were expecting Cora in June 2010, we’d been together just five months. I’d taken a test at my sister’s house, after I’d been feeling a bit nauseous. When it showed as positive, I was shocked but ecstatic, too. I immediately rushed back to the home I shared with Daniel and to my relief, he enveloped me in a huge hug and told me how excited he was. At the 12-week scan, everything was perfect and, in a state of euphoria, Daniel and I got engaged. We decided there was no point waiting and by November 2010, we were married. Even better, three days later, after a short honeymoon in Llandudno, it was my 20-week scan which meant finding out whether we were having a boy or a girl.
As long as the baby was healthy, we didn’t care, Daniel and I agreed, but deep down, I was desperately hoping for a daughter. A little girl I could play dress up with, and take shopping. Only, as I lay on the hospital bed with the Doppler moving over my stomach, I saw the sonographer’s face stiffen. Something was wrong.
She told us our baby was missing the corpus callosum, a band of nerves that links the left side of the brain to the right. It meant that our baby might suffer from seizures, as well as any number of complex developmental problems.
Unable to speak, I turned to Daniel and saw that the shock and sadness on his face mirrored my own. We were told we needed to be referred to a specialist hospital for more scans and tests. It was only when Daniel and I arrived back home later that day that I realised I still didn’t know whether my baby was a boy or a girl. We hadn’t been told, and in the
ensuing confusion, we’d completely forgotten to ask. In the following weeks, after more examinations, the bad news kept coming. We were told that yes, our baby was a girl, but all my fantasies of doing mum and daughter things together had completely vanished, replaced instead with constant worry. Her ears weren’t in the right place, we were told, her jaw wasn’t developing correctly and her legs weren’t growing. Time and time again, we were advised to book a termination. But Daniel and I were adamant – this baby deserved a fighting chance. I’d always liked the name Cora and when I suggested it to Daniel, he agreed it was perfect.
wrong diagnosis
At 30 weeks, I went back to the hospital for yet another scan. This time, a trainee doctor performed the ultrasound.
‘Here’s the corpus callosum,’ he said, pointing to Cora’s head on the screen. ‘No, that can’t be right,’ I said, bluntly. ‘She doesn’t have one.’ But after another doctor came to look, we discovered he was right, the corpus callosum was there, fully intact. They’d missed it so many times, and it meant Cora’s diagnosis was now completely inaccurate but, agonisingly, we still didn’t know exactly what was wrong with her.
As the weeks continued, doctors told us Cora was breech, and that I’d need to be booked in for a Caesarean. But just a week before I was due to give birth, I was admitted to hospital with severe pain, thought to be the baby pressing down on my abdomen. I spent the next few days in hospital, awaiting my little girl’s arrival. Only, the night before I was due to give birth, my waters broke naturally.
Doctors and nurses bustled around me, preparing me for surgery, but surprisingly, despite everything, I felt quite serene. And when Daniel arrived at the hospital, I almost let myself relax.
In theatre, Daniel clutched my hand tightly as the doctors worked to get Cora out of the womb. I didn’t know what to expect, whether her body – or her face – would be deformed. As the doctor handed her to a waiting nurse, Cora gave a little squeak. Contrary to what we’d been told, Cora’s legs had formed perfectly and her ears were in the right place. Relief washed over me as the nurse handed Cora to Daniel.
Then he handed her to me, and while my little girl had 10 perfect tiny fingers and toes, I immediately noticed the shape of her eyes and her flatter facial features. ‘She’s got Down’s syndrome,’ I whispered to Daniel.
overwhelming relief
As I looked at him, he smiled, and I could tell he was thinking the same as me. After all we’d been told might be wrong with our baby, the doctors had been incorrect and Down’s syndrome was an overwhelming relief. It meant Cora would still have a normal life, she’d be able to do most of the things other children would – albeit a little bit slower. But that didn’t matter to me one bit.
Still, the next few weeks were tough. Because of her Down’s syndrome, Cora was sleeping a lot and hardly ever cried, which meant we didn’t know when she was hungry. I sat up with her most nights, desperately trying to get her to feed, but eventually she was admitted back into hospital. Then a friend recommended a special type of bottle, a feeder for babies with impaired sucking ability. Finally, Cora was able to take a special highcalorie milk, and from then on, we could relax more. As Cora got older, I could see her beautiful personality really begin to blossom. She was confident – always waving at people from her pram – and so loving. And when her baby brother Kenny arrived when Cora was three, she was the perfect big sister, always desperate to help me with him.
modelling offers
Cora’s cognitive development was a little slower than other children, but I noticed how much she loved posing for selfies with me, or making videos of herself chatting away on my ipad. So, one evening, when I came across Zebedee Management – a specialist talent agency working with people with disabilities – I decided to sign her up.
I didn’t think anything would come of it, but the agency loved her and within weeks, the offers were rolling in. River Island, Smart Energy and most recently Specsavers. They’d developed a brand of glasses especially for children with Down’s syndrome, with better fitting frames that meant children with lower nose bridges and smaller facial features could comfortably wear a pair without them coming off. When we arrived at the studio, Cora was so excited, especially when she got to pick out a Disney-themed pair of Sleeping Beauty glasses for herself – her favourite princess.
Now, when I watch her in front of the camera, it makes me so proud. As she gets older, with the right support, Cora can live the same, independent life as anyone else. I want other mums faced with the same difficult diagnosis to know that. For me, having a child with Down’s syndrome is the most rewarding and privileged feeling in the world.