SO POORLY
Our lit Minio
I was terrified my baby wouldn’t see her first birthday Dee Lothian, 36, Eastbourne
WORDS: FRANCES LEATE, TRACY GAYTON. PHOTOS: PRIME FEATURES
A
s me and my husband Wayne, then 35, walked through our front door, newborn Tiffany in my arms, a welcome party was waiting. Our family had gathered to greet our new bundle. ‘She’s perfect!’ my motherin-law Christine cooed. Our three older kids, Harry, then 11, Ruby, 10, and Courtney, 2, crowded around their new sister. It was April 2015. I was exhausted, but it was lovely to see baby Tiffany getting so much fuss. ‘I’ll take her,’ my niece Fern, then 21, offered as Tiffany started to cry. And as soon as Fern held her, Tiffany’s tears dried up. ‘The magic touch!’ I smiled. But as the days went on, I often struggled to get Tiffany to settle. Resorted to carrying her around in a sling. ‘Do you think her skin
looks yellow?’ I asked the health visitor days later. ‘A bit of jaundice, that’s all,’ she reassured me. She suggested I put her to sleep by a window. Only, by the time Tiffany was 6 weeks old, her skin was still tinged yellow, her stomach swollen. In June 2015, the doctor agreed she needed tests. At St Helier Hospital in Carshalton, Surrey, Tiffany had bloods taken and an ultrasound. ‘There’s a problem with her liver,’ a doctor confirmed. We were quickly whisked off to King’s College Hospital, London. There, specialists diagnosed Tiffany with biliary atresia, a disease of the liver. She needed surgery to remove her gall bladder,
Little Tiffany’s chances were slim
but we were sent home for a few days first. ‘Don’t look online,’ the consultant told us, handing us leaflets instead. But, that night, I couldn’t help myself. Low chance of survival, I read. Suddenly I realised Tiffany might die. Will she live to see her first birthday? Still be here to start school? It was almost too much to bear. But I had to stay positive for Tiffany, for our other kids. ‘Tiffany is poorly,’ Wayne and I told them. By now, Tiffany’s skin was mottled and bright yellow. ‘She’s a little Minion,’ I joked, trying to cheer up Courtney, who looked down at her sister, worry etched across her face. Later that week, Tiffany went into hospital for the six-hour operation. Afterwards, she screamed out in pain. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, desperate to cuddle her. But she was attached to machines, a tube through her nose. After five days, Tiffany
My girl’s skin was mottled and bright yellow
We were in and out of hospital
was allowed home. Only, her little tummy was still swollen. And in August 2015, I pulled off her socks to find her feet had turned blue. Panic-stricken, I rushed her back to hospital. She quickly deteriorated. Shivering and shaking in her cot, her temperature and heart rate shot up. ‘She needs a liver transplant or she won’t survive,’ a consultant said. But finding a match wasn’t easy. Not only did the donor need the same blood type, Tiffany was so tiny she could only take part of the liver from someone small. ‘It will be from a child,’ the consultant explained. As a living child can’t donate their liver because of the health risks, it dawned on me what this meant. I was praying a donor would come forward to save my daughter’s life, but someone else’s child would have to die first. Willing Tiffany to stay strong, I was in turmoil...
You should SEE HER NOW 37
