How do I describe to you what happened yesterday?

How do I tell you that we could have lost Ivy?

How do I describe my fear?

How do I tell you how amazing all of the other kids were?

Yesterday was a perfectly normal day for us. We had an appointment for the hospital, so I thought we would go via the shopping centre and have all the kids’ hair cut.

I de accessed Ivy, flushing the port and locking it with heparin  – she had a normal temperature and was in good spirits

and so we made our way into town.

We were only there for a little while when Ivy complained of a headache.

That’s not unusual for the girl

but when I turned my eyes to her,

 she looked sick.

After that everything snowballed.

She complained that her wrists were hurting, her neck was hurting and that her legs hurt too 

and then she said that she was going to be sick.

She was looking worse and worse by the minute.

She started  screaming at the top of her lungs,

you know that truly inconsolable cry of a child,

high pitched, urgent, painful

and we were causing quite a comotion.

People were stopping to stare but nobody came to help.

 When she started to shake uncontrollably,

I picked my baby up and ran.

The kids running behind me.

By the time we reached the car, Ivy was convulsing in my arms,

her face as white as you could imagine, her lips blue,

her skin as cold as ice

and the screaming -

it never stopped

until suddenly it did

and I couldn’t get any response at all.

Imogen called David,

Maddy called my Mum.

AJ organised food for the younger kids and

Lily settled Noah (who was distraught) and Mal into the car

and while Dave was calling the paed we made our way to Accident and Emergency.

By the time we arrived Ivy was no longer cold, she was burning up

and was very very sick.

I can’t do the fear justice.

 I can’t describe it adequately,

 I can’t write well enough, to paint a picture, to bring you into the fold.

Everyone was clearly shaken and quiet as we waited for a doctor,

waited for my Mum to come and take some of our party to a safe place,

waiting to hear,

 to know what had happened.

Lines and bloods and fluids and antibiotics followed

and finally late into the night

the doctor told us it was septic shock.

A septic shower,

caused by an infection in the port.

So, we’re here for seven days at least

while they try to save the line

and while my girl gets better.

I have never been so grateful for our doctors

nor so grateful for my amazing children, my husband, Mum and my family

and tonight,

 although she is so very tired and puffy and still aching,

tonight,

it feels like another chance.