I have a very strange relationship with sepsis. Ultimately it is what caused the most devastating loss in our family. It is what robbed my first-born child of his life. I didn’t even know what it was and hadn’t even heard of it before William’s death certificate was presented to me. Now I know so much about it that it seems impossible that there was ever a time when I didn’t know that it existed or that it was an integral part of my life.
You would think that because sepsis stole the life my of one-year old baby that I would never want to let the word roll off my tongue again but it is what consumes my life on an almost daily basis. It is something that I cannot let go of. It is something that I have to speak about and it is always on my mind.
I work for the UK Sepsis Trust but to me it doesn’t feel like a job. If I didn’t work for them I would campaign, I would blog, I would educate the public and health professionals about sepsis and the reality of what it can do. Sepsis is an integral part of my life that is unavoidable, perhaps not as unavoidable as William’s death. William couldn’t avoid it and neither can I.
When I talk to health professionals about William’s death, about those horrifying moments that I found my lifeless child in his cot, rigor mortis having taken over his fragile little body, the words catch in my throat. Reliving it, retelling it and recounting every single painful moment is almost like a punishment, dipping myself back in to that moment. I invest so much emotionally when I talk. But it is not something that I can escape from. I could of course choose not to talk about it. I could choose not to revisit, but these thoughts and those memories live in my mind, they are part of my make-up. As much as William’s life is made up of the most wonderful memories, William’s death happened too. It is part of my life and it is what has redefined me.
I am always asked when I arrive at a talk or conference whether I get nervous. I don’t, not really. I don’t have butterflies in my stomach, I don’t have sweaty palms and I don’t feel any sense of anxiety. After all, the subject I talk about is my life, I can’t get it wrong. It’s not a test and no one is judging me. Something that every parent wants to do is talk about their children. Their pride and joy. I cannot talk about William’s latest achievements or what he’s up to. I have finite memories that I can recall, there will be no more memories to make. So, in order to talk about William, I talk about his death, because that is also part of his life.
Sometimes I get messages from people, saying that because of a talk that I’ve delivered, or a blog I’ve written or a video I’ve shared that they heeded my advice and due to that their loved one was diagnosed and treated successfully for sepsis. This warms my heart and for every story, every child, every life it still gives me goose bumps and it still makes me cry. I cannot help but feel that I wish there had been a ‘me’ several years ago when William was poorly.
I know that whatever I do William lives on in the hearts of the lives that he’s saved. I cannot bring him back, if I could, I would. I have not accepted William’s death, how can you accept something that is unacceptable, but what I have done is made peace with myself that one day I will be with him again. I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but I know that it is but one heartbeat and one breath away.
I haven’t just seen the devastation that happens when sepsis enters one’s life, I live it, I breathe it. It is what tore my family apart, it crept in to my son’s life and it was what stopped that golden heart from beating. I will not forgive it, I will not give in to it. I have embraced it, I implore it, I share it, sepsis forms every part of my way of being William’s mum. If I can help just one family from enduring the pain that we live in, then I’ll keep sharing, I’ll keep talking, I’ll keep telling sepsis that you might have won the battle but you most certainly have not won the war.
Love prevails. Always.