Doctors must listen when parents like Miesi Matia say ‘my kid is really ill’ or there will be more unthinkable tragedies
MY 12-year-old daughter came home early from school last week with a raging temperature and feeling sick.
She wasn’t alone. In all, 60 children in her school were stricken with a virus of some kind, and it’s a similar story all over the country.
At times like this we rely firstly on our own instinct as parents to try to ascertain the seriousness or what’s causing it. If unsure, we seek the advice of those we consider to be experts in the field of medicine.
The parents of three-year-old Blessing Matia, of East Ham, East London, did just that after she contracted a bout of chicken pox from her brother and her temperature shot up.
They took her to hospital but, according to her mother Miesi, “the doctors weren’t worried” and after hours of waiting, they decided to take her home.
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Blessing’s temperature didn’t improve so they called 999 to request an ambulance but were told to phone the non-emergency helpline 111 instead.
They advised giving her paracetamol.
Medical staff work under intolerable pressure
Jane Moore
Miesi adds: “But you know your own child. You know when something is wrong.”
Indeed you do. Particularly as Blessing was so poorly that she didn’t even want to watch her favourite film, Frozen.
She deteriorated further, her leg swelling up so much that she couldn’t walk. So her parents took her to hospital again, only for doctors to say that it was “down to the weather” and discharge her.
That night her temperature was still raging and she became visibly confused, telling Miesi and her partner Alex that she needed to sleep.
Miesi adds: “She was weak and her eyes were rolling. I was screaming and calling the neighbours.
“I called 999. She was vomiting and shaking, then she was cold, and after that she was gone.”
Blessing had died of a cardiac arrest brought on by an “extremely rare” complication of chicken pox known as streptococcal infection, leading to sepsis.
Losing a child is bad enough in any circumstances, but can you imagine the added pain of knowing that she would have been saved if, on just one of the THREE occasions you sought help, someone had spotted the signs and prescribed vital antibiotics?
Blessing’s father, Alex, says: “We were treated very badly. They should have done tests.
“Any doctors should know it is an infection. They need to take take sepsis more seriously.
“They didn’t listen to us.”
Their little girl died on June 5 last year and last week they finally won their court case against East London Foundation Trust, which says it has now implemented changes to the way it follows up patients.
The vast majority of medical staff are hard-working, largely unsung heroes working under sometimes intolerable pressure. Mistakes happen.
But sepsis kills an astonishing 1,000 children a year and there’s a definite tick list of possible signs — including lethargy, shortness of breath and being abnormally cold to the touch — that every medic should know.
Until they do, the unthinkable tragedy suffered by Blessing’s poor parents will happen again.
— Ultimo lingerie founder Michelle Mone’s new boyfriend is entrepreneur Doug Barrowman, who is said to be a billionaire.
He has five homes, one said to be “worth £120million” on the Isle of Man.
As I’m a fond and frequent visitor to the island, I think for that price he’d own pretty much all of it.
A load of posh
The Remoaners are getting their EU regulation knickers in a twist over the Lib Dem victory in the Richmond Park by-election, saying it’s a reflection of the country’s mood towards Brexit.
Yeah, right.
It’s a mega-rich London borough populated by the likes of Sir David Attenborough, The Who’s Pete Townshend, the Goldsmith family, a few royals, a posh bloke who calls his dog Fenton and, according to Wikipedia, me (except I don’t live there).
It also voted 70:30 in favour of remaining in the EU, so it’s a reflection of Richmond’s mood and nothing more.
And anyone in power who doubts that should take heed from the audience of last week’s Question Time from Wakefield, where the anger and frustration at the delay to triggering Article 50 was palpable.
Instead, we are now witnessing a roomful of 11 Supreme Court judges and innumerable, £400-an-hour lawyers – all funded by the taxpayer – still arguing the toss over a majority decision made six months ago entirely democratically.
They’re STILL not getting it, are they?
Mum's the slurred
Before she passed away last month, the Queen’s cousin, Margaret Rhodes, wrote an entertaining memoir of her life at the heart of the monarchy.
In it, she refers to the “myth” that her aunt, The Queen Mother, was a prolific drinker.
She writes: “Before lunch she would have a gin and Dubonnet, with a slice of lemon and a lot of ice. During the meal she might take some wine.
“In the evening she would have a dry Martini and a glass of champagne with her dinner. There was no excess.”
Cripes.
Even assuming that “some wine” might only be one glass, if that’s “no excess” I’m not sure I could have kept up with her on a day when she was properly going for it.
— To encourage more diversity on its University Challenge team, the students union at King’s College London has imposed a cap on the number of men that can take part.
Trouble is, one suspects the lack of female presence has little to do with sexism and more that women are generally more reticent about such look-at-me gestures. Word reaches me that at the first ever conference of the Women’s Equality Party in Manchester recently, someone attempted to lighten the mood by asking the predominantly female audience if anyone could lick their elbow.
First to leap up on stage?
A man.
And by the way, he couldn’t.
— Theresa May has revealed her plans for Christmas Day.
She and husband Philip will go to church, have drinks with friends in the village, then return home, where she cooks a lunch of goose, not turkey.
Ah yes, the wily PM knows that it’s far better to cook your own goose rather than have someone do it for you.
Give us spoiled celebs
“I've won I’m A Celebrity and I’m not even a celebrity!”
Quite.
So says Scarlett Moffatt who, until recently, was paid to sit at home and review, er, TV shows for Gogglebox.
Scarlett seems a genuinely lovely person, so too the runners-up Joel Dommett (nope, me neither) and Adam Thomas (ditto).
But a halcyon IACGMOOH it was not.
We need monsters, we need narcissists, we need hypocrites, we need emotionally fragile egocentrics who unravel at the slightest provocation.
In other words, we need proper celebrities who have been corrupted by years of cosseting via chauffeur-driven cars, free hair and make-up sessions, minions tending to their every need and the unquestioning hero worship of their most ardent fans who treat their every inconse- quential utterance as if it was Martin Luther King’s I Have A Dream speech.
Janice Dickinson. Gillian McKeith. Johnny Rotten. Paul Burrell. David Gest. To name but a few.
Those who have yet to achieve fully-fledged fame simply won’t do, not least because they’re all presenting the best side of themselves for fear of being convicted in the court of social media.
So next year, ITV, we need a jungle of deplorables please.
Failing that, a rename: I Want To Be A Celebrity, Get Me In There.
Common courtesy
The Queen’s granddaughter Zara Phillips has announced her pregnancy with a public statement.
Meanwhile, the commoner that is Geordie popstress Cheryl Tweedy-Cole-Fernandez-Versini-Payne has refused to confirm or deny whether that’s a Space Hopper up her frock or an impending baby. Fair enough, if that’s what she wants.
Curious though, because a media-savvy lass like Cheryl knows that not confirming it simply serves to enhance, not diminish, the interest level.