Julia tried to find her girl’s favourite toy at bath time, but her search ended in utter heartbreak…
Settling my girl in my arms, I got ready to feed her.
Mia-Ann was seven months old and such a smiley baby.
I felt so close to her when I was breastfeeding – and she’d latched on easily as soon as she was born.
‘Let’s get cosy,’ I cooed to her.
But suddenly she stretched out and her whole body became stiff.
I looked down at her in alarm.
Then I saw her eyes roll backwards.
Instinct told me immediately what was wrong, because I’d seen the same thing happen to a relative.
Doctors at the hospital confirmed what I’d already guessed.
Mia-Ann had epilepsy.
The type she had was PCDH19, a rare type of early onset epilepsy.
Along with seizures, it would also mean my precious girl would suffer cognitive delays and sensory issues.
However, I knew she was bright too. And by 10 months she was walking!
I was determined to help her as much as I could.
‘Twinkle, twinkle little star,’ I began, making sure I sang loads of nursery rhymes to her.
I taught her words and reinforced the learning.
‘What do you want to drink?’
I asked. ‘You tell me.’
And she replied, ‘Water.’
Mia-Ann took two types of medication to try to stop the seizures, but it was difficult to get the balance correct as she grew.
Sometimes, during a seizure she’d punch
herself in the head.
It was heartbreaking.
She was often reluctant to take her medication too.
‘You can have a squishy,’ I said one day, offering her a small soft toy as an incentive.
Her face lit up.
'It's time to wake up, Daddy'
She loved Peppa Pig and built up a big collection of the toys.
Danny Dog was her favourite.
Her squishies went with her in her backpack to special school every day, and she liked to stack them up around her when she had a bath.
Despite the effects of the epilepsy, Mia-Ann was a happy and bubbly girl.
She charged around the park and laughed as she went higher and higher on the swings.
Although her dad and I were separated, she saw him most days and was a real daddy’s girl.
But when Mia-Ann was just seven, her dad died following a heart attack.
I agonised over how to break it to her. Would she be able to understand what had happened?
‘He’s sleeping,’ I told her, deciding that might be the best approach to avoid her becoming too upset.
But I felt it was important that she was given the chance to say goodbye to her father even if she didn’t fully comprehend.
Nervously, I took her to view him in his coffin.
I watched as she leant over to look at him. Her face lit up at the sight of him.
‘It’s time to wake up, Daddy,’ she said, and then she tapped him gently on the head.
After that, she kissed him on the forehead and lay down on the floor beside the coffin.
And then she went to sleep.
I wasn’t sure whether she’d grasped the enormity of what had happened to her dad.
But in time, my brave girl seemed to come to terms with her loss.
Later that year, I met Vernon after he’d started some work in my back garden.
A friendship developed, which eventually turned into more.
‘My Vernon,’ cheered Mia-Ann whenever she saw him.
Then she would quickly bundle herself on to his lap.
She loved him as much as I did and in time, Vernon moved in with us.
By now Mia-Ann was responding well to her medication, and she hadn’t had any seizures for two years.
As she grew older, though, she still loved to be surrounded by her squishy toys.
At bathtime, she wanted to be more private,
so I would sit outside the bathroom with the door open and we’d chat or listen to music.
‘Alexa,’ she would say. ‘Play Uptown Funk.’
Dance Monkey was another she’d sing along to.
One night, she settled into the tub and looked around.
‘I want Danny Dog,’ she said.
I peered around but couldn’t see him anywhere.
‘Danny Dog,’ she repeated.
I could tell she was about to become agitated because she didn’t have her favourite toy with her.
Making sure her other squishies were beside her as she sat up in the top part of the bath, I checked the tap was turned off, and went downstairs.
I looked on the sofa, on the floor and the table, but couldn’t see Danny Dog.
Then I went into the kitchen and searched the benches and on the floor too.
But there was no sign.
Is he upstairs after all? I wondered.
Suddenly Vernon shouted, ‘Mia-Ann?’
And then I heard his voice again, this time yelling for me.
Rapidly, I ran upstairs, my heart thumping in fear.
In the bathroom, Vernon was hauling Mia-Ann out of the water.
He placed her down and frantically began CPR.
What happened? I fretted. Had she slipped under the water?
I’d only been gone for a matter of minutes.
A neighbour heard the commotion, came round and held the phone while the ambulance operator gave Vernon instructions.
Her eyes fluttered open, looked directly and then closed again.
Is she saying goodbye to me?
I thought in horror.
Paramedics arrived and soon the whirring sounds of a helicopter tore through the air as she was airlifted to hospital. There, I sat with her, feeling numb.
All I could do was clutch her hand.
She was surrounded by tubes in intensive care.
Next morning, I tentatively asked, ‘Is there any improvement?’
But the doctors shook their heads in dismay.
‘It’s my fault,’ I wailed. ‘I should never have left her.’
'I should never have left her'
Eventually, we were told there
was nothing they could do.
Mia-Ann died 10 hours after getting into that bath.
My gorgeous girl was just nine.
In my raw grief, my mind whirred with the events which had led up to her death.
I cursed myself for having gone downstairs.
Over and over, I sobbed, ‘It’s my fault.’
Had she suffered a seizure? I wondered. Or gone below the water for some reason?
Vernon told me he’d heard some sort of a bump or bang but hadn’t known where the sound had come from.
He’d shouted Mia-Ann’s name, but when she didn’t reply he’d raced into the bathroom and found
her partially immersed
in the water.
Six days following Mia-Ann’s death, I
spotted Danny Dog
behind the fish tank.
As I bent down to pick up her favourite toy, I was gripped by a new sense of despair.
‘I’ve found it,’ I sobbed to Vernon, holding her precious squishy close.
If only I’d seen it there straight away, picked it up and gone upstairs, I’d have been nearer her sooner.
Would those vital seconds have changed the outcome? I questioned. If I’d been quicker, would I have noticed she was in trouble?
Tears coursed down my cheeks when Mia-Ann was cremated.
Overwhelming feelings of guilt swirled inside me.
Three years on, an inquest into her death was held.
My mind filled with heartbreaking questions, Would the coroner think it was my fault? Would I have to accept I was responsible for the death of my own daughter?
I was convinced she had shown no signs of an impending seizure.
But after the coroner had heard from experts, he recorded a verdict of accidental death, saying on the balance of probability she had suffered a seizure which led to her immersion in the bath.
Kindly, the coroner told me directly I was not to be blamed for Mia-Ann’s death.
But I can’t shake off the awful guilt I feel.
And I don’t think I ever will.
Mia-Ann’s ashes are in her room next to her beloved squishies, with Danny Dog standing guard on top.
I miss my precious girl every day.
My one comfort is reliving the magical memories we shared together.
Julia Myerscough, 53, Bridgend