The greatest loss

But Rhian Mannings, 43, channelled her pain in the most incredible way

- ANNA MATHESON

Gathering around the table with our family, a chorus of Happy Birthday rang out. George, our youngest, was only turning one, but his face lit up at the sight of his cake and flickering candles. My husband, Paul, 33, and I had married in 2006 and dreamt of a big family, so felt blessed with Holly, then three, Isaac, two, and baby George.

Paul was a wonderful father who adored his kids, doing night feeds and cooking tea. On weekends, we’d ride bikes or spend afternoons giggling and playing on the floor.

One evening in February 2012, a week after George’s birthday tea party, Paul and I bathed the kids together and wrestled them into their pyjamas. ‘A bit of TV, then bed,’ he smiled, disappearing to put the kettle on. Only, George suddenly collapsed to the floor as he crawled around the living room. Assuming he’d lost his balance, I lifted him up, but he was a limp, dead weight in my arms. ‘Paul! Paul!’ I screamed, panicking. Paul raced in, taking George from my arms.

‘Call an ambulance,’ he cried. Only, s I dialled, George started convulsing. It was like chaos in slow motion while Paul shouted for paramedics to hurry and, amongst it all, I somehow called my parents, who lived round the corner. Thankfully, Holly and Isaac were distracted by the TV and looked confused more than afraid, but George’s seizure was becoming increasingly aggressive, and in hysterics I ran outside into the pouring rain, gripping the phone and screaming for the ambulance.

My parents stayed with Holly and Isaac while we were rushed to the Emergency Room at Royal Glamorgan Hospital. ‘Please help him,’ I cried to the doctors.