My Blade Boy

Just five days earlier, my partner Luke, then 26, and I had welcomed our daughter Layla into the world.

- Rachel Tompkins/Chelsea Heatley

Blissfully unaffected, my son from a previous relationship, Kye, 8, was playing with our neighbour.

Later, worn out, he went to his room. 

At 3pm I checked on him. 

‘Are you OK?’ I asked as he lay in bed. 

‘I’ve got a headache,’ he said. 

By 6.30pm he had a temperature, so I gave him Calpol and Nurofen.

When it didn’t work, I phoned NHS Direct.

‘Keep him cool,’ they advised. ‘Open the window and put him in his underwear.’

I did as they said, then Kye was sick.

‘Must be a bug,’ I thought.

Thankfully, his temperature stabilised. Next morning was Mother’s Day.

But instead of waking to flowers and chocolates, my eyes shot open to Kye’s voice.

‘Mum, help, I need the toilet,’ he shouted. 

I ran into his room. 

‘Pick me up,’ he pleaded.

‘I can’t move my legs.’ 

As Luke and I lifted Kye, I noticed a purple bruise on his leg. Then another on his hip, and one on his shoulder.

‘He’s got meningitis!’ I screamed. ‘He needs to get to hospital now.’

An ambulance raced him to Luton and Dunstable Hospital, as more marks appeared in front of our eyes.