Pick Me Up! Special – September 2019

ove

eavingmyselfoffthe

bathroomfloor,I felt

dizzyandlethargic.

It wasspring2018,

d I’dcomedownwitha sickness

ug,couldn’tstopthrowingup.

Butasa stay-at-

homemumoftwo,

herewerenosick

daysforme!

Watchingmykids,

Millie-Mae,three,

andMaeson-Evan,

20 months,wasa full

timejob.

TheirdadJamie,29,worked

awayonbuildingsites,creating

wallsandpartitions.

I couldhearthekidsplayingin

thelivingroomdownstairs,butI

justfeltsoweak.

SoI calledmy

neighbourAlex,27.

‘Canyoucomeand

help?’I asked.

Shecameover

rightaway,and

helpedmehobble

downthestairs.

‘I’llbeOKnow,’I assuredher.

Reachingthelivingroom,I was

Little

Pick Me

Ups!

greeted with teddies and dollies

lined up on the floor, all with

different ailments.

It looked just like a scene

from Casualty!

‘Oh, you’re very poorly,’

Millie-Mae sighed, dishing out

imaginary plasters and make-it-

better kisses.

Lately, she’d become obsessed

with the TV show Doc McStuffins,

about a little girl who, wanting to

be a doctor like her mummy,

helps fix her ill toys. Feeling rather

poorly

myself, I

settled down

on the sofa,

mesmerised by

Millie-Mae’s

imaginary world.

‘Drink?’ Maeson-Evan

asked, eyes wide.

Pulling myself to my feet,

suddenly it felt as if the world

was spinning.

I felt so dizzy.

Then, all of a sudden,

everything went black.

When I opened my eyes, Alex

and a paramedic were standing

over me!

‘You’re going to be OK,’

the paramedic said.

I was in an ambulance

rushed to Northern

General Hospital in

Sheffield, where I was

soon diagnosed with

gastroenteritis as well as

severe dehydration.

I’d picked up a bug

somewhere, and it had left

in such bad shape that I’d actually

lost consciousness.

With Jamie working away,

anything could have happened,

especially with two young kids in

the house.

It didn’t bear thinking about.

‘You can thank Millie-Mae,’

Alex told me when she came in

AudreyWain,82,

from Burton, has a

very special

message for her

life-saving pup...

Cara Channer, 27,

from Sheffield,

couldn’t believe

whohad saved

herlife...

Dear Bessie,

W

hen we found you in

the shelter, you

were the

smallest of

all the pups there.

Just 10 months old, a

pin in your hind leg,

cowering and shaggy.

You were cute but

terrified, and we loved

you instantly.

We got you cleaned up,

and brought you home

with us.

And you took a shine to

my hubby Ron, then 72.

He’d sit with you for

hours on the sofa.

Just gently stroking your fur,

calming you down.

‘There, you’re all safe now,’

he’d soothe.

A little yap in response, you

seemed right at home.

We’d had dogs before, but

there was something about you.

You were different, special.

And as the years passed, we

got to learn just how special you

really were.

The perfect pet, you obeyed

our instructions. We had our

routine, and you had yours.

You were always up at 8am

with me while I made breakfast in

the kitchen.

Then you’d claim your spot on

the sofa, nestled sweetly

between Ron and I – our dynamic

duo now a terrific trio.

You constantly showed us how

brainy you were, too.

And you proved my point in

July last year in a way I could

never have predicted.

You watched as Ron clambered

back and forth from the toilet.

‘I really don’t feel well,’ he’d

said to me.

I was worried about him.

Your ears pricked up as he

lowered himself onto the sofa.

Then you nudged his foot,

stared up at him eagerly.

And when he

lay down, you

hopped right on

top, laid still on

his stomach.

‘Bessie!’ I

gasped – you’d

never jumped

up on us before.

But you didn’t

budge, keeping

your eyes firmly

on Ron.

What had

you seen? I

didn’t understand at the

time, but you were just

looking out for him, weren’t

you, Bessie?

You started following him

around, and would barely

leave him alone.

I thought it was rather

cute, but Ron thought you

were being nosy.

It took a month of you

playing shadow before Ron

had had enough.

But he wasn’t fed up

with you – he was sick of

feeling lousy.

The doctors weren’t happy

either, and eventually took a

urine sample.

Then they discovered that Ron

had bladder cancer.

Suddenly, all your bonkers

behaviour made sense.

‘Bessie diagnosed it before

the doctors did,’ I told Ron.

‘That’s why she’s been so

attentive lately,’ he mused.

Ron started a six-month

course of chemotherapy.

He was nervous, even though

he wouldn’t show it.

I was scared, too.

But you sat on his knee, kept

him company – your turn to keep

him calm.

Only, after his sixth round of

chemo, that all stopped. ‘She’s

Sniffed out

I I MEDIC

My three-year-old girl

came to the rescue!

I didn’t

know how

ill I was

Our wonderful Bessie knew

something was wrong