Withsixboys,Asher
R
Lancashire,has
tohaveeyeseverywhere,
butnowshehasto
lookoutforwasps,
too
WORDS
BY
KATIE
PEARSON
IMAGES:
SWNS
AND
ALAMY
WASP
S
inking down into the bath, I
breathed a sigh of relief.
I’d managed to survive the
bedtime antics.
With six young boys in
the house, there was never a quiet
day, so I liked to unwind in the bath
before cuddling up in bed with my
partner Paul, 36.
Paul was a boxer, and between
us, we had our hands full.
He had two boys from a previous
marriage – Ethan, 10 and Kyle, nine- while I had Levi, six, Joel-Chey,
four, and Lennox-Loui, Two.
Funnily, the biggest personality
in our family was our youngest
child, and the only one we had
together, Paulie-Sonny, 15 months.
Just like his dad, Paulie-Sonny
loved playingaround
That
his dad
jabbing
‘Car
he knoc
the tabl
It wa
laugh w
were ne
The n
could h
play fig
living r
True
nature,
peered
no othe
Paulie-
Sonny
at the h
of it, trying to ace his uppercut skills.
It was nearing the end of the day,
so I thought that maybe the boxing
would have knocked him out, ready
for bedtime.
But, as per usual, I was chasing
him around the house, trying to get
him in his PJ’s.
‘No!’ he laughed, running away
from me.
‘You’re like a little Duracell
bunny,’ I sighed.
By the time I’d battled with him
and got him into bed, I couldn’t wait
for my bath.
But then, just as soon as I got
comfortable, I heard Paulie-Sonny
crying in his room.
‘Paul,’ I yelled.
‘Can you check on him?’
But just minutes later, my little
boywassobbinghis heart out.
ed out of the bath
rapped myself in
el.
h, my God!’ I
amed in horror as
lked into Paulie-
ny’s bedroom.
He was covered in
cious rash, and his
were folding over.
ul!’ I screamed.
ome Piriton.’
throat was
mpletely swollen,
but I managed to
get some of the
medicine down.
‘We’re
going to have
to call 999,’Paul said, panicked.
By now, Paulie-Sonny’
feet were four times their
normal size.
Then, he let out a
terrifying choking sound.
He couldn’t breathe.
‘Hurry!’ I screamed
down the phone.
With the paramedic’s
guidance, I rested
Paulie-Sonny’s feet up
on a pillow.
‘Mummy’s here,’ I
wept, stroking his hair.
When the paramedics
rushed in, one radioed
the hospital.
‘Code red,’ he said.
‘What does that
mean?’ I panicked,
knowing it was bad.
‘We need to give him
adrenaline,’ he told me.
Paulie-Sonny was givenfour
different injections, which made
him vomit blood.
‘Please save him,’ I begged.
‘Don’t let him die.’
As I watched my little boy
battling for his life, I felt useless,
knowing I couldn’t do anything.
Finally, his heart rate came back
down, and he stopped being sick.
The adrenaline was working.
I quickly threw on some clothes
and grabbed Paulie-Sonny’s
favourite blue blanket.
Then me, Paul and our gorgeous
boy were blue-lighted to Ormskirk
District General Hospital.
My mum had already arrived andwasstayingwiththeotherboys.
When we arrived at the hospital,
ten doctors surrounded Paulie-
Sonny in triage.
He was hating it and was
thrashing about in his bed.
Eventually, Paul had to go over
and restrain him.
‘We need to find a vein to get
more adrenaline in,’ the doctor said.
After 45 painful minutes, they
managed to inject him.
It worked almost instantly, and
Paulie-Sonny crashed out.
‘What happened?’ I asked the
doctor, sobbing.
‘He had an anaphylact
the doctor explained. ‘WHis throat closed up and
he couldn’t breathePaulie-Sonny has
boundless energy