Just before midnight on the eve of my wedding I stood, crying slightly while cradling my infant son, in a queue at A&E.
A nurse noticed and sidled up beside me, asking if I was ok. Biting back a tsunami of tears, I shook my head, before relaying fears that my mastitis had turned to sepsis. You see, I’d been here several times before and had foolishly been ignoring the signs all day, persuading myself paracetamol would knock the block on its head.
Without formally checking me in at reception, this angel swept me away to be seen by the first available doctor while my core temperature soared and my hands and feet felt freezing. By 1am, I had a bag of IV fluids pumping into my left arm, closely followed by intravenous antibiotics, while my ten-month-old drained the problematic mammary like a pro.
Ready to join The Flock?
When you join The Flock, you pay it forward. Every paid subscription generates a second for a woman on reduced income, ensuring we remain advertising-free and accessible to all.
Want to support us? Subscribe below for just £4.99 a month and get your first 14 days free. Can’t afford that right now? We'll be reopening our waitlist for paid forward memberships soon, so watch this space.
Got a gift card to redeem? Click here.
Already have an account? Sign in here.