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Taken to the Max

A simple playground accident had become life-or-death for my son...


Published by: Jean Jollands and Emma Pietras
Published on: 12 July 2012

If you could have bottled what my little boy Max had, well, I wouldn't have minded a drop myself! He fizzed with energy! ‘The wheels on the bus go around and around,' he sang as I walked him and his sister Savannah, seven, to the park. We had a decorator called Paul round, so we wanted to get out from under his feet.
If he wasn't singing then Max, three, was dancing or playing cars. His live-wire personality drew people to him. I'd even nicknamed him ‘the pied piper' because he had so many friends at nursery. He really kept me and his dad Dimitri, 43, on our toes!
We'd been in the park 20 minutes when Max ran over to the swings, leaning over on one of them, almost on tiptoe. But as he went to stand up again, he lost his footing, fell back and hit his head on the ground. ‘There, there, baby,' I soothed, rubbing his head as he screamed. He was so shaken that I took the kids home.
‘He's had a bit of a knock,' I explained to Paul.
Suddenly, Max jumped off my lap. His knees crumpled and he fell into Paul's arms, his body limp, eyes half-closed. ‘Oh God,' I gasped, desperately dialling 999. Luckily, my mum Tres, 65, had popped round and was able to usher Savannah into the living room as the ambulance arrived.
‘It's probably just concussion,' a paramedic said. But, as Max's arms and legs jolted, my stomach churned with fear.
We were rushed to Hull Royal Infirmary, where five doctors waited for my little boy. Frantic, I tried to get hold of Dimitri. Just then, a consultant came in.
‘Max is seriously ill,' he told me. ‘He's suffered a massive bleed to the brain. I'm afraid he only has a 10 per cent chance of surviving.'
‘No!' I cried.
The consultant explained that they would operate to release the blood clot, then put Max into an induced coma.
‘We'll do everything we can,' he said. ‘But we think it's best if you kiss him goodbye...'
I staggered to his bedside and kissed him gently on his forehead, willing him to survive. ‘This isn't goodbye,' I whispered. ‘Please come back to Mummy.' Then I wept into my hands as he was taken to theatre.
Just then, Dimitri came in. I broke down in his arms. ‘They've said he might die. I'm sorry.'
‘It's nobody's fault,' he hushed. ‘He's going to be fine.' But his voice broke as he spoke.
For three long hours we waited. ‘He just fell over,' I kept whispering. I'd lost count of the number of times he'd tripped over and banged his head. Why was this time so different?
Finally, Max was out. He was swamped by tubes and they'd shaved off half his blond hair. ‘He's a battler - he'll beat this,' Dimitri said.
A doctor explained that we had to take one day at a time. ‘We'll only take Max out of the coma when his body is strong enough,' he said.
Well, for as long as he was in a coma, we'd do all we could to let him know he wasn't alone. ‘We'll bring his whole life to his bedside,' I vowed.
‘What do you mean?' Dimitri asked. Instead of explaining, I showed him.
First, we brought in so many of our boy's favourite toys that you could barely see his bed!
Then I remembered how much Max loved nursery - so I gave his teacher a hand-held recorder to tape the sounds of nursery life. Then I put it on his pillow and pressed play. Sounds of kids laughing and singing songs filled the air.
We talked to Max about our everyday lives, too. ‘We had PE today,' Savannah told her brother. ‘I did a massive jump. I'll show you when you wake up, Maxy.'
And every night I'd sing his favourite song. ‘Twinkle twinkle little star...' I began. After five days, doctors finally decided he was strong enough to be brought out of the coma. His godparents Lesley, 51, and Claire, 30, were with us and sat with me tickling his feet, praying for a reaction.
‘Please wake up, Maxy,' I begged. Eyelids fluttered. Suddenly, I was staring into his big blue eyes. ‘He's awake!' I cried. Within seconds, nurses were buzzing around him.
We'd got our miracle. But though he was now breathing for himself, he couldn't move or even smile. Tests showed his brain activity was at 11 - with one being low and 20 high.
‘We don't know what will happen,' doctors admitted. ‘There's still a chance he'll never walk or talk again.'
‘No,' I said. ‘The old Max will be back.' Dimitri squeezed my hand in support. So, just as if he was a baby again, we went back to the beginning.
We put together a board of family snaps.‘M-u-mmy,' I mouthed at Max, pointing to my picture. He had physio twice a day, and I tickled his cheeks constantly, just the way he liked. After eight days, I was tickling when he gave a half-cocked grin. Progress! Then the following week, I heard his little voice. ‘Incy wincy spider, climbed up the spout.'
‘Well done!' I smiled. And when he said ‘Mummy' for the first time, I cried tears of joy.
Two and half weeks after the accident, he took his very first steps and, days later, he was home. Though I wanted to wrap Max up in cotton wool, I forced myself to take him to nursery the very next day. ‘Just for an hour,' I told his teachers. I knew this was for his own good. Still, I sat outside until it was time to collect him, and felt so relieved when I saw he was all in one piece.
Each day, he went for a little longer, until 18 months later he started big school. It was the day I feared I'd never see.
In fact, the only thing different about him now is that he wears glasses - the accident has left him visually impaired.
Max is five now and he's his cheeky self again. I know it was a freak accident, but I still feel I want to follow him around constantly, making sure he doesn't hurt himself. But I'm just relieved our boy is the lively little bean he always was. He's our Max the Mighty!
Deborah Stock, 41, Hull, East Yorkshire