HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO
Sitting up in bed, I heard a strange noise coming from the bathroom. ‘Everything OK in there?’ I mumbled as I wandered down the hall.
‘Another nosebleed,’ my son Jack, 10, sniffled.
It was late one night in 2015, and as I opened the bathroom door, I saw poor Jack sitting on the edge of the bath, a wad of blood-soaked toilet paper wedged under his nose.
‘It’s OK, love,’ I said, grabbing some clean tissue.
While the occasional nosebleed wasn’t something to stress about, this had been the second one in two days that Jack had suffered with.
The night before, while having dinner, Jack’s nose had started to bleed
