Walking Through Cornflakes

By Kay Schofield

Having lost my daughter Helen four years ago, I reflect on the various chapters of her life. I recall when Helen was born and my emotions after I was told she had developmental difficulties. She grew up so quickly, attending what were then called “special schools”. My husband Mike and I did not always see eye to eye when it came to Helen, but we did watch her strive to gain her independence. How proud we felt when Helen moved into a flat, where she was able to live her life as she wished with a degree of support. I was ecstatic when she achieved her ultimate goal, her own little house.

In the context of Helen's achievements, we arrive at the final chapter of her life and her death – the problems with the GPs, not least their woeful lack of knowledge, which is utterly unforgivable given how we entrust medical professionals with our loved ones' lives. Then we come to the problems with the Primary Care Trust (PCT) and the General Medical Council (GMC), both of which simply passed the buck with little thought for our family. And finally the ombudsman's cruel final verdict: no further investigation. We have nowhere else to go.

My frustration and anger at the PCT and the GMC were dwarfed by my feelings towards the two GPs involved. The first GP showed little care and compassion during Helen's initial appointment, yet worse were the devastating consequences of the GP's ill-advised prescription. The second GP told a version of events at the inquest. I cannot disprove his version, but he and I both know in our hearts what happened on his visit, just days before Helen died.

Writing this book has been therapeutic for me, giving me the time and space to remember Helli, my beautiful and special daughter. Yet this book has a wider purpose, that is to encourage greater awareness of the mistakes medical professionals can and do make, and to show how the fight to secure justice for our nearest and dearest may ultimately be futile.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kay Schofield
• Release date: Jan 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310769627

Book preview

Walking

Through Cornflakes

Kay Schofield

Copyright 2013 Kay Schofield

Published on Smashwords

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Foreword

Having lost my daughter Helen four years ago, I reflect on the various chapters of her life. I recall when Helen was born and my emotions after I was told she had developmental difficulties. She grew up so quickly, attending what were then called special schools. My husband Mike and I did not always see eye to eye when it came to Helen, but we did watch her strive to gain her independence. How proud we felt when Helen moved into a flat, where she was able to live her life as she wished with a degree of support. I was ecstatic when she achieved her ultimate goal, her own little house.

In the context of Helen's achievements, we arrive at the final chapter of her life and her death – the problems with the GPs, not least their woeful lack of knowledge, which is utterly unforgivable given how we entrust medical professionals with our loved ones' lives. Then we come to the problems with the Primary Care Trust (PCT) and the General Medical Council (GMC), both of which simply passed the buck with little thought for our family. And finally the ombudsman's cruel final verdict: no further investigation. We have nowhere else to go.

My frustration and anger at the PCT and the GMC were dwarfed by my feelings towards the two GPs involved. The first GP showed little care and compassion during Helen's initial appointment, yet worse were the devastating consequences of the GP's ill-advised prescription. The second GP told a version of events at the inquest. I cannot disprove his version, but he and I both know in our hearts what happened on his visit, just days before Helen died.

Writing this book has been therapeutic for me, giving me the time and space to remember Helli, my beautiful and special daughter. Yet this book has a wider purpose, that is to encourage greater awareness of the mistakes medical professionals can and do make, and to show how the fight to secure justice for our nearest and dearest may ultimately be futile.

I couldn't have written this book without the help of my lovely, caring friends. I would particularly like to thank: David, for unravelling my erratic handwriting, spending hours supporting me by attending meetings and writing countless letters. Ellen, David's wife, my true friend who has always been my rock in tumultuous times and who I love dearly. My lovely friend Sheila, who has provided endless support to both myself and my family and encouragement throughout the sometimes difficult process of writing. And finally to Sheila's son Rob, who has turned my words into this book and made it possible for you to read our story. I simply cannot thank you all enough. I am truly blessed.

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Chapter One

Come on Helli, time to get up – its 8.00am – we will have to be out by 9:00.

Coming, said a half-asleep Helen.

I carried on doing the usual early morning tasks, popping in and out of Helen’s bedroom. I asked her if she was OK. Helen had had a terrible cough and had been staying with me for the past week, but today was going to be an exciting, brilliant day.

We were going with Helen’s Nana (who lives with me) to meet up with Catherine, my eldest daughter, at a little house just up the road from me – a house that was to become Helen’s new home. After living in a little flat for the past few years, Helen was finally in a position to rent and then eventually buy this little house. We were about to meet the Estate Agent and pay the deposit.

Helli, are you up yet?

My leg is hurting a bit she said. I gave it a bit of a rub and said: OK we will get a taxi up the road. Nothing was going to spoil this morning as she had felt so rotten with the cough that I wasn’t going to rush her.

By now it was about 9.15am. Nothing could prepare me for what was about to happen in the next couple of hours.

The taxi driver gave a surprised look when we stopped just up the road, probably thinking: what a lazy lot, getting a cab for such a short ride. I didn’t care. We got out and made our way to the house. Catherine joined us, having taken her daughters. Hannah and Molly, to school and so we waited at the 'new' house for the Estate Agent to arrive.

It was freezing cold, but Helen’s face was glowing.

The Estate Agent arrived, apologising for being late, unlocked the door and in we all trooped. The house was a small two bedroomed semi in a quiet little road of similar houses, built sometime in the 1970s.

The house had a small kitchen / dining area and a lounge overlooking the lane. Helen was impressed by the back garden, where she could sit out and was already planning barbecues. Her Nana and Catherine were also thrilled. Ooh, said Catherine, You could put a sofa there and a coffee table there, a music system there and your millions of Boyzone and Westlife CD’s could be shown off there! Oh and Helli, you must have a dishwasher.

Helen and I completed the business with the Estate Agent and we all left the house. Nana was going home and Catherine was meeting a friend for coffee at the nearby precinct. Helen and I decided to do an errand for her Nana and then continue to the Doctor, where Helen had an appointment at 10.30am.

As we left the house, two ladies came out from their houses. One was Sheila, a lovely woman who I already knew, and who knew about Helen wanting the house. She looked enquiringly at us, smiling. I said: She’s got it! Sheila was thrilled and