Richard Hogan: 'As I was dressing her, she told me she felt tired, and then she had a seizure'

Richard Hogan. Photograph Moya Nolan

Last Friday, I learned a very valuable lesson; family is absolutely everything. It’s not that I didn’t already know that, of course I did, but things get in the way of remaining focused on that fundamental truth. 

As John Lennon explained, "Life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans". 

The future's ransom can blind you from what is important in the present. The millions of things you have to do, lunches, work, tidying up, bills, and commuting, all get in the way of the most important thing you’ll ever do - spend time with your family. But we can easily lose sight of it. 

All this month, my middle daughter Lizzy has been ticking off each day as we moved closer to May 12 and 13. 

It was to be an extravaganza of a weekend, "the best so far in my life," as Lizzy was calling it. 

Friday the 12th was her Communion and the May 13 was her ninth birthday. She was consumed each night with plans for her Communion/birthday celebrations. 

"God bless all those who could not be here today," I’d hear her mutter the prayer she had to deliver to the congregation. 

Charles’ Coronation didn’t come close to the preparation. The poor piñata was stuffed to the gills with cheap chocolate, the pass-the-parcel had been vigorously tested and passed with flying colours, the bouncing castle booked, friends confirmed, the stars were aligning for fun that would make Dionysus weep. Of course, there would be no boys at this shindig.

That is, until, a spot appeared on Lizzy’s body on Tuesday. Wednesday, more spots, Thursday, chicken pox was confirmed, and on Friday Lizzy was resigned to the fact she wouldn’t be able to make her Communion, but asked to wear her dress anyway that morning. So, we all got dressed up. 

As I was dressing her, she told me she felt tired, and then she had a seizure. 

TERROR

I have never experienced distress like this in my life. 

The sheer helplessness, the panic. Terror. 

I put her into the recovery position and was shocked by the fright in my voice as I roared at my wife to call an ambulance. 

I was calling her, "Lizzy it’s Dad, come back to me". I could hear the utter panic in my voice. My eldest daughter, Hannah was with me in the room as this was unfolding. She couldn’t comprehend what was happening to her little sister. 

It took about 2 minutes for Lizzy to come around. And then she said, "Will I be late for my Communion?" 

Her little big brown eyes looking up at me wondering why I was speaking so loudly and with such tension in my voice. 

We often complain about this country, and the state of our services, that is, until we need those services in a serious emergency. 

The ambulance was with us within 40 minutes. The reassurance they offered when they arrived was just so important in such a vulnerable moment. 

We went to Temple Street. Once again, incredible professionals, working in difficult circumstances. 

There seemed to be people everywhere, but the doctors, nurses and staff, were calm and in control. 

They were worried about encephalitis, my worst nightmare. Lizzy was brought down for a lumbar puncture, and within 30 minutes the results were back and all clear. 

They did more tests, and ruled everything sinister out. 

SILENT HEROES

The level of care we received in Temple Street was incredible. 

The work those on our front lines do is remarkable, silent heroes that deal so compassionately with people who are at their most vulnerable. 

I can’t thank them enough for all the support they provided us with. I really want to say thanks to Elaine O'Rourke, our neighbour and nurse in Temple Street, she was working when Lizzy arrived and gave us great care.

We were in Temple Street for two nights, to see nurses leave at 12am and back on the ward at 9am was quite striking, a shuddering insight really. 

The level they work at and the hours they do, and the humanity and care they show people under those difficult conditions is remarkable.

Now that Lizzy is home again, I can start to process what happened to us all and what we have been through as a family. I can’t believe that a children’s hospital doesn’t have a car park! 

And that the on-street parking is set at the most expensive we have in the city. It just seems so unfair for families at a very vulnerable and scary time. 

To be thinking about your car being towed is ridiculous, absurd almost, at that moment. 

When my youngest daughter was born she had a rare condition, so we have known some hard times as a family, but this was different. 

This was my little buddy who I have hung around with for nine years, loved her, adored her. When you love something so much, you’re vulnerable to great pain. But the love is worth that risk. 

It’s funny, my eldest daughter is 12 years old, but I can’t really remember what it was like to live without my children in my life. 

It’s like they have always been a part of me. I used to love going out with my friends when I was in my twenties, the excitement, the possibility of who you might meet. 

But when I sit down on Friday night and we’re watching something together as a family, like ‘A Dog's Purpose’, a movie I have watched more than ‘The Godfather’, the feeling is far greater than any excitement I felt as a young stud heading into a nightclub. 

The experience is still a little raw to fully process it all, but love is all we need. It’s the start, middle, and end. And family is the greatest love of all.