Out of the frying pan, into the fire.
I was in a bad way.
Taking on a pneumothorax, meningitis, hydrocephalous, seizures, cardiorespiratory arrest and now NEC had left me looking like I’d been 12 rounds with Clubber Lang. But like Rocky in Rocky III, I might have been taking a pasting but I kept coming back for more.
My parents, on the other hand, had seen enough and were ready to throw in the towel.
But not me.
I was about to reach my century - 100 days not out - and I wasn’t about to give up until I’d received a standing ovation.
But then Hydrocephalous made a comeback, my brain started to expand and my head was slowly exploding.
Apparently this is a bad thing.
I was quite looking forward to having a big head as my mummy and daddy have pin heads.
But no one asks me anything and it was decided that I needed a shunt.
Don’t worry, I’d never heard of one before either. It turns out they are a bit like a drain pipe from your brain to your tummy.
Here’s a diagram to explain.
