Birmingham, United Kingdom

I had just finished my second year at Uni; Mark's (Heather's dad) work was going very well; and our girls Suzanne (10) and Heather (8) were very excited about the holiday we had booked for them in Dawlish Warren in Devon (England).

The holiday began on July 24th 1999. For the first week the sun shone, we played on the beach and swam in the sea. Ate lots of ice cream and were having the most wonderful time. However, on the 1st of August, during an evening walk, Heather's life on this earth began running out.

We had gone for a walk along the sea front when Heather suddenly became very ill with diarrhoea. We rushed her to the public toilets and then back to the chalet we were staying in. All through the night, she suffered; however, by morning she seemed a little better although tired. We took her to the local chemist in Dawlish for rehydration fluid and then for a gentle stroll on the beach. At this point she was her usual self: making everyone laugh, very excited about all the different shells she was finding. She even fell over at one point; she tripped over a wire fence; we all thought she was going to cry, but she didn't, she just laughed and carried on collecting shells. In the afternoon, she went for a swim with her sister, but by the evening she was feeling unwell again. I felt guilty as I felt I had let her over do it, but I wanted her to enjoy her holiday so much. I put her back to bed, and she began being sick and suffering terrible diarrhoea again which by morning had begun looking very bloody.

This was very frightening, so we took her to a local doctor in Dawlish who told us not to worry and to keep her fluids going. He also prescribed her anti sickness tablets which we gave her. Nonetheless, by Thursday we knew things were not right and we took Heather back to the doctors in Dawlish. By this time, I had to put sanitary towels in her pants because of the blood, and when I told the doctor we were sent straight to casualty in Exeter some miles away from Dawlish.

Heather hardly spoke at this time, and she had to be carried to and from the car. When we arrived at the casualty department in Exeter, we had to wait half an hour before we were seen, and when we were seen they could not get her pulse. She was rushed into the crash unit where she was given intravenous fluids. She began to pick up, and we even began to have our beautiful Heather back. She was joking with myself, Suzanne, her dad and the nurse and complained that she wanted a cup of tea. She had a passion for tea and biscuits and hated when she couldn't have any. However, by the time we were on the ward they told us her kidneys had failed and that she was very ill.

Mark had to take Suzanne back to the chalet in Dawlish to get some sleep, and I stayed with Heather on my own. The doctors and nurses settled her down for the night and told me not to worry because as soon as she had some dialysis the next day at another hospital in Bristol (again some miles away from the hospital we were in) she would be fine.

But all night I then sat and watched my baby die.

She began twitching, having absences and babbling and finally by morning, her peripheral vision had gone, and she no longer recognised me. At around 11 o'clock, just after Mark and Suzanne arrived, she had a massive fit. I ran out of the room; I just could not believe what was happening. She was taken to the PICU, but then needed to be transferred to a specialist PICU in Bristol.

Heather had to be transported alone as we were not allowed in the ambulance, so we did not arrive at the hospital until 9pm Friday evening, where we were met by surgeons needing our signatures so they could operate on Heather to fit dialysis tubes. We were told to go and get some sleep as in the morning she would start waking up and would need us fighting fit to get her through all this. We slept for a couple of hours as exhaustion was setting in, but when we went to see her she still had not woken up. The consultants decided to take her for a brain scan and told us her brain was very swollen and things were not looking very good. This led them to try a plasma transplant; however, she was still not waking up and by the Saturday evening they decided to do a brain tap to see how much activity there was in Heather's brain. At around midnight, they told us there was none.

Mark was so brave at this point because the neurosurgeons wanted to do some very invasive treatments on Heather to keep her body going, but he said no. He wanted her to die in piece. They took all the machines and the tubes away and lay her on our laps.

But she did not die straight away. It was as if she had something to do but she could not tell us. The nurses asked us if there was anything we wanted. Mark asked for a cup of tea to be made. The nurse brought it in. Mark simply put his finger into the cup and gently wiped her lips with the tea. Everyone was so touched even the nurses cried, and it was just as if that was what Heather was waiting for. A cup of tea before she went for a long sleep because she died just after.

The nurses put her back on the bed, and we all gave her a kiss goodbye. Suzanne and I went back to a friend's house because we were still a long way from home, and Mark stayed with Heather for as long as he was allowed. I've written a poem that helps explain those moments.

Silence

Can you hear its curious sound?
I can
It's not like any normal sound
A buzz, no a dull monotonous tone
That thumps in your head.
I first heard it a few months ago
It has not left me since.

I walked out of the hospital
Into a new day
No one in the street
No cars, no birds or cats stalking
Everywhere was grey
The pavement, road, cars, people, sky and trees
Motionless, frozen like a snap shot taken
In the pouring rain

A car parked, waiting
With a friend whose face was grey
And motionless.
No smile, no welcome
Her mouth sealed to prevent
Wrong words being spoken.

The surviving child close by
No words of comfort
No holding hands
No tears
Just shock
A sister lost

The car door closes
Seat belt in place
No words brake the silence
It's grip on the passengers tight
Only thoughts fill the car
So many they choke

What about those left behind
The child who died
And the dad still protecting
A little girl aged eight alone.
Scary places chapel of rest
The unknown and what's beyond
The life ever after

Is she singing and dancing
Skipping carefree
Or sad and alone
And longing to be
In the arms of her mom
Tight and protected.

The car pulls up
The front door unlocked
Tea and toast left on the table
From the waiting the night before
Silence being absorbed by each room that you enter
I sit with my hands on my lap
Eyes shut, breath shallow
No images appear
Just a black hole
With a beginning but no end
My life will never be the same again.

Now you can see why I understand

Silence

My daughter died

The thump I can hear
Is not the sound of silence
It is the pounding of my heart
The reminder of the love
That was ripped apart

I miss Heather more with each second that passes. If only I could turn back time and not gone on that holiday. After Heather died, there was an investigation as other children were taken ill just after Heather. The bacterium that killed Heather on the 8th of August and hurt the other children was E.coli O157, and they picked it up from somewhere on the beach. It could have been in the sand, the sea, seagull droppings, dog faeces we will never know as the source was never found. The only thing they all had in common was the beach at Dawlish Warren in Devon. I think what Heather's case highlights the most is how vulnerable our precious children are even to the most microscopic of organisms.

Copyright 1999 by author: Julie Preen (Heather's mother)

Heather's family has established a trust to promoted greater understanding of E. coli O157:H7 and to raise funds for research into a cure. It can be found at www.heatherpreentrust.org.

(read more victim's stories)