I kissed my daughter, Amelia, on the forehead one last time and screwed down the lid of her coffin.
As impossible as it was, it felt like tucking her in for bed – a nightmare neither of us would wake from.
At her funeral, I sang John Legend’s All of Me, the song I had dreamed of performing on her wedding day. That final goodbye was my way of giving her the dream nuptials we used to act out in make-believe.
My baby girl was gone, aged six. And the most galling thing is that her death was an accident.
Amelia – or Millie, as we called her – was five when she began bruising more easily and picking up illnesses more often.
In early 2022, she visited the GP and had follow-up blood tests at Luton and Dunstable University Hospital, under the care of Addenbrooke’s Hospital. That led to months of monitoring her low blood counts.
On May 28, she was finally admitted to that same hospital. Throughout it all, Amelia remained her playful, sassy self, but I knew something was wrong.
I pushed for a bone marrow biopsy to confirm what I feared – cancer. The biopsy procedure was first scheduled for Tuesday June 14, but it was moved to Thursday June 16 for reasons still unclear.
I was with her as she went under anaesthetic. She was scared, clinging to her mum and looking at me with eyes that said, ‘Save me, Daddy’.
She was scared of the sleeping gas mask, so they tried a flavoured lip balm smeared inside it. I said ‘Fanta’ and she smiled.
That was the last smile I saw, but I also saw her fear. All I wanted to do at that moment was protect her.
She closed her eyes, and I stepped into the hallway, but I had a feeling that something was wrong.
Ten minutes later, I felt the air go heavy. The staff moved quickly. Then a crash cart appeared.
At that moment, I knew the worst must’ve happened.
Amelia had suffered massive internal bleeding. The biopsy needle had passed through her bone and pierced vital vessels causing massive, catastrophic bleeding internally.
From that moment, nothing could be done.
She was resuscitated multiple times before they told us her condition was critical. I called my parents to come. I needed them there.
Still, I hoped for a miracle. But that miracle didn’t come.
Later that day, I walked to clear my head. About 45 minutes in, I saw a vision: My grandmother with her arm around Amelia, who ran toward me and said, ‘It’s okay, Daddy.’
Soon after, the hospital called. I said, ‘It’s okay. She’s already told me.’
Even in death, she found a way to soften the blow.
What followed was appalling. The hospital kept us from seeing Amelia and sat us down to walk us through what had happened, almost like therapy for their benefit. It felt inhuman and traumatic.
Within a couple of weeks, we were told she had an aggressive form of aplastic anemia – a rare and serious blood condition.
Eventually, we learned the full truth about her death through a coroner’s report and inquest, which was finally completed in February this year.
What is aplastic anemia?
Aplastic anemia is a ‘serious condition affecting the blood, where the bone marrow and stem cells do not produce enough blood cells’. It is diagnosed by examining a sample of bone marrow.
Symptoms include:
- Bruising easily, often without falls or knocks
- Gums bleeding after brushing teeth
- Nosebleeds
- Red pinprick spots under the skin
- Lethargy
- Pale complexion
- Unusually breathless after exercise
- Increased frequency of infections
In it, we were shocked to discover that the doctor who asked for the procedure thought unilateral — meaning one side — was needed, but did not specify this in their notes. The separate doctor actually carrying out the procedure made the call for it to be bilateral, meaning both sides.
The inquest found the bilateral procedure was ‘reasonable’, but that the second insertion caused the fatal bleeding. Amelia’s death was deemed an ‘accident’. A ‘rare but known complication’ of the bone marrow procedure.
If the doctor’s notes were handed over properly and only the first procedure was carried out, Amelia might still be here today.
In the aftermath, there was no apology. No real accountability.
I knew who my daughter was and the things she stood for. That is why I pushed for change.
The coroner’s inquest brought care, truth, and dignity. The inquest brought me warmth in that the coroner also wanted to see change.
Her report called for clearer national guidelines for paediatric bone marrow biopsies to avoid tragedies like Amelia’s. The British Society for Haematology listened.
‘Millie’s Method’ was born and is a call for national clinical standards: better communication, clearer protocols, and safer practice when it comes to invasive procedures in children. It’s a universal method to bring practices around bone marrow biopsies up to standard.
I truly believe that Millie’s method would have prevented her death.
These changes are not complex. It’s common sense. And it’s something I’ll fight for as long as I live.
Millie’s Method is a way for Amelia to go on protecting and caring for others – just as she always did. It’s my way of making sure she’s never forgotten.
Three years on, Addenbrooke’s still hasn’t apologised. They still haven’t answered the questions they promised they would. They’ve treated me like I don’t exist and like Amelia didn’t matter.
But she did. And she always will.
Burying your child is something no parent should ever have to do. Wanting the ground to swallow you so you can shelter her from the dark – that’s a kind of pain that doesn’t leave.
I’m not a doctor. I’m a dad.
But I know who my daughter was – and I know what she deserved. She was brave, funny, and endlessly kind.
Her death cannot be in vain.
A Cambridge University Hospitals NHS Foundation Trust spokesperson said:
‘We have already taken action to improve the safety of this procedure to ensure this does not happen again. We remain deeply saddened by Amelia’s death and reiterate our sincere condolences and apologies to her family.’
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing James.Besanvalle@metro.co.uk.
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