Back in 2014, I was healthier and happier than I’ve ever been. A mum of two, with a part-time job, my life was a whirlwind of activity. I didn’t smoke or drink too much, I ate well and was even training for a half-marathon.
So when my energy levels dropped in late December, and my muscles ached, I presumed it was just a cold. The flu, at worst.
‘You need to rest,’ my husband Brad, now 43, told me and offered to go out to buy me my favourite food, sushi, to cheer me up.
Miller, my eldest son, was out with a friend and I had my youngest, Hudson, at home with me. But after Brad had left, my breathing became shallow and laboured. Scared, I rang my doctor…
