My first two attempts at motherhood were tragedies. I had two stillbirths and narrowly escaped death both times. During the painful months of grieving that followed I felt that it had been necessary to lose the babies in order to keep my life. Two years later I was rewarded with a daughter, by adoption.

Our life together started when I was 28 and she was five months. Gayle's premature birth had meant constant medical care was necessary for several weeks. Consequently, she was as tiny at that age as most babies are at two months.

We never looked back. Gayle grew into a normal loving child. Some help was needed with her education so we spent half an hour together for five nights each week between the age of seven and nine. This provided the extra tuition to keep her on a par with her classmates.

There had been tears of frustration on both sides but from then on she progressed at the same rate as her peers. If she had an outstanding feature it was her love for small children. I prayed that fate didn't intend her to have problems similar to mine as she was born to be a mother above all else.

Her dad and I divorced when she was 13. However, we remained good friends and it was easy for her to maintain a happy relationship with both parents. A romance blossomed with her childhood sweetheart, Bill, around the age of 15. Gayle was approaching womanhood and I had to accept it.

In her early teens I had taken her to see our GP as she complained of pains in her legs. He decided they were "only" growing pains, something I didn't question as I had been thinking likewise. The condition didn't worsen until nine years later. She lost all zest for life, couldn't stay at work for a full day because of tiredness and didn't really care if she lived or died.

A lumber puncture was ordered as a last resort because countless tests had revealed no reason for the problems. Leukaemia was whispered around the hospital.

Months seemed to go by before results showed that it was not leukaemia, but there was a disorder in her white blood cells. Suddenly, blood was not just blood. The white cells called neutrophils were dying at an alarming rate and there was no medicine to stop the process.

When they had bottomed out they would rebuild themselves. What would happen if they disappeared altogether? Nobody dared to speak the thought even though it was foremost in our minds. The lumbar puncture revealed an additional alarming fact. Gayle had an extra chromosome.

At first this didn't seem to be a problem. At least she did not have leukaemia and that was all we needed to know for now. Then doctors stated that this extra chromosome could harm a foetus. Her medical history would indicate if it was male or female; an important factor as it was then possible to determine the extent of any disability.

Efforts were made to find the necessary information but, because of her adoption, none was available. She had been adopted before it had become a regular custom to record such details. Despite this, she remained adamant that she was not about to use the only method left open to us. She did not want to find her birth mother.

The pregnancy had not been revealed to her mother's parents and Gayle's appearance may upset many people's lives. If and when she married and became pregnant she would deal with it then.

Her wedding took place two years later. The dreaded words: "Mum, I'm pregnant," came almost two years after that.

Gayle and Bill had made their decisions before the baby had been conceived. There would be no amniocentesis test as risk to the unborn child was inevitable, and the baby may be perfect anyway. If there were any problems she would love the child just as much - and I knew this to be 100 per cent true - so what was the point? I had no answers to this question. It was her life and she was in charge.

The GP was informed as soon as Gayle was certain of the pregnancy and regular visits to the hospital were arranged for the 34 weeks that remained. A gynaecologist assured us that the blood disorder would not complicate the birth.

I still had my doubts and his words were not a great comfort to me. There was nothing to do but wait. Sure enough, she swept through those months in perfect health. The impending arrival of her very own baby kept her on cloud nine and she made her nest as snug as possible for him or her.

No question of being told whether it was a boy or a girl. It really didn't matter.

Bill cannot cope with hospital environments so I had been named as the birthing partner. That was fine by me. Being there would mean that I knew exactly what was going on. I wouldn't have to sit in a corridor for hours waiting to hear that my daughter had survived the birth.

The last four weeks caused much swelling in her arms, legs and face. Even this didn't dampen her spirits. My grandson then decided to claim another five days for himself after his due date; the security of the womb and the constant warmth obviously made the outside world appear to be a daunting place.

When he did make his entrance he found the job a little difficult but was finally in her arms.

Then the problems began. The placenta could not be delivered so it was necessary to call a doctor. The doctor sat at the bottom of the delivery table, shook his head from side to side, turned to the midwife and whispered something that I later learned was grave concern for the circumstances he found.

"Her blood disorder," was mentioned, then, "may cause a haemorrhage."

As soon as he placed his hands on her, blood splattered everywhere. No attempts were made to stop it in the delivery suite.

"Call the theatre. Tell them I am coming down now," were his only words.

Gayle and the medical staff disappeared leaving me with this baby who was just five minutes old in my arms, and a feeding bottle in my hand.

My mind raced round and round in circles. Did this beautiful little being who lay so peacefully in my arms mean that I would now lose my daughter? I had seen him enter the world. Witnessed my precious daughter doing something that I had been unable to do. Did fate intend yet again that I would have to lose something in order to gain something?

I put Dean into the cot (the name had already been chosen) and started down the corridor in the wake of the trolley, the spots of blood on the floor indicated the path they had taken. No! What on earth was I doing? The last thing Gayle would want was her new baby left alone in a room, somewhere he had never seen before.

Leave him unattended after the past three hours when he had needed to work so hard? That would be unforgivable. I had to go back. He was lying quietly in the cot exactly as I had left him. He looked small and so vulnerable. It was my duty to do what was expected of me and stay with him.

A member of staff came to see if we needed anything and tried to comfort me with the words: "At least you have a beautiful grandson."

What was the woman saying? Did she know something I didn't?

One hour and 10 minutes passed (it seemed like a lifetime) before someone came to tell me that Gayle was in the recovery room and it would be a good idea if Dean and I were there when she regained consciousness.

Drips and tubes seemed to invade every part of her body and she was stirring as we entered. When her eyes opened, there was a smile for me before her arms went out to take her baby and she whispered: "Thanks Mum. I knew Dean would be OK with you."