Over the last few months, Charlie Gard’s case attracted worldwide attention and divided opinion among politicians, religious leaders and medical specialists.



The only voices not heard so far are those of the staff in the intensive care unit at Great Ormond Street hospital (Gosh), some of whom received death threats.

Here, one of the team involved in Charlie’s care describes the agony of looking after a child with his rare condition. On the one hand, trying to help a family desperate to save their only child; on the other, the need for the hospital to do what it believed to be in his best interests.

I’ve been part of a team of 200 nurses, doctors and consultants who cared for Charlie Gard, not just doing all the medical interventions he required but also washing him, cuddling him, propping up his toys around his cot.

Like all of the staff who work in our unit, I loved this child to bits. But it got to the point where there was nothing more we could do.

Charlie Gard medic derides 'soap opera' that stoked abuse of hospital Read more

I know everyone working in intensive care would agree with me when I say that every child who comes through this unit is loved, but there are a few who take a piece of your heart with them when they leave.



Some who have wonderful parents, some who have sad stories, some who you just work so hard to save that when you can’t, it hurts your soul just a little bit.

It’s not just our job; it’s our whole reason for being to keep these children alive, to give them back to their parents with as great a quality of life as we possibly can.

We miss breaks, we stay late, we spend our days off researching and studying so that we can be better at what we do. We cry on the tube when we’re not winning. We dream of nothing else.

Have you ever really met a nurse or doctor who wants a child to die?

We didn’t want to lose Charlie, and we didn’t want his mum and dad to be without him, but it’s our job, our legal and moral obligation, to stand up for him and say when we think that enough is enough.

There are few people in the world who are more injured by doing that than someone who has chosen to work in intensive care; it’s not in our nature to stop fighting, but sometimes it’s just not the right thing to do any more.

My colleagues and I worked our hardest, tried everything, fought so hard for this family but there was nowhere else to go. It was obvious to all those people who treated him.

We gave him drugs and fluids, we did everything that we could, even though we thought he should be allowed to slip away in his parents’ arms, peacefully, loved.

We didn’t do this for Charlie. We didn’t even do it for his mum and dad.

Recently, we did this for Donald Trump and the pope, who suddenly knew more about mitochondrial diseases than our expert consultants.

And we did it for the keyboard warriors who thought it was OK to write about the “evil” medical staff at Great Ormond Street, even though we were still there next to Charlie, caring for him as best we could, as we always had.

We did it with every fibre of our being telling us that it was wrong, we should stop.

But we couldn’t.

Over the last few weeks, parts of the media and some members of the public turned a poorly baby’s life into a soap opera, into a hot legal issue being discussed around the world.

Working in the intensive care unit is like living in a bubble at the best of times, but this went too far. I used to be proud to tell people I work here, but not now. Even my friends have asked me: “Why are you trying to kill this child?”

That’s not what we do at Gosh. It’s not why we go into care. It upset my colleagues – I’ve watched them be affected.

The case has also had an effect on other families here. Parents are nervous, they worry that we might not do the right thing for their child. That worry is not based on the care we are giving; it’s based on what you have been saying about medical staff you have never met.

So next time you feel like commenting on social media about how awful we are, please try to remember how hard we work to stop children from dying every day; please try to remember that Charlie’s parents read those comments; please try to remember Charlie, who chose none of this.

You have contributed to the family’s pain, you have been fighting a cause you know nothing about. It’s not been helpful to anyone.

You will forget about Charlie, you’ll carry on with your life. His parents will live with this for ever. They will go over and over whether they made the right choices for their beautiful baby, whether they were strong enough to make those choices amid the fury of you watching a drama unfold from behind your screen.

The parents’ pain will be unimaginable, their loss immeasurable and incomparable.

But we will live with this for ever, too.