David Tennant

David Tennant

27 November 2019

It was my first day on a new job, filming a drama for ITV in London. It had been a long time in the planning and development. I’d been talking to the director about it for around four years and we were finally on set. It was based on a true story; many books had been read, witnesses interviewed, documentaries consumed. I was all set to go deep for a few intense weeks of filming. Long days at work all wrapped up in my own, ever so slightly indulgent, process. We were about an hour in when my wife called.

‘Nothing to worry about but I’m just running the baby to the hospital. She had a bit of a temperature and the GP has insisted we get her checked out.’

I could hear the sigh of inconvenience in Georgia’s voice at this jobsworth doctor forcing her to take time out of her hectic-enough life to go down to Chelsea and Westminster on a cold Wednesday evening. This was our fifth child; we knew an overreaction when we came across one. I went back to work and didn’t feel particularly concerned.

Through the evening, the calls got a little more alarming. I kept filming as best I could, but as the night wore on I got more and more distracted, as our seven-week-old baby did not get quickly discharged from hospital.

Emergency childcare was hastily called upon. Who could cover the school run? Is the baby staying in overnight? What’s going on? When I was done at around midnight I went straight to the hospital and suddenly the new job felt a lot less important.

The week that followed is a bit of a blur. I would leave hospital to go filming but all my good intentions about being deep in character evaporated in a fuzz of real life. I just had to get through each day to get back to the hospital. The drama wasn’t pretend any more.

When it was all over my wife wrote this on social media:

Last Wednesday my NHS GP sent my baby to A&E after spiking a high temperature. Eyes rolling at this seemingly over-the-top reaction, reluctantly I trudged along, mildly coughing child in tow, to my nearest NHS hospital. We were seen within 10 minutes. After being checked over by 2 ‘over the top’ NHS nurses and another 2 ‘over the top’ NHS doctors, the now slightly lethargic baby was admitted. What ensued over the subsequent 6 days will haunt me forever but now back home, on the sofa, my baby tube-free and pink again I take away one thing; our NHS is magic. An underfunded, understaffed and under threat sort of magic. Full of amazing people whose ‘over the topness’ puts people back on sofas together. I can’t thank you enough NHS and from now on my family will do all it can to help keep you together. Just as you did for us.

To live in a country where we can take remarkable, life-saving care so utterly for granted that we can find being so looked after almost inconvenient is a luxury and a privilege I will forever be grateful for. Our baby is fine now – she won’t remember anything of her week in high dependency. But we will never forget it.

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