"Your son is one of the sickest kids we've ever had in intensive care," was what the nurse said to me after we had arrived in an ambulance, 20 minutes from Kingston Hospital to the Evelina in Westminster. The journey was the longest of my life. I had been told that my six-month-old son, my friend, my whole heart, was going to die. And I spent the whole time in the blue-lit vehicle wondering how on earth I would lift my wife from the black hole she was about to be plunged   into. The nurse who gave me that bad news was to become a great friend. She told me that the noise my son was making in the back of the ambulance was the sound that babies made before they died. There were many more horrible words and terms. But my son survived. It wasn't just George who endured. In the three weeks of his hospital stay, I slept 20 hours in total. My wife hardly slept. I lost over two stone in weight in the five days he was in intensive care. And we've been treating him for three years now. I have collapsed 20 times--the fear, the anxiety and exhaustion. Even now, we wake at least five times a night, often staying awake to treat him for as long as an hour. My son has Type 1 diabetes  . It's a little known condition. George had a simple, everyday virus. It caused his immune system to attack his pancreas. Now he needs constant insulin   to stay alive. I wanted to raise awareness for George's condition. I wondered how I could do it. I've run a couple of marathons. But a marathon was never really going to get people's attention the way I hoped. Two marathons, back to back? Maybe three? Could I do it? How much could I endure? I started running at the age of 19 when I thought my heart was broken. I couldn't cope with the pain and I went for a run. I kept on going for a run. Each time I came back, it would hurt a bit less. It wasn't so long before I had completely forgotten about my broken heart. But I couldn't stop running. I found that any stress, frustration, anxiety would reduce when I went out on the road. When we finally brought my son home from hospital, my wife told me I had to go for a run. She knew that I had not allowed myself to show the emotions I'd been feeling. I fought very hard not to break. It was my worst nightmare   playing out, but it was also my wife's. I did not want them to see the fear that I was feeling. When I got back from that first run, my wife simply said "Better?" and it was. I'm often asked how I motivate myself for running such distances. They assume I think about my son. But I can't really. If I did, I would weep the whole way round. The hard part of endurance running is mental. It's strange to choose an event that you will never win. The race will always be larger than the individual. And if you don't respect the distance, you will pay for it. The biggest mistake any long distance runner makes is to think about the finish line. Each time you do, the body falls apart. Actually, the brain falls apart. I know I can run two marathons. I also know that the third marathon will break me. And I will be staring at another sort of black hole. It will be then that I think of my son, and all that he endured and continues to endure every day. I know that I will start to think of giving up, the pain will be so great. My brain will fall to bits and my body will too. So I will picture my son. And I'll remember that he didn't give up. He never gives up. Why should I? The writer says he has collapsed 20 times because .
long distances of marathon made him worn out he has to stay awake every night to care for his son treating a sick son needs great efforts physically and mentally his son's condition is becoming more and more serious than expected