Tayla Richardson: Precious girl dies in Royal Children's Hospital medication bungle Cath and Jason Richardson's daughter, Tayla, died after she was accidentally given a massive drug overdose. MUMMY, I need hot chips. Trained chef Cath Richardson cringed when her daughter Tayla, 3, begged for McDonald's fries or hash browns for breakfast, but they seemed to satisfy the toddler's puzzling appetite. Tayla licked chocolate icing off cake, but left the rest. She'd devour red capsicum dipped in balsamic dressing, but baulk at pizza. While others guzzled soft drink, she'd sip water. The curious cravings finally made sense in May 2011. After Tayla vomited for three days, urgent tests revealed ammonia in her blood. Doctors feared she'd drunk poison. The truth was almost as hard to swallow: a rare metabolic disorder, somehow missed in newborn screening. The condition meant her body struggled to digest ­protein, and needed heaps of calories. Dietitians suggested, among other things, hot chips. "I was thinking I was a terrible mum, feeding her junk," Cath says. Actually, it was good for her. Once diagnosed, everything Tayla ate was carefully weighed and catalogued. Doctors inserted a gastric-nasal tube to deliver a special low-protein, high-kilojoule formula, and other medications. Problems flared, but seemed manageable and the Richardsons expected Tayla to reach her teens or beyond. Cath and Jason Richardson are suing the Royal Childrens Hospital after daughter Tayla died after she was accidentally given a massive drug overdose. Five times before her death, Tayla was admitted to the Royal Children's Hospital. Staff would inject a drug - arginine - to lower the dangerous ammonia levels. "Tottsy" would be back at her parents" home in the rolling hills of Piggoreet, southwest of Ballarat, within a few days, lining up her 26 Dora The Explorer DVDs in the lounge room as she decided which to watch. "My beautiful little girl," says Cath. She was just a normal, mischievous little girl. Tayla's sixth admission to the RCH emergency ward, on ­October 28, 2011, seemed as "normal" as the others ­before it. Doctors assessed her and, as before, prescribed arginine to bring down the ammonia levels. About 4.10pm, a nurse ­delivered 25mg through a drip. Cath and Jason were surprised she didn't perk up as she usually did after receiving the drug. Tayla Richardson's grave. "We didn't question anything," Cath says. You're in the hospital's hands, you trust the staff. Sheep and grain farmer Jason fretted as Tayla continued weakly throwing up, barely able to lift her head from the pillow. She whispered to him: "Sorry daddy, I love you daddy." The drip had been pumping through Tayla's 19kg body for more than four hours when the medication error was discovered at 8.40pm. Two nurses had separately miscalculated, and Tayla had received 10 times the correct dose. Cath remembers another nurse checking Tayla's records and saying: "No, no, no." There was a frantic whirl as staff readied a blood filtration machine in the intensive care unit. In ICU, doctors inserted a breathing tube, and everybody waited. For five days, the family stuck by Tayla's bedside. Stroking her hair. Bathing her. Cleaning her eyes. All the time thinking she'd pull through. Our other kids would sit up on the bed with her, talk to her. We were all just waiting for her to wake up," Cath says. But she wasn't going to. The Richardsons posed for a final family portrait: a tight black and white shot of their hands clasped around Tayla's. Cath with Tayla as a baby. Picture: Rob Leeson. At 5.34pm on November 2, Tayla died. Though the RCH admits the medication error, the ­Coroner is yet to make a finding on the cause of death. The lack of information eats away at Cath. "Hospital staff took us into a room and apologised to us," she says. And then we went home, without Tayla. They came home from hospital to find a cloud of Tayla's favourite butterflies ­flitting around the garden. "They were everywhere," Cath says. I've never seen anything like it. Tayla was buried on November 10, 2011, in a mining town cemetery that already knew too much about infant mortality, with her beloved stuffed toy "Lamby." Jason drives past every day to reach the family farm. Tayla Richardson. She's always in my mind. I always think about what kind of pain she was in after the overdose," he says quietly. He cuts the grass at the cemetery every second weekend. I just take the mower up. Keep things looking nice," he says. He, Cath and the couple's other kids, Jeremy and Molly, visit the grave regularly. "We'll take a footy, we do things up there ... to say "we're thinking of you,"" Cath says. The peace they find there helps when questions invade their minds. How could such an error happen? How can similar errors be prevented? The Richardsons hope a Supreme Court action launched by Maurice Blackburn Lawyers medical negligence specialist Kathryn Booth seeking compensation will help with answers. We don't want this to happen to any other child. It's not about money, it's about respect for Tayla," says Cath. Diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, she works three hours a day in the kitchen at a childcare centre. It's so busy, she doesn't often have time to gaze at them, but every so often she'll stop and watch. "I tell myself "yes, they are beautiful. Now just keep going."" Originally published as A precious little girl, lost too soon