Men are born with a certain grit. About fifteen years ago, in the middle of a night shift, a nurse from the admissions ward rushed into the oncall area.
There’s a critical patient in theatre two! she announced.
I was already heading there; the surgical team was assembled, and a sixyearold girl lay on the table. While I was scrubbing in, the details came in.
A car crash had left a family of four badly hurt: the father, the mother, and their twinsa boy and a girl. The girl had taken the worst of it. The impact struck the right rear side of the car, where she was seated. The parents and her brother escaped with only bruises and scratches; they received firstaid at the scene.
The little girl suffered multiple fractures, bluntforce injuries, deep lacerations and massive blood loss. Within minutes the lab results arrived, together with the grim news that we didnt have any type3 positive blood available. Time was tickingher condition was dire. We rushed to test the parents blood. The father was type2, the mother type4. Then we remembered the twin brother; his type was, of course, the missing type3.
They were sitting on a bench in the admissions lounge. Mother sobbing, father looking waxpale, the boy staring with desperation. His shirt was splattered with his sisters blood. I knelt beside him so our eyes were level.
If you have this blood type, a long life is practically guaranteed, I said.
Your sister is badly hurt, I added.
Yes, I know, the boy sniffed, rubbing his eyes with a clenched fist. When we crashed, she hit hard. I held her on my knees; she cried, then she stopped and fell asleep.
Do you want to save her? Then we need to take some of your blood for her.
He stopped crying, looked around, took a deep breath and nodded. I motioned for a nurse.
This is Auntie Sue. Shell take you to the procedure room and draw the blood. Sues very gentle; it wont hurt at all.
Alright, the boy said, inhaling sharply, then reaching for his mother. I love you, Mum! Youre the best! He turned to his father. And I love you too, Dad. Thanks for the bike.
Sue led him away, and I sprinted to theatre two. After the operation, when the girl had been transferred to intensive care, I was heading back to the oncall area. I saw our little hero lying on a cot in the procedure room, a blanket pulled over him. Sue had let him rest after the blood draw. I went over.
Wheres Poppy? the boy asked.
Shes sleeping. Shell be fine. You saved her.
And when will I die?
Well not anytime soon, maybe when youre a very old man.
At first I didnt grasp his question, but then it clicked. The boy thought his own blood would be taken as his final act, that he would die right then, which is why hed said goodbye to his parents. He was convinced he was about to perish. He truly sacrificed his life for his sister. Do you understand the magnitude of that bravery? It was the very purest kind.
Years have passed, and every time I recall that night I still get gooseflesh down my arms.
