Fifteen years ago, on a rainslick night, a nurse burst into the oncall ward of StGeorges Hospital, breathless.
Critical patient in Theatre Two! she shouted.
I was already there, the trauma team assembled, a sixyearold girl already prepped on the table. While I scrubbed and donned my gloves, the details came in.
A fourperson family had been mangled in a motorway crash: the father, the mother, and twin childrena boy and a girl. The impact struck the righthand rear door of the car, where the girl was seated, and she bore the worst of it. The parents and her brother escaped with only scrapes and bruises, treated on the scene.
The girl suffered multiple fractures, severe blunt trauma, deep lacerations and a massive loss of blood. A few minutes later the lab returned a blood group report: we had no units of the thirdpositive type on hand. Time was bleeding away; she was critical and counted in minutes. We rushed the parents samples. The father was typeII, the mother typeIV, and the brothermiraculouslytypeIII.
They were huddled on a bench in the waiting room. Helen, the mother, wept openly; Mark, the father, was pallid; Jack, the boy, stared at the floor, his shirt spattered with his sisters blood. I knelt beside him, aligning my eyes with his.
If thats your blood type, youre guaranteed a long life, I said, trying to lighten the weight.
Your sisters been badly hurt, I added.
He hiccuped, rubbing his eyes with a clenched fist. I know. When we hit the tree, she was slammed hard. I held her on my knees, she cried, then she stopped crying and fell asleep.
Do you want to save her? I asked. Then we need to take some of your blood for her.
His sobs halted. He looked around, inhaled deeply, and nodded. I motioned for a nurse.
This is Aunt Sophie, I said. Shell take you to the procedure room and draw the blood. Shes very gentle; it wont hurt much.
Okay, Jack whispered, drawing a shaky breath. He turned to his mother. I love you, Mum. Youre the best. Then to his father. And you, Dadthanks for the bike.
Aunt Sophie led him away, and I raced to Theatre Two. After the operation, when the girl was being transferred to intensive care, I returned to the oncall ward. I found our little hero curled beneath a blanket on the recovery couch; Sophie had let him rest after the draw.
Wheres Emily? he asked, his voice hoarse.
Shes sleeping. Shell be fine. You saved her.
And when will I die?
Not anytime soon, ladmaybe when youre very old.
At first I didnt grasp the depth of his question, then it hit me. Jack had believed his own blood would be the price of his sisters life. He thought he would die the moment the needle went in, and hed say goodbye to his parents with absolute certainty. He had truly sacrificed himself for Emily.
It was a courage that still sends a shiver down my spine every time I think of that night.
