Men are born into the world of medicine.
Fifteen years ago, in the deadofnight, a nurse from the reception lounge burst into the oncall ward.
Critical patient in Theatre Two! she shouted.
I was already there, the team assembled, a sixyearold girl lying on the table. While I was scrubbing and donning my gloves, the details came in.
A car smash had ripped a family of four apart on the outskirts of Birmingham. Father, mother and twin children a boy and a girl. The girl suffered the worst: the impact hit the right rear door where she was seated. The parents and her brother escaped with only scratches and bruises, treated on the spot.
The little girl, Ethel, was riddled with fractures, blunt trauma, ragged wounds and massive blood loss. Within minutes the blood results arrived, and with them the grim news: we had no typeOpositive blood left. The clock was ticking. We rushed the parents samples. Fathers was typeOnegative, mothers typeApositive. Then we remembered the twin brotherhis sample was typeOpositive.
They were huddled on a bench in the reception lounge. Mother Helen sobbed, father Arthur was pale, and the boy, Tommy, stared at the floor, his clothes stained with his sisters blood. I knelt beside him, bringing my gaze level with his.
If you have this blood type, youre destined for a long life, I said, trying to lift the weight off his shoulders.
Your sister is badly hurt, I added.
Yeah, I know, Tommy choked, rubbing his eyes with a clenched fist. When we hit the tree, she took the worst blow. 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.
He swallowed his tears, looked around, breathed hard, and nodded. I motioned for the senior nurse.
This is Aunt Sue. Shell take you to the procedure room and draw the blood. Aunt Sue is the best at thiswont hurt a bit.
Okay, Tommy whispered, inhaling deeply, then reaching for his mother. I love you, Mum, youre the best. He turned to his father. And you, DadI love you. Thanks for the bike.
Aunt Sue led him away, and I raced to Theatre Two. After the operation, when Ethel was being shifted to intensive care, I returned to the ward. I saw the little hero lying on a cot in the procedure room, a blanket pulled over him. Sue had let him rest after the draw.
Wheres Ethel? he asked.
Shes sleeping. Shell be fine. You saved her.
And when will I die?
Not anytime soon, ladmaybe when youre an old man.
At first I didnt catch the weight of his question. Then it hit me. Tommy believed that giving his blood would be his death sentence, that he was saying goodbye to his parents. He was certain he would die. He had truly given his life for his sister. Do you see the magnitude of that sacrifice? It was the purest heroism.
Years have passed, yet every time I recall that night, a chill runs down my spine.
