Men are born.
About fifteen years ago, in the middle of a night shift, a sister from the admissions ward bursts into our surgical ward.
Critical patient in Theatre Two!
Im already there, the team assembled, a sixyearold girl lying on the table. While I scrub in and put on my gloves, the nurse fills me in.
A car crash has involved a family of four: a father, a mother and twin childrena boy and a girl.
The girl, Emily, takes the worst hit: the impact lands on the right rear door where she was seated.
The parents and her twin brother, Jack, escape with only scrapes and bruises; they receive firstaid on site.
Emily suffers multiple fractures, blunt force injuries, deep lacerations and massive blood loss.
A few minutes later the lab reports a critical findingthere is no typeOpositive blood left in the bank. The clock is ticking; Emily is critical, with minutes to spare. We rush to test the parents blood. David is typeA, Sarah is typeB. Jack, of course, is typeO.
They sit on a plastic bench in the admissions area. Sarah sobs, David looks pale, and Jack stares at the floor, his shirt stained with his sisters blood.
I step up to him, crouch so our eyes meet.
If this is your blood type, youve got a chance at a long life, I say.
Your sister is badly hurt, I add.
Yes, I know, Jack hiccups, 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.
You want to save her? Then we need to take some of your blood for her.
He stops crying, looks around, takes a deep breath and nods.
I signal to the nurse.
This is Aunt Lucy. Shell take you to the procedure room and draw the blood. Aunt Lucy is brilliant at it; it wont hurt much.
Alright, Jack says, inhaling deeply, then turns to his mother. I love you, Mum. Youre the best. He then faces his father. And you, DadI love you. Thanks for the bike.
Aunt Lucy leads him to the procedure room while I dash to Theatre Two.
After the operation, when Emily is finally moved to intensive care, I head back to the ward.
I notice our little hero lying on a cot under a blanket in the procedure room. Aunt Lucy has let him rest after the draw.
I sit beside him.
Wheres Emily? Jack asks.
Shes sleeping. Shell be fine. You saved her.
And when will I die?
Not anytime soonmaybe when youre very old.
At first I dont get the question, but then it clicks.
Jack thinks hell die the moment his blood is taken, so he says goodbye to his parents, convinced hes about to perish.
He truly sacrifices himself for his sister. Can you imagine the bravery? Its the real deal.
Decades later, I still get goosebumps every time I recall that night.
