15November2025
StThomas Hospital, London
Tonight I was summoned to the nightward by a nurse from the reception area, breathless and urgent. We have a critical paediatric case in TheatreTwo, she shouted. By the time the emergency team had assembled, a sixyearold girl lay on the operating table, her tiny body already swathed in drapes. While we were washing our hands and donning sterile gloves, the charge nurse briefed me on the crash.
A car collision had involved a family of four: the parents, Margaret and Arthur, and their twin children, James and his sister, Poppy. The impact struck the rearright side of the vehicle, the very spot where Poppy was seated. Margaret, Arthur and James escaped with only scrapes and bruises; they were treated at the scene. Poppy, however, suffered multiple fractures, blunt trauma, deep lacerations and massive blood loss.
Within minutes the first blood results arrived, and with them a grim revelation: we had no Opositive blood left in the bank. The situation was direPoppys condition was critical, minutes counting. We hurriedly typed the parents blood types into the system. Arthur was a secondtype donor, Margaret a fourthtype. The twins matching type, naturally, was the missing third.
They were sitting on a plastic chair in the waiting room. Margaret wept openly, Arthurs face was ashen, and James stared at the floor, his shirt stained with his sisters blood. I knelt beside him so our eyes were level.
James, I said gently, your sister has been badly hurt.
He sniffed, wiping his eyes with a clenched fist. I know, he choked. When we hit the hedge, she hit the window. I held her on my knees. She cried, then she stopped and fell asleep.
Do you want to save her? I asked. Then well need a bit of your blood for her.
His breathing steadied; he looked around, considered, then nodded. I motioned for Nurse Dawn, who was known for her calm demeanor and skillful draws. This is Auntie Dawn, I told James. Shell take you to the procedure room and collect a sample. Itll be quick and almost painless.
James took a deep breath, then turned to his mother. I love you, Mum. Youre the best, he said, his voice shaking. He then faced his father. And you, Dad, I love you too. Thanks for the bike.
Auntie Dawn escorted him to TheatreThree while I rushed to TheatreTwo. After the operation, once Poppy was transferred to intensive care, I returned to the nightward and found James curled under a blanket on a cot, finally given a moment to rest after his donation.
Wheres Poppy? he asked, his eyes wide.
Shes sleeping now. Shell be alrightyouve saved her, I replied.
And when will I die? he whispered.
I hesitated, then answered, Not anytime soon, lad. Youll grow old before that happens.
At first I didnt grasp the depth of his question. Then it clicked: James believed his life would end the moment his blood left his veins, that he was sacrificing himself for his sister. He was certain he would die, but his willingness to give everything for her was the purest act of bravery I have ever witnessed.
Years have slipped by, yet the picture of that small boy, clutching his mothers hand and whispering love to his father, still sends a shiver down my spine each time I recall it.
Lesson: courage isnt measured by grand gestures on the battlefield; it often lives in the quiet resolve of a child who offers his very life for a siblings breath.
