15years ago, in the dead of night, a nurse rushed into the oncall ward from the admissions corridor.
Critical paediatric case in Theatre2! she shouted.
I was already there; the trauma team had gathered around a small operating table where a sixyearold girl lay. While I was donning my scrubs and checking the sterile tray, the nurse filled me in.
A car had collided with a family of four on the M25: father, mother and twin childrena boy and a girl. The girl, Emily Thompson, had taken the worst hit; the impact struck the right rear side of the car, exactly where she was seated. The parents and her twin brother, Jack, escaped with only scrapes and bruises and were treated at the scene.
Emily suffered multiple fractures, bluntforce injuries, lacerations and massive blood loss. Within minutes the blood results arrived, and with them the grim news that we had no type3 positive blood on hand. Time was ticking. We urgently typed the parents blood. The father, David, was type2; the mother, Sarah, was type4. We recalled that Jack, being a twin, would most likely be type3.
They were sitting on a bench in the waiting area, mother sobbing, father pale, Jack staring in despair. His shirt was splattered with his sisters blood. I knelt beside him so our eyes met at the same level.
Your sister is badly hurt, I said gently.
Yes, I know, Jack choked, rubbing his eyes with a fist. When we crashed, she hit her head hard. I held her on my knees; she cried, then stopped and fell asleep.
If you want to save her, we need to take some of your blood for her, I told him.
He stopped crying, looked around, took a deep breath and nodded. I motioned for the charge nurse.
This is Aunt Maggie, I introduced her. Shell take you to the procedure room and draw the blood. Shes very skilled, it wont hurt much.
Alright, Jack whispered, drawing a long breath and turning to his mother. I love you, Mum. Youre the best. Then to his father: And you, Dad, I love you too. Thanks for the bike.
Aunt Maggie escorted him to the procedure room while I sprinted to Theatre2. After the operation, when Emily was being transferred to intensive care, I returned to the oncall ward. I noticed our small hero curled up on a cot beneath a blanket, having rested after the blood draw. I went over to him.
Wheres Emily? he asked.
Shes sleeping. Shell be fine. You helped save her.
And when will I die?
Not anytime soon, ladonly when youre very old.
At first I didnt grasp the weight of his question, then it clicked. Jack had believed that the moment his blood was taken he would die, so he was saying goodbye to his parents, convinced his sacrifice was imminent. He truly gave his life for his sister.
It was a genuine act of bravery.
All these years I still get gooseflesh when I recall that night. It taught me that courage isnt the absence of fear; its the decision to act despite it.
