Men are born.
Tonight a nurse from the admissions ward bursts into our oncall room.
Critical patient in theatre two! she shouts.
I stride over; the team is already assembled and a sixyearold girl lies on the table. While I dress and sterilise, the details come in.
A car crash has involved a family of four: a father, a mother and twin childrena boy and a girl.
The girl takes the worst hit; the impact strikes the righthand rear door where she was seated.
The parents and her brother escape with only scratches and bruises and receive first aid at the scene.
The girl suffers fractures, blunt trauma, lacerations and massive blood loss.
Within minutes the blood results arrive, together with the alarming news that we have no type3positive blood left. Its criticalthe girl is critical, every minute counts. We rush to test the parents blood. Father is type2, mother type4. We remember the twin brotherhe must be type3.
They sit on a bench in the waiting area. Mother sobs, father looks pale, the boy stares hopelessly, his clothes stained with his sisters blood.
I go to him, sit down so our eyes meet.
If you have that blood type, youre guaranteed a long life, I say.
Your sister is badly hurt, I add.
Yes, I know, the boy sobs, rubbing his eyes. When we crashed, she hit hard. I held her on my knees, she cried, then she stopped and fell asleep.
Do 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 gesture for a nurse.
This is Aunt Sarah. Shell take you to the procedure room and draw the blood. Sarah is very skilled; it wont hurt.
Alright, the boy exhales, reaching for his mother. I love you, Mum! Youre the best! Then he turns to his dad: And you, Dad, I love you. Thanks for the bike.
Sarah leads him away, and I race to theatre two.
After the operation, when the girl is being moved to intensive care, I head back to the oncall room. I notice our little hero lying on a cot in the procedure room, tucked under a blanket. Sarah has let him rest after the draw.
I sit beside him.
Wheres Emily? he asks.
Shes sleeping. Shell be fine. You saved her.
And when will I die? he asks.
Well not anytime soon, maybe when youre very old.
At first I dont grasp his question, then it clicks. The boy thought his own life would end once his blood was taken, so he was saying goodbye to his parents. He was convinced he would die. He truly sacrificed his life for his sister. Do you see the magnitude of his deed? The most genuine heroism.
Years have passed, and I still get goosebumps every time I recall that night.
