15years ago, on a cold November night, a nurse burst into the oncall ward of StThomas Hospital, her shoes slapping the linoleum as she shouted, We have a critical patient in Theatre2! I was already there, the trauma team assembled, and a sixyearold girl lay on the table waiting for us. While I was scrubbing in and donning my sterile gown, the nurse filled me in.
A car crash had involved a family of four travelling from Brighton to London. The parents, Edward and Margaret, and their twinsArthur and Berylhad been hurled into the wreck. Beryl had taken the worst blows; the impact struck the right rear side of the car, the very spot where she was seated. Edward, Margaret and Arthur escaped with only scratches and bruises, and they had already received first aid at the scene.
Beryl suffered multiple fractures, bluntforce injuries, lacerations and a massive loss of blood. Within minutes the laboratory called with the results: we had no typeBpositive blood left, and her condition was direevery minute counted. We rushed to typeandcrossmatch the parents. Edward was typeAnegative, Margaret typeABpositive, and, as we recalled, Arthurbeing a twinwas typeBpositive, the exact match we needed.
They were seated on a bench in the reception area, Margaret sobbing, Edward pale as a sheet, and Arthur staring at the floor, his shirt spattered with his sisters blood. I knelt beside him so our eyes were level.
Your little sister is badly hurt, I said gently.
Yes, I know, Arthur choked out, rubbing his eyes with his fist. When we crashed, she hit hard. I held her on my knees; she cried, then she stopped and fell asleep.
If you want to save her, we need to take some of your blood for her, I explained.
Arthurs tears halted. He looked around, drew a shaky breath and nodded. I gave a subtle signal to the nurse.
This is Aunt Sally. Shell take you to the procedure room and draw the blood. Shes very good at itwont hurt a bit, I told him.
Alright, Arthur whispered, inhaling deeply. He turned to his mother. I love you, Mum. Youre the best. Then to his father. And you, Dadthanks for the bike.
Aunt Sally escorted him to the theatre while I raced to Theatre2. After the operation, when Beryl had been transferred to intensive care, I returned to the oncall ward and saw our little hero lying on a cot in the procedure room, a blanket tucked around him. Sally had let him rest after the blood draw.
Wheres Beryl? he asked.
Shes asleep. Shell be fine. Youve saved her.
And when will I die?
Not anytime soon, lad. Youll live long enough to grow old, I replied.
At first I didnt grasp the weight of his question, but then it clicked. Arthur had believed that giving his blood would be his last act, that he would die the moment the needle was in his arm. He had said goodbye to his parents, certain he was sacrificing his own life for his sisters. The bravery of that beliefof a boy willing to lay down his life for a siblingis something I still feel a chill down my spine whenever I recall it.
Years have passed, yet the memory of that night still sends a shiver through me. It taught me that courage can appear in the smallest of bodies, and that love, when expressed without hesitation, can become the most genuine heroic deed. I carry that lesson forward: never underestimate the power of a childs selfless love.
