Stories
Together forever
How could a bruise rip us apart?
Dear Roxanne,
Fingers outstretched, you had an outfit hanging from each one. ‘Try these,’ you beamed, herding me into the changing room. ‘And show me when you’ve got them on.’
‘Some things never change,’ I chuckled, closing the curtain.
Since you were 11 you’d helped me dress, do my homework and protect me from the sadness we’d suffered. When Mum died of cervical cancer when I was six, you took it upon yourself to fill her shoes, even called me your baby.
You did such a great job. With those skills, it was no wonder you’d become a carer for adults with dementia.
And now, even though I was 17, you still loved going shopping with me and picking out outfits. But when I appeared from behind the curtain, you’d disappeared!
‘Roxanne?’ I called.
‘In here,’ she replied. ‘I’m trying on that dress I saw.’
Seconds later, you appeared in a tight little black dress, but that wasn’t what made me double-take.
‘What are those marks?’ I frowned, pointing to what looked like bruises covering your back.
‘Blimey,’ you gasped. ‘I’ve no idea what they are.’
‘Maybe you should get them checked out?’ I suggested. Since Mum’s death, we hated doctors and hospitals – it brought back too many sad memories. But I still thought it would be a good idea.
You were referred for tests, but neither of us expected the letter that arrived two days later.
‘It’s marked urgent,’ you croaked. ‘They want to admit me into hospital.’
‘Why?’ I panicked.
We found out when you arrived.
‘You have aplastic anaemia,’ explained the doctor. ‘Your bone marrow’s stopped making new blood cells, and now you urgently need a bone marrow transplant. Otherwise…’
‘Otherwise?’ you prompted, like when we used to practise spelling.
‘Otherwise, it’s terminal,’ the doctor added sadly.
This couldn’t be happening, I couldn’t lose you, not after Mum. You were my rock – but maybe I could be yours, too.
‘I’ll be her donor,’ I blurted.
‘It’s a painful procedure,’ warned the doctor. ‘And there’s no guarantee that you’ll be a match.’
I took your hand, squeezed it tight.
‘I don’t care,’ I whispered. ‘Roxanne would do anything
for me, and I’ll do anything for her.’
Okay, I admit all those needles were horrid, but listening to me practising my two times table all those years earlier can’t have been easy, either!
And it was worth it to find I was the perfect match.
‘When this is all over, we’re going ice-skating,’ you promised. ‘On your birthday we’re painting the town red, too.’
‘My 18th’s three months away,’ I shrugged. ‘You focus on getting better first.’
That meant undergoing chemotherapy to kill off your faulty bone marrow before the transplant. By now you’d lost a stone in weight and seemed so frail, like a little girl. It was so sad how the tables had turned – me now looking after you, Roxanne.
But even when your gorgeous long brown hair started falling out, you stayed strong. ‘It’ll grow back,’ you shrugged.
After three months in hospital, it was time for you to be drip-fed my bone marrow. For the next few days all you seemed to do was sleep, but that didn’t stop me sitting by your bedside and chatting away.
It reminded me of the old times, when we’d sit in bed at night and you’d tell me everything you remembered about Mum. We never shared those memories with anyone, did we? They were ours.
As you slept, I redecorated your bedroom, too – duck-egg blue wallpaper with flowers. ‘It’s so pretty, I might move in myself,’ I teased when you woke up.
‘No way! I’ll be home before you get the chance,’ you laughed.
But five days after the transplant, you woke up screaming in pain. ‘Is her body rejecting my bone marrow?’ I panicked, as you were raced away for tests. But no one knew the answer.
It was hours before the doctor came to see me. ‘Is she okay? Can I see…’ I started. Then I saw the look of sadness in his eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said gently. ‘Roxanne’s caught an infection, and it’s perforated her bowel.
‘Normally we could operate but, so close after her transplant, she’d bleed to death,’ he added. ‘I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do.’
‘N-nothing?’ I croaked. He shook his head as I burst into tears.
I’d thought that my bone marrow had saved you, that I’d gone some way to repaying you for all the years you’d cared for me.
But there was no way I could protect you from this.
I couldn’t bring myself to tell you, Roxanne. You’d sheltered me from heartache when Mum died, and I needed to do the same now. You were so looking forward to getting better – maybe secretly I hoped willpower would be enough to save you.
‘Everything’s going to be fine,’ I soothed, echoing the word you’d said to me 11 years earlier. ‘I’m here for you.’
And I was, right to the end. A week after the operation, you took your final breath with me by your side. You were only 22.
‘I’ll always love you,’ I sobbed, as your hand slackened in mine.
The days that followed were a blur, like after Mum died – only you weren’t there to comfort me. My only comfort was knowing you and Mum were together again.
I threw myself into planning your funeral, chose a beautiful silk blouse and leggings for you to wear. I even did your hair and make-up, like you’d shown me when I was a kid. Packed your handbag with all the essentials _ hairbrush, perfume, phone and lipstick – and tucked it at your feet with a clean pair of pyjamas.
We played Whitney Houston at your wake, too. After all, you and Mum loved her songs.
Saying goodbye to you was so hard, but then I had to face my 18th birthday alone. How could I celebrate without you? Well, I decided to hold a benefit night in your honour and raise awareness for aplastic anaemia.
Now, five months on, I’m still heartbroken. You’re not only my sister, my second mum and my best friend, you’re my guardian angel, too. I promise to make you proud.
All my love, Natalie xxx
Natalie Archer, 18, Liverpool, Merseyside
Story search...
Story archive
Just added...
From chunky to hunky
Cuddly Colin was too roly-poly to...
read more...
The boy of steel
With his baby sister Holly to love,...
read more...
The great Moggy mystery
Just what was making all of our cats...
read more...
Most popular...
Quick reads...
No choccie, but life's so sweet!
I'm a reformed chocoholic...
read more...
Baa-ck from the dead!
My heart bleated for these poor sheep...
read more...
Brave undertaking
I've swapped cars for coffins...
read more...