Genetic Twin E-Book

Jana Kleinkes

• Herausgeber: epubli
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 180

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

A proverb says: No person was in your life without a reason. One is a gift, the other a lesson. But a man we've never met that we may never meet be both for us. An asset and a lesson. For Lillian, this story, her story, begins with a dream in which an angel appears to her and she is convinced that she is the only person is that can save another person's life. This book is about organ donation. In this particular case, the bone marrow donation.

Leseprobe

GENETIC TWIN

Jana Kleinkes

Impressum

Texte:

© Copyright by Jana Kleinkes

Umschlag:

© Copyright by Jana Kleinkes

Verlag:

Jana Kleinkes

Postfach 10 02 35

46252 Dorsten

Druck:

epubli - ein Service der neopubli GmbH, Berlin

Foreword

Although inspired by true events, this story is fiction with fictional characters. Similarities are neither intended nor intended.

English is not my mother tongue. I hope you will enjoy the story.

Thanks

I would like to thank everyone who supported me with my personal bone marrow donation.

In particular, I would like to thank the medical team and nursing staff, the DKMS for the good and very compe-tent care, as well as my family and my work colleagues for their support throughout the entire process.

Chapter 1

Perhaps her thoughts were selfish considering that another human being was suffering so much.

Still, she couldn't, no, didn't want to let go.

In a far too fast-moving world, in a society in which any-one can be replaced at any time with frightening ease, the-se thoughts seemed entirely justified to her.

After all, everyone thinks only of themselves in one way or another.

If she died today, who would notice?

Who would mourn for her?

Notice? Maybe her employer because a worker was mis-sing.

Mourn? No, no one would really mourn. One or the other person from your environment would probably be de-pressed, but for how long?

Oh, no, she wasn't depressed. no way.

She was realistic.

She knew her worth and did not despise it.

She knew she was loved. From heaven and its creator himself.

No one would sacrifice so much just to be close to her. Perhaps she would dare? Although, no, if she were really honest, she herself would not sacrifice any of her children (if she had any) for another person. Himself under the circumstances, but not a child.

Her personality was introverted. Introverted, as the saying goes.

Creative, well-read. The soul of an artist.

People had hurt her many times before.

Of course, how could it be otherwise.

Making mistakes and hurting others, sometimes with in-tent, sometimes without, is human.

Sometimes she just couldn't take it anymore.

She no longer wanted to be lied to, exploited and betrayed.

It hurt and her soul already wore one or the other scar. No, actually a lot of scars, it had to be enough, otherwise she would perish from it.

Take a deep breath, she told herself as she closed her eyes, hiding the hazel soul-mirrors from the world that contai-ned and beyond which there was so much more than the world would accept.

Someone could see if they took the time, but who took the time?

A thousand ideas, memories, images and thoughts raced through her mind, leaving an odd mixture of feelings that didn't want to fit together and yet did.

Grief, already nauseating and casting a dazed veil over her mind, was embraced by a dizzying joy.

Anger, fueled by helplessness, twirled hopeful euphoric sparks across an imaginary dance floor and amidst it all emerged images of her childhood, education and dreams of the present and future. But she couldn't name any of the pictures exactly, they were far too unclear and intangible for that because they had gone by too quickly.

No, if she wanted to see a little more clearly, to calm her heart and mind, she would have to start at the beginning.

Unroll the story from the beginning.

It had started eight months ago.

Dreams of suffering people had haunted her.

At first she thought that everyday life now accompanied her into her sleep.

She saw people like that every day. Eight, nine, ten hours, sometimes more.

I had chosen this path and the associated pictures myself seven years ago.

People came to a hospice to die.

Long suffering was usually the path previously walked.

The first steps into this world of misery had been sheer horror and yet she felt called to stand by the side of the dying. To help them in the last days of their lives, physical-ly but even more so mentally.

It wasn't always easy.

Just last week, an elderly man had spat in her face in un-bridled anger at the fact that she wore a gold cross around her neck.

It had slipped out from under her smock as she bent slightly over him to take the man's blood pressure, who couldn't even get out of bed.

"What kind of God is that who allows me to suffer like this!?!" he had stormed just moments before the attack, in which he spat on her.

"The same one who gave his son for you, who loves us, his children, and doesn't want them to be bad either. He wants to be your friend and father, even though you might not be able to see it anymore."

When she had to wash her face barely two minutes later, the anger simmered subliminally for just a moment.

This poor man was suffering. The anger fueled by despe-ration made him say and do things he might not otherwi-se have done.

The cancer ate through him and had almost defeated him.

He resented the humans and God and probably himself too, considering the fact that he was doomed to incapacity and could only wait before the black shadow that snuffs out the lights of life would pass him too.

Cancer.

A terrible curse, in their eyes.

Known for thousands of years since the Psalmist and King David knew it. She interpreted his words like this: put on like a robe (skin), penetrated like water (organs) and oil into the bones (bones). (*Psalm 109, verse 18)

She didn't know if it was true, but she thought she read exactly that from his words.

Now she would face that curse.

She had seen people die, in her own life, mostly at work, but now also in dreams.

In the morning she tried to shake off the night's memo-ries, which proved difficult when she was confronted with similar images at work just a few hours later. And then came that one night that would change everything forever.

She had already gone to bed with a queasy feeling, hoping that night to be spared before she closed her eyes and drifted away into a world where nothing seemed impos-sible.

The aisle she walked seemed unnaturally long, and though she moved, she didn't move. Not really anyway.

The doors on her right and left remained closed to her. They did not reveal what was behind them and the back-ground noise did not indicate what was happening there.

The walls were painted white, and not even pictures broke this sterile, cold impression. Usually in the hallways of clinics there were always pictures of landscapes or some-times modern art, depending on the situation. Just so as not to lower the mood of the patients even further and it was much warmer in her hospice anyway - painted walls and a homely atmosphere - or the attempt to create one were common in these facilities.

Eventually she passed a long mirror, the only splash of color, even if it was silver, it was at least a break in that infinite unnatural whiteness. Lillian caught a glimpse of herself and realized that she had probably put on a few pounds in the last year, but they looked really good on her. Now she didn't seem so emaciated and sickly. The only thing that bothered her was the pallor that women of by-gone days would have envied when it was still modern.

But even the artificial sun from the solariums didn't help much. The only thing that kept her looking healthy for at least a few weeks was the tan she got on the beaches of the Mediterranean.

"The air is different there," her grandmother always said.

She realized she had stopped when she sensed someone else's presence. She turned to the man and reali-zed...sensed that he wasn't human.

His whole charisma, his demeanor, somehow everything didn't suit a person, or any person she had ever met.

His aura was friendly and warm, and despite the hearty smile on his lips, she knew he had a seriousness she hadn't known before. She had already met quite a few people who were said to have just that. Sometimes given from time immemorial, sometimes only shaped by the experiences of life.

Her counterpart was tall and tanned. Black hair and eyes as dark as coals, though on the other side they twinkled like stars on a moonless night.

"Come."

Goose flesh!

Such a voice...

It was said that her voice was soft and pleasant. reassuring.

Often an advantage in her job, but this man's voice was deep and velvety.

Flattering. Downright aesthetic.

He turned to go and she followed him in silence.

Without any fear.

She knew she had nothing to fear, he wouldn't harm her.

She knew. Feel it inside her. Added to this was an urge to give in to what he had asked of her.

"Come". Only one word. But it seemed to say more, to ask for more.

A noise she hadn't paid any attention to before caught her attention.

The tapping of bare feet on the cold stone.

Her gaze turned down.

Indeed. Bare feet that didn't want to go with the rest of the man's appearance. No, his clothes reminded her more of a university professor.

With a white shirt and vest over it, dress trousers and all in all, not really as smooth anymore as if it had just been ironed. Maybe, she thought, but only too much in old clichés.

But she couldn't think about it for long, because he spoke to her again.

"Lillian. Why are you here?"

"I don't know that."

"Are you sure?"

"Er, yeah? Should I know why I'm in this strange place?"

"Strange... that's what you feel when you walk down these hallways. Are they that strange to you?"

"Not even in a clinic it's so... white."

A soft, soft laugh reached her ears.

"Is that so? Do you think that the people who come to you still have an eye for the art prints on the walls. Tell me girl, why did you become a nurse and go to a hospice. People your age, are You just turned 25 yourself shouldn't have to deal with death like that."

She puffed out her cheeks angrily.

"I do what I have to do." She looked away, didn't want to look at him, didn't want to meet his eyes.

"I always wanted to help people and became a nurse... But the usual work on a ward, in any hospital was not for me. I like being where I am today, even if many people can't understand that I actually love working in a hospice, I feel called to it and I value my life, life itself, perhaps more than most people would."

"Yes, that's how it is. However, you shouldn't forget that everything has its time. Weeping, laughing, being born and dying, planting and uprooting the planted, arguing and peace, silence and that Speeches and also your time in this hospice.

A time of change will come. You shouldn't close your mind to it and in the long run, your work there could de-stroy you. you are too soft You don't have enough dis-tance."

"It's not like I'm a dying attendant. I'm a nurse!"

"And still. It is what it is … But that's not why you're her-e."

"Then tell me why!"

"We are there."

Lillian's eyes turned to the front. She had hardly paid at-tention to her way and was now standing in front of a large, dark brown door.

Larger than doors usually were, with intricate carvings and the doorknob looked like it was made of gold.

"You've had dreams for the past few weeks, haven't you?" he addressed his companion again.

"Yes, yes. That's normal too," she replied, confused.

"I mean your dreams in which people suffer.

Cancer patients, right?"

She nodded silently, pursing her lips.

Somehow she felt bad. Strangely dull.

"I thought I took something home from work, even though I didn't expect that to happen again.

And my sub-conscious worked it out for a while."

"Do you believe that?", he paused for a moment, "No, you should have looked more closely and listened to your-self. Since you didn't recognize it, it will now be shown to you."

He opened the door at the end of the corridor.

The heavy wood gave way easily and almost silently, allo-wing a view of the room beyond. To her right, a large window front. As you approached, you realized that they must be in a very high place. Too tall for an ordinary buil-ding, too tall for a skyscraper. This building broke through the clouds so that one could look down at the cloud cover and above was a kindly warm sun in an endless blue sky.

Grandeur and a sense of freedom flooded Lillian's mind. It was so wonderful.

The cold window glass under her fingers and a cool bree-ze that gently stroked her skin made her shiver.

"Lillian, turn around and see."

Shifting her gaze over to the opposite wall, she saw three large mirrors.

Definitely as big as a cloakroom mirror, although no, not really. They weren't quite as long, but a bit wider in very filigree, silver frames. Handwork, laboriously worked. Very noble. Almost too perfect and yet just right. Nothing else or anything like it would match this reflective, shimmering glass.

But the mirror surface looked strange.

As Lillian approached, she saw swirls in it, like clouds or smoke.

Yes, that's how she could describe it. A year ago, when she flew through a cloud cover in an airplane, she saw a similar game.

But with every step, the images behind the initially opaque layer became clearer. They gained more outline, color and came alive.

Three mirrors.

Three lives.

Mirror number one revealed a life rich in experience.

A gentleman, already at an advanced age.

He tinkered.

He worked.

He cheered.

"So close! So close to the goal!" he exclaimed euphorically and his heart swelled with joy.

With his knowledge he would change the world.

He would make her better.

But then, so exhausted, he had to sit down.

He looked ill, pale and slightly swollen.

Reaching for a glass of water and a box of pills.

Choked down some and shook himself.

Disgusting!

Mirror number two opened up a life of love.

Love that perhaps only a mother gives to her children.

A young mother, with a soft, warm, protective gaze.

Her children, three in number, played and romped.

Laughed and jumped. giggled and snorted.

"My life! My life is these children!", she spoke affectio-nately and her heart was wide open.

With her love she would change the world.

She would make them better.

But then... so exhausted, she needed to rest.

And the stupid nosebleeds that just wouldn't stop.

In general, she's had a few problems with it lately.

Wounds that bleed for a long time, bruises and such.

Maybe she should see her doctor after all?

Mirror number three revealed a life full of possibilities.

Such a young life.

What a sweet child! With such big blue eyes and such cute dark curls! How old might the little one be? Four or maybe five?

An adorable little dress and a teddy on her arm.

Almost too cute.

"I can be anything! I can be anything I want when I grow up!" she babbled happily.

With her energy and her happiness she would change the world.

She would make them better.

But then … so exhausted, she had to be in Mama's arms.

It was safe, secure, so comfortable.

The worried look remained hidden from her. The nagging fear that was already beginning to torment her parents was completely alien to her.

Lillian stepped back from the mirrors.

"Why are you showing me this?" she asked, slightly in-secure.

"Because you have to make a decision," the person asked replies soothingly and his dark eyes seemed to shine through her. He seemed so surreal in this scene, yet he was the most tangible presence, most natural, despite being barefoot. He cleared his throat briefly before starting to speak again.

"All these people share the same fate. The same illness. If nobody helps them, they will die. I don't think I have to explain to you what this death looks like. You know the perils and also the horrors of this suffering. Blood cancer. What I want from you now, or rather demand, is to decide which of these three should live on."

"Please, what?! You're not serious! I can't decide some-thing like that. How should I …", she gestured wildly with her hands "It's not like one of the lives weighs more heavily than the other two. ME WON'T DECIDE THAT!"

"You have to, if you refuse, all three will be dead before the end of this year."

"I can't decide that and I don't want to either. Can't you understand that? Each of them, if I understand it correctly, each of them can change the world for the better. How am I supposed to weigh in, whose actions , thoughts, words are more important than those of others?

Children need their mother. A whole life still unknown before the eyes of a child who does not yet know guilt. A technology or whatever that makes our life easier, maybe saves it.

How am I supposed to vote?"

Desperation began to choke her throat. Helplessness brought tears to her eyes. Why was she asked to do some-thing like that?

She couldn't decide, and anyone who asked her to do so was heartless.

But the look she was given remained hard.

Then there was hope. Just a tiny glimmer of hope.

Maybe if one of those three had more time than the others and you started with the person who was running out of time, he'd trade with him?

"You can forget that. You don't have to think about how you can change my mind. What happens is not in my hands. I have no influence on it and trading is out of the question. It is how it is, decide. "

"I...I can't do this.", and the first tears began to flow.

"You did that a long time ago," came the melancholy ans-wer. "Remember that you only ever dreamed about leu-kemia, not other types of cancer, although they can be at least as cruel as this kind. You woke up with the urgent need to do something, but pushed everything away from you and now... ", he let the sentence end openly.

"Now what? All three will have to die because of me!"

"No, none of them will, but there is someone else and only you can prevent their death. You know what you have to do.

Now wake up."

Chapter 2

Lillian was startled from her sleep with her heart pounding and her skin clammy.

It had only been a dream.

But it had seemed so real to her in a bizarre way.

What time might it be?

Everything was still dark outside.

She cautiously felt for the lamp on her bedside table.

The light blinded her and only after blinking a few times was she able to focus on the alarm clock to see that it was only four in the morning.

Much too early to get up, but she wouldn't be able to sleep anymore. She was too upset to find the rest she needed now.

The covers were thrown aside, legs swung over the edge of the bed. stretch once. But her arms fell limp at her sides again.

She got up clumsily and shuffled into the bathroom.

"Uh, you look awful!" It crossed her mind as she caught sight of her reflection.

In a fit of childish mischief, she stuck her tongue out at her reflected image, turned around in the tiny room—a windowed shoebox might be a more appropriate term—and turned on the shower.

The warm water that pelted down on her was like a pleasant summer rain, washing away the nauseous feeling of the night and the dream, but the memory remained and with it the need to finally do something. This time she wouldn't ignore the feeling.

It was a more than unusual time for her when she pressed the start button on her PC and let the system start up.

She hadn't blow-dried her hair yet, so a few drops fell onto the desk and the keyboard, which she nervously wiped away with the sleeve of her bathrobe.

She was online quickly, checking her e-mails first as usual, nothing earth-shattering, before using a search engine to find the site for the bone marrow donor file.

One click and she found the information she was looking for as a potential donor. Another click and she could even register online.

She briefly surveyed all the necessary conditions and reali-zed that she was generally allowed to donate. One more click and enter some personal data.

It had been easier than she thought, and what was even better, she wouldn't even have to go for a blood draw. A couple of cotton swabs were sent to her so that she could be typed. The options were really cool. Modern medicine seemed more and more like a miracle.

Now she could lean back for a moment before she would return to her everyday life.

She turned on the TV to catch the first news. After some searching, she actually found a station that was already showing a morning show on the screen.

*

14 days.

14 days had passed and nothing had happened.