Born As Kidney Donor For My Sister

From the moment I was old enough to understand, I knew I existed for my sister. Even my name, Farah, was a wish my parents had for her — a hope that my birth would bring joy to the Allie.

Even my body and emotions belonged to her. More than once, my parents warned me: no junk food because it’s bad for the body, and if Allie saw it, she wouldn’t be happy. No roughhousing with other kids because I might get hurt, and that would upset Allie even more.

So, I never tasted food from outside, never had friends of my own. Although I was healthy, I was kept at home like her. Mom would say, “Whatever Allie is, you must be the same. Everything revolves around her.”

But how can a child resist temptation? I secretly collected bottles, saved enough money to buy a piece of fried chicken, but just as I was about to savor it, Mom appeared.

Right there, in front of passersby, she slapped me hard across the face. “How can you be so thoughtless? Didn’t I tell you not to eat outside food? What if you ruin your body? How will you help your sister get better then? Do you even want her to recover? How could I have raised such an ungrateful child?”

Ignoring my shame and near-collapse, she turned and left me there.

A little girl passed by, holding her mother’s hand, a freshly cooked drumstick in the other, happily sharing it with her mom. I looked at the drumstick my mom had thrown into the gutter, and tears streamed silently down my face.

Thinking of that, I suddenly longed to taste a drumstick, but since I’d just had surgery, I couldn’t have fried food. I sighed, realizing I might never get the chance.

Time passed, and Dad still hadn’t returned. I guessed my sister needed him, and once again, he had forgotten about me.

Desperately thirsty, I pressed the call button by my bed and asked the nurse to bring me a bottle of water.

Mom came in with the nurse, her face dark. She held back, not wanting to make a scene in front of the nurse.This content provided by N(o)velDrama].[Org.

“With family around, I hope you’ll pay more attention here. Both children are equally important; you can’t just care for one while the other can’t even get a drink of water,” the nurse said.

“Yes, yes, we’ll do better,” Mom apologized with a forced smile.

Once the nurse left, Mom turned around, filled a cup with water, and threw it in my face. “You said you were thirsty, so drink it now. And you had to call an outsider to criticize us? Do you feel wronged? Can’t you stop being so selfish? Your sister just had surgery and needs care the most. Put away your little tricks and emotions. If it happens again, don’t bother coming home!”

“But Mom, I had surgery too,” I tried to argue.

“You? You’re just missing a kidney. You still have another, don’t you? I know you’re pretending. You’re trying to take attention away from your sister, even knowing how fragile she is. How could you be so wicked? If anything happens to my precious Allie, you’ll go down with her,” Mom said and turned to leave.

“Mom, am I your daughter?” I propped myself up and called after her.

“Without Allie, you’re nothing. You should be grateful to her for any chance you have at happiness,” she replied, never turning around as she hurried out of the ward.

I collapsed back onto the bed, tears streaming from my eyes once more.

I had thought that if I grew up healthy and strong, gave my sister the best, healthiest kidney, I might earn my parents’ recognition and care, maybe even a little bit of their love.

But the truth proved otherwise. My sister remained their only priority. I was like a tool that had served its purpose, discarded and forgotten.

Like the palm and back of a hand, how can one be favored while the other is slighted? Yet, to them, I wasn’t even regarded part of the back.