My sister Eudora Ruskin had a physical examination at my hospital and was diagnosed with leukemia. My bone marrow happened to be a perfect match. Driven by a mischievous impulse, I told my family that I was the one who was sick. They unanimously objected. “Donating bone marrow is risky; we can’t let Eudora take that chance.” “Don’t drag your sister down with you. Life and death are in the hands of fate; you must accept your destiny.” Eudora herself flatly refused, using her pregnancy preparations as an excuse. The already fragile family bond was stripped of its last pretense. In that moment of painful clarity, I left the test results behind and severed ties with my family once and for all.
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