I know I am writing this several years after the event, but I feel it needs to be on paper. I can't really remember much about it so bear with me.

Tim is my twin brother and we really are inseparable. We used to do everything together- we still do to be honest. We're at the same college doing similar courses. Tim's the clever one really- he wants to be a doctor like dad. I'm following in my mam's footprints and going down the midwifery route. We both support each other and we're trying to get into the same university so that we won't be apart. And I know it sounds wishy washy but it's because of what happened when we six.

December 2005 started off normally. Tim and I were looking forward to our seventh birthday and with what happened in July, we kinda had every right to be. We'd just got back from a trip to Aberdeen to visit Granny and Gramps when Tim complained that he wasn't feeling well. Mam and Pa said it was a cold and left it at that. Then on the morning of the 11th, I woke up early. I climbed down from the top bunk to see Tim curled up in a ball on the bed. Somehow, I just knew something was wrong. It's that weird thing that twins just know if something is wrong with the other one.

I rushed out of the room, along the landing to my parents' room. It was dark inside, and I just remember rushing into their room and shaking the bed covers until they woke up.

"Mam! Mam! Something's wrong with Tim!" I cried desperately.

Mam sat up in an instant. She shook my pa. "Patrick. Something's wrong with Timothy." Pa took a while to wake up, he'd been on call all night and had got in a few hours earlier.

"What time is it?" he asked, blearily.

Mam looked at her clock. "A little after six," she replied and began to put on her dressing gown.

"Mam!" I insisted. "Something really is wrong!" and I went back to my room.

A few minutes later, my parents came into our room. I had curled up next to my brother, holding him close.

"Tim? It's your mum. Can you hear me?"

When he didn't respond, she came closer. All of Tim joints were stiff and he was clammy. What they had believed to be a cold was in fact Polio and it was Pa who confirmed that.

Mam cried out: "Patrick! Come here!"

Pa came sprinting into the room and he saw his six-year-old son on the bed. "Call an ambulance." He instructed mam and she went.

Pa examined Tim all over before looking at me. "Come on Katie. Let's get you out of the way."

Despite all that was going on, he was calm and collected and he looked at me with kindness in his eyes. When I refused to move, he picked me up and placed me in my bed. He then looked at his son.

"Tim?" he said. "Timothy, can you hear me?"

There was no answer.

"Timothy, come on, sit up for me please?"

"I…can't…" murmured Tim weakly.

Dad placed his hand by Tim's foot. "Can you wiggle your toes for me Tim?" he asked.

Tim didn't move.

Tears began to fall down Dad's face. My father was and still is one of those men who never show you how they feel. This is the only time I have ever seen him cry.

Mam was back in the room now. "An ambulance is on its way. I told them that you were a GP and an ex-medical officer and that I was a trained nurse and what we thought it was." She paused, looking at my dad. "Patrick, we have to move Katie. She put herself in danger by climbing into bed next to him. Polio is a virus and although she's been vaccinated, she could be at risk. I mean, look at our Tim."

Dad just nodded solemnly. He knew she was right and that I had to be moved.

The rest of the morning just past in a blur. Tim was taken to hospital and hooked up to a ventilator because he couldn't breathe on his own and I was put into quarantine. I was prodded and poked for 3 days until they ruled that I didn't have Polio. Mam took me home whilst dad stayed with Tim. Once a day I would go into see my brother. I'd hold his hand and tell him about my day.

3 weeks after he was admitted, Tim woke up and was able to breathe on his own. We were so happy that he was alive that it didn't matter to us what else happened. I had my brother back. That's all that mattered to me.

Polio had affected Tim's legs. He had to wear braces for a while. One day Mam took him to Physiotherapy. He was walking without his braces and was supported by two crutches as Dad and I walked in. When he saw us, he dropped one crutch and began walking quicker. Then he dropped the other one and walked towards us unaided. He began to fall and instinctively I ran towards him. He fell onto my shoulder, but Mam told me it was like we were just hugging each other. Then Dad followed me and hugged us both. Mam came last.

Tim looked up at us all and smiled widely. "I did it!" he said beaming.

From that day, Tim had to walk with a crutch for a while and if anyone at school dared to tease him, I stood up for him. Just after our 7th birthday, Tim was able to walk unaided again.

There is nothing left of the disease in his body today. The only thing he has to remind him of the time is a slight limp in his left leg.