I DO NOT OWN THIS BOOK! JODI PICOULT DOES!
i thought i would write My Sister's Keeper in my own words (VERY DIFFERENT!-i got this idea from the book)
My sister, looking small and weak, lay dying on a hospital bed. She has Leukemia; blood cancer. When I walk in, as quietly as possible, her pallid, ghostly pale face stretches into a feeble smile, and I wonder how someone so close to death could even manage such a smile. I take a seat beside her. She is strapped onto the bed by IV cords. A tube attached to her nose, allows her to breathe regularly with assistance. I remember when she had a ruddy complexion that broke into a wide smile and always made you laugh, always. But that was years ago. Now, everything is different. She tells me she is going to sleep. I look at her, bewildered. My sister looks at me deferentially, with worry etched across her face and assures me that she is only going to take a little nap. I breathe a sigh of relief.
This all began 8 years ago, when I was 6, and Sara was 7. My family was driving back home from my brother, Max's baseball game; he was trying to inculcate my parents about his teams' win while Sara and I were complaining about his squalid and smelly body odor. Suddenly, my sister starts moaning and writhing in pain. We rush her to the hospital where the doctors declared her to have been diagnosed with acute promyelocytic leukemia, otherwise known as APL.
My sister went through countless chemotherapy and blood transfusions to get rid of her cancer and needed bone marrow. Luckily, the hospital had a superfluous amount of bone marrow available. But I later found out that Sara needed a kidney. Not just any kidney, one of my kidneys. I was her match. Without one of my kidneys, she would die. When my parents told me this, I stared at them in incredulity, refusing to believe them. Of course, deep down, I knew that this was true, and yet, my stubborn and callow character made me say no to that idea. How could I donate one of my kidneys? I admit that I am a coward. I didn't want to be cut open. I was scared. I pretty much announced my sister's death sentence by not becoming a donor to her.
As I sit beside her I remember all those happy times we had before the cancer; our excitement seeing our first dog, gossiping about boys till midnight, playing pranks on Max, laughing over the maudlin letters she received from guys, and just having fun. A cry escapes me as I remember all those good times we had and how I will never get to experience them again. Sara's life was going to end, very soon. I remember how she cried when my parents told her that I would not be her donor. How she forgave me whereas my parents wouldn't talk to me for weeks. My sister was my best friend, one I can never replace.
I look at her once beautiful face, now sallow and wan from her illness, just in time to see a tear slide across her nose and fall onto the pillow where her head rests. My heart breaks. Seeing that tear, I realize that without Sara, a part of me will disappear forever. That's when I realize what I need to do. The next day, I run into the doctor' office and ask if it was too ate to become my sister's donor. The doctor stares at me as if I had just asked him to jump off a building. I wince, waiting for him to scold me and tell me that it was too late. Then, he smiles at me and says, "I thought you'd never ask."