August was always one of my least favorite months. It was hot, sticky, and there were bugs everywhere. I wasn't an outdoorsy person, or very social. I would spend my summer days in the house, with the air conditioning and a book in my hand. I would spend my summer nights the same way, although I would trade the book for a movie, or some music. I had 5 siblings, all younger, though there were times they made me want to rip my hair out. I can't help but adore the feeling of having people to protect, I love having people who need me. Earlier in the year, I had found out my mother was pregnant with another baby for me to protect. I spent time thinking about all the ways I would love this baby, thinking about who it would grow up to be. I watched as people bought clothes, as we prepped what having a baby would be like in the middle of the pandemic, and how naming it somehow became the hardest task. In the middle of the night, on August 9th, the baby finally came. I was woken up by my grandmother the next morning, she woke me up with such excitement in her voice, and tons of pictures of the little newborn. My mother and step father had decided to name her Kenza, which is funny because up until that night, it wasn't even top 3. I hadn't seen my mom all day, and my impression of the baby came in poorly taken pictures and the occasional video. Due to the covid restrictions, I was unable to visit her. I had never felt such impatience in my life, I was like a child watching their mother unwrap a lollipop, I was like a road trip passenger, waiting for a rest stop. My heart was beating, I was stressed and all that kept me going were those poorly taken pictures. My stepdad was in and out of the house, giving us status reports and trying to keep our mind off it, but his efforts did not work, my mother was in the hospital for about 3 days before coming home, for 16 year old me, that was a lifetime of torture. I wanted to hold my baby sister, and kiss her, and show her off on social media. I wanted to sing her lullabies at night and to be the first one to make her laugh. When she finally arrived, the house was decorated for her arrival. Thanks to mine and my grandmother's efforts, there were signs on the doors and homemade pictures hanging on the walls. We had given the house a welcoming touch, which was something it rarely had. I was one of the first people to hold her, and I felt an immediate connection. It hit me on that day that August 9th would always be important. Along with November 11th, April 28, March 3rd, October 8th and November 14th, August 9th would go on the list of days the number changed. It became one of the days I would cherish and celebrate, because it gave me one more person to love and protect. It gave me a new piece of my heart and it became unforgettable. With that day approaching, and the time coming to celebrate the aging of my last sibling, it's hard not to get teary eyed or emotional, this is the last of them, the last time I will be able to say “my baby sister's one” or “ wow she isnt a baby anymore,” those have been replaced with “you're almost as tall as me!” and “look at how much you've grown” I used to hate August, I hated the heart, and the stickiness and all the bugs. But it's become one of my favorite months, one of my most beloved times of the year, and all becaused it changed a simple number.

Helping my little brother getting ready for school on a Monday morning, you wouldn't think anything was wrong. He chatters about something on telly, whilst we look for gloves and then we have a lively debate about when his spelling test is. We look through the mounds of paper in his bookbag, it's in two days. My brother isn't too fussed and goes back to watching his YouTube show. Typical school day morning, right? This morning, as the little guy woke up, bushy hair and bleary eyed, he notices his mum rushing around grabbing bags and toys. ‘Are you going?' he asks, his voice cracking. ‘Yes, sweetie.' Immediately, his face crumples and a cry build up, tears already brimming. She grabs him in for a hug, tells him she loves him and that he must brave just like his brother. This is the routine, this is our normal. I hope to God it is not yours. Our youngest brother has cancer, lymphoblastic leukaemia, this is the second time he's gotten it. This time round, the treatment is more aggressive, requiring more lethal drugs and a stem cell transplant. We just found out last week that the little dude is a perfect stem cell match for him. This filled us with both relief and dread. Relief – a stem cell transplant is the best way to treat him and should be most effective, it means there is less chemo and probably no radiotherapy for him and it could've taken us months to find a match from a stranger. On the other hand, the little dude, who is 5 years old, will have to be put under for surgery – which is not without risks – to help his little (3yo) brother. That's a lot of pressure to put on someone who's main concern now is learning the phonic: ‘i_e.' Can you imagine the guilt? Taking your perfectly healthy little boy and intentionally cause him harm to help the other. He wants to help his brother, but it was still his parent's choice in the end to say yes. No parent should have to go make that decision. But then, they've had to face a lot of decisions a parent should never have to. My dad and my step-mum are good parents, they try their best and they fail sometimes too. They take it in turns to stay with J at the hospital when he's going through chemo. Living half your life in a hospital is not ideal. For obvious reasons. You are surrounded by sick and dying children for one, plus the WIFI is crap. J had been home for the past week, to rest up since the last bout of chemo had given him severe illness – he stopped eating and had to be transferred to the high dependency unit for a few days as his nutrient levels dropped dangerously low, there were lots of problems with his guts and there was a suspected infection. Once he's home, he's a little happier, but it can be an edgy time for my parents, especially my step-mum. In hospital you're surrounded by nurses who can help if things go wrong and can tell IF something is wrong, at home, it's your own judgment. Despite this, home makes a nice change, we can all be together like a family should. The little dude, P, can be picked up by a parent from school, instead of a sister or nan or a friend's mum, so it's more stable for him. We can all sit together and talk or play, most importantly, the two brothers can play together, not always nicely, but together at least. Whilst J was home, he still had to go in one day this week, so the Doctor and nurses can check his observations (weight, heart rate etc), to give my parents some home supplies – feed for his NG (nasal-gastric) tube and some various drugs to be given at home (a lot of anti-sickness/laxatives) and finally a big dose of steroids. Have you ever heard of ‘roid-rage? Try working with a chubby three-year-old with a Smeagol-hairdo shouting at you, whilst you're making him macaroni cheese, about his EXACT specifications (which change constantly). Gordon Ramsey eat your heart out. However, that was the middle of the week, I come home at the weekend, and within half an hour upon my entrance, a cheeky chappy emerges from the grizzle. I like to think its my cheery disposition that's perked him up, but I can smell for the fact he's just removed a load of concentrated anger. For the whole weekend he's like a dream, yes occasionally his bottom hurts as he feels the chemo-poo brewing (there is nothing like it, I can never eat korma again!), but he's laughing, making jokes, (why did the banana cross the road? To get squished!). On Sunday we all make biscuits, blue and sprinkle flavoured, we've visited Nanny in our very special blue car and played with their puppy, sweet eh? Sunday night, his mummy explains that they are going to hospital together tomorrow. J says he doesn't want to, he doesn't want any ouchies. Mummy promises no ouchies, but they have to go in to hospital. J thinks for a second or two, then says: ‘I want cuddles all night long and forever.' Wow. Heart wrenching huh? They hug and continue a jigsaw puzzle with some accompanied inane toddler chatter about Blaze and the Monster Machines….