It was late afternoon and I was in Milton Keynes when the call came– “Michael is in intensive care, Frimley Park”. I cannot recall who called me or driving to the hospital, but I remember the sight on arrival. Michael was in bed, his skin yellow with jaundice, hooked up to everything I could imagine: blood transfusion, two types of antibiotics, morphine, saline drip, catheter – his first words were “Louisa, they want to cut my neck open, don't let them do it”. His red blood cells were rapidly breaking down, faster than the transfusions could sustain him, and nobody knew why. The doctors were gravely concerned and my parents had been told that this could be end. My aunt and mum began talking to each other in Farsi, and a specialist heard and suddenly understood what was happening. Michael was diagnosed with Glucose-6-phosphate dehydrogenase deficiency (quite common in the area of the Middle East that mum comes from) and immediate steps were taken to try to stabilise him. We wearily went home to rest that night when several hours later, I became aware of someone at the door, banging to get in. I ran downstairs and immediately saw my brother, pale faced and doubled-over. I screamed for mum and dad, opening the latches as fast as I could. We sat with him in the kitchen until he recovered enough to tell us the story. He had waited until the nurses removed the catheter (they wanted to change it) and were distracted with another patient, he calmly unhooked himself from everything else (not without some discomfort and a lot of effort), walked out of ICU, out of the hospital itself, and then he proceeded to walk all the way home (about a mile) in the winter in his PJ’s, robe and slippers. People had driven past, of course, but nobody had stopped for him. He recovered at home and grew strong again, and all this took place over a decade ago. And now, I find myself thinking of this story a lot and hoping that somehow he can find the strength to come home. I lie in bed waiting for him to bang on my door in the middle of the night. I am still waiting for you Michael.