Simply irreplaceable
I was born to replace her – but I couldn’t be without my big sis
Iwas just a kid when my dad told me…
‘You were born to replace Lorraine,’ he explained.
My big sister Lorraine was 13 months older than me.
But she didn’t live at home with us.
Mum and Dad had sent her to live at Chailey Heritage – a special school for children with disabilities.
See, Lorraine was a bit different.
She’d been born with no arms or legs.
My parents didn’t know it at the time, but Lorraine’s disability was due to the drug thalidomide.
Back then, in the 50s and 60s, it was used as a sedative for pregnant women’s morning sickness.
It was only years later that doctors realised it caused shocking birth defects.
By then, thousands of babies worldwide had been born with limbs missing. Lorraine was one of them. ‘Why can’t Lorraine live with us?’ I’d often beg Mum and Dad. ‘None of your business,’ Mum would snap.
It broke my heart, as I loved Lorraine to bits.
I lived for the weekends, when she’d come to visit.
Dad would help her up into our tree house in the garden. Then we’d eat our dinner up there and tell each other stories.
One weekend when I was 5, Lorraine and I were tucked up in our twin beds when she turned to me…
‘Do you think if we pray hard enough my arms and legs will
Lorraine and I drew strength from each other
grow by morning?’ she asked. ‘Let’s try!’ I grinned. So I said a quick prayer before we both fell asleep.
The next morning, I jumped out of bed.
‘Have they grown?’ I asked Lorraine, hopeful. ‘No,’ she replied sadly. Lorraine certainly never let her disability hold her back, though.
‘I can do that!’ she said, watching me do a cartwheel. Then she did a sort of roly-poly on the floor.
‘Ta-dah!’ she beamed proudly. ‘No limbs, no limits.’
And that was a motto she lived by for years to come.
As we got older, we lived separate lives. I started playing guitar in a band, then began working at Butlin’s.
Lorraine started dating someone who could see past her disability.
And, in 1987, they tied the knot.
On the morning of her wedding, I did her make-up for her.
‘You look absolutely beautiful,’ I beamed.
Sadly, her marriage only lasted seven years. But I was there for Lorraine when she needed me.
And, as always, she returned the favour tenfold.
She supported me when I started dating a woman.
‘As long as you’re happy,’ she said.
She even helped me with my dyslexia and supported me through my biopolar diagnosis.
If Lorraine needed help physically, I was there.
And if I needed emotional support, she was my rock.
‘We’re the same, me and you,’ I’d tell her.
We both had our own struggles.
Mine were just invisible, whereas Lorraine’s were physical.
But we both drew strength from each other.
Lorraine was always putting others first.
She started taking part in charity swims, and she’d even visit stroke patients in hospital.
She’d help to rebuild their self-esteem and confidence.
I wanted her to be recognised for all her incredible efforts.
So, in 2012, I nominated her to be an Olympic torch-bearer. And, that year, she rode her electric wheelchair through the streets of Crowborough with the torch attached to her chair.
I couldn’t have been more proud of my sister.
A few years later, and I nominated her again – this time for an MBE.
Lorraine had worked so hard volunteering for charities, she deserved an award.
And, in 2015, I watched on, utterly thrilled, as my big sister collected her MBE from Princess Anne.
She was so happy, couldn’t stop smiling.
When I needed heart surgery last year, to have a replacement heart valve fitted, Lorraine came to visit every day.
As busy as she was, she always made time for me.
Lorraine and I are more than sisters, we’re the best of friends.
I look up to her in so many ways. She’s taught me so much, and really is an inspiration.
My parents always told me I was Lorraine’s replacement.
Well, to me, Lorraine is completely irreplaceable. Karen’s life story, Beaten But Unbowed, is available from Amazon, or you can download the Kindle or audio version.