It breaks my heart not to remember my darling sister
LOUISE CADE, 31, and her younger sibling were inseparable as children until a tragic accident tore them apart and wiped Louise’s memory. She tells us her story
AS I flicked through old photo albums with my family, my aunt pulled out a snap of me and my sisters playing on a beach. “This is a lovely one. Were you in Blackpool with granny and grandad?” she asked me.
But as usual, my memory came up blank.
In 1994 when I was eight years old, my six-year-old sister Sally and I were hit by a car on the way home from school in Thorney, Peterborough.
My sister died two days later and I was left with no memory of my life before the crash.
It breaks my heart because although I’m told that my sister and I were best friends, I can’t remember her at all.
My mum tells me that despite the two-year age gap, Sally and I might as well have been twins.
We were practically the same height and insisted on playing together in the school playground.
Our younger sister Jenny, who was three at the time of the crash, adored us and always wanted to copy her big sisters.
On January 21, 1994, the day started like any other. Sally and I got up and went to school while Jenny stayed at home with mum.
After school the bus dropped us off outside our house and I grabbed my sister’s hand to cross the road to our family’s farm.
As we were crossing, an elderly driver pulled into the road and didn’t see us until it was too late.
I’m told there was a loud bang and my mum Sue, now 56, ran out to see my sister and I lying in the middle of the road.
She screamed and ran inside to call an ambulance but she was so shocked she couldn’t remember the number and ended up calling the local doctor’s surgery.
The surgery raised the alarm and the local air ambulance Magpas flew out.
My sister and I were in a critical condition and our hearts stopped several times on the way to the hospital but the air ambulance crew saved our lives.
The crew landed as close as they could to Peterborough District Hospital and we were rushed there in separate ambulances with a police escort because we were so ill.
We were both unconscious when we arrived and tragically, two days later, my sister died from multiple organ failure.
When I arrived in hospital, my right leg was badly damaged, my kneecap had detached and I’d broken my leg and hip.
But I’d also suffered massive head trauma and kept slipping in and out of consciousness.
IREMEMBER coming around for a few seconds to hear doctors telling my parents that I might not survive and if I did, I would never walk or talk again.
My heart stopped again when I was in hospital but the doctors revived me. Even though I was only eight years old, I seemed determined to get better.
A few days after the accident, I remember my uncle coming to visit me in hospital.
He greeted me with a high-five but I couldn’t lift my hand to give him a high-five back and doctors realised I’d suffered a stroke.
I was rushed for more tests and couldn’t remember nursery rhymes or how to do times tables.
My parents brought photo albums to the hospital to try to jog my memory from before the accident. I had no recollection of the holidays in Blackpool I’d had with my parents and grandparents or riding a bike in front of the house with my sisters.
I remember being frightened and confused looking at the photos and recognising the people in them but not remembering who they were.
My friends from school came to visit to help get my memory back and signed the cast on my leg.
At some point I must have been told that my sister had died but I think my brain blocked out the memory to protect me because I don’t remember how I felt at the time.
At Sally’s funeral my parents didn’t want flowers so they asked for money for the air ambulance – which runs entirely on donations from the public – and we raised enough to buy a defibrillator.
The driver who killed Sally was never prosecuted. A month later I was discharged from hospital and went home in a wheelchair.
My headteacher came to the house to give me lessons as I wasn’t well enough to go to school.
Then one day I was sitting in my wheelchair in the living room studying when Mr Motivator came on the television.
I was desperate to get up and join in with the exercises he was doing so I grabbed the desk with one hand and a cabinet with the other and took a few shaky steps towards the TV.
“Mum, mum, come and look, I’m walking,” I shouted.
My mum ran into the living room and was astonished to see me standing up for the first time in months.
The home schooling helped me remember my times tables and the pictures and home videos my parents showed me helped me recognise my friends and family. But my memories from before the accident never came back. I can only remember Sally from the photos and videos I’ve seen of us together.
MY walking slowly improved and after a few months I went back to school and in 2001 I started secondary school.
However, as I grew up I always felt as though something was missing without Sally, even though I couldn’t remember her.
Sometimes my mum and dad would tell me stories about her from when we were little.
It’s hard for my family because they have lots of memories of the two of us that I can’t share.
As I got older, I felt as though there was a reason I’d recovered from the accident and I was determined to help Sally’s memory live on. After school I trained as a student nurse because I wanted to help others.
But it wasn’t for me and now I work as a payroll manager and live with my partner of eight years in Spalding, Lincolnshire.
Although I’ve had to have a lot of physiotherapy during the years to help me recover, every day when I wake up, I’m reminded just how lucky I am to be alive.
I still campaign for better road safety and recently went back to my old primary school in Peterborough to talk to the children about my experience.
Although Sally is no longer here, I like to think she would be proud of me.
Magpas Air Ambulance is based in Cambridgeshire and brings lifesaving care to emergency patients in the East of England and beyond. Doctors and paramedics volunteer their own time and the charity relies solely on donations. For more information visit magpas.org.uk or call 01480 371 060.