This is for you, Sis

After losing her sister to diabetes, Sarah Marchbank, 52, from Edinburgh, followed in her footsteps… up a mountain.

Dressed in fleecy layers and thick thermals, I gritted my teeth to fight off the cold.

After trekking for nine long days, I’d hiked 60km and 5,360 metres up from sea level, finally reaching the base camp of Mount Everest. I was exhausted. But, despite how tired I was, I couldn’t help but smile.

‘We made it!’ I cheered to my fellow climbers.

But really, it shouldn’t have been me standing on that mountain.

It should have been my sister, Emma, enjoying this moment. This was her dream, not mine. But, standing here looking out onto the stunning scenery, I could only hope that I’d done her proud.

Just two years younger than me, Emma and I had always been close.

Growing up, we spent all our time together, playing on the swings in the garden or with our dolls in our bedroom.

When Emma was threeyears-old, she was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.

She needed to have daily insulin injections, but even as a child, she never even flinched.

As a young child, I remember thinking how brave my sister was.

Our childhood was happy, but when I was 14 and Emma was 12, our dad sadly died after a long battle with tuberculosis.

We were distraught, but lying awake every night talking about our feelings, our grief brought us even closer together.

Emma had always dreamt of travelling the world and, in her 20s, she did just that.

From Europe to Asia, she trekked through deserts, visited sacred temples, tried obscure foods in buzzing cities and even spent a year living in Australia.

She’d phone me and Mum every couple of weeks to fill us in on all the fun she was having around the world. ‘I’ve just got back from trekking Machu Picchu!’ she’d tell us excitedly.

I was in awe of her independence, but I had other ambitions.

In June 1997, I married my partner, Rick.

A year later, our son Sam was born, followed by Hannah in August 2001.

When Emma wasn’t backpacking, she worked as a nurse, then she joined Newcastle University as a researcher.

But she would still jet off to far-flung exotic destinations whenever she got the chance.

It was only when Mum was diagnosed with bowel cancer that Emma gave up her travels to come and help me take care of her.

We were both devastated when, just months later, in July 2013, Mum passed away aged 78.

Emma and I arranged the funeral together, and just like before, our shared grief bonded us.

A few months later, Emma started planning her next trip.

This time, she hoped to travel to sunny Barcelona.

I think it was her way of dealing with the pain of losing Mum.

But travelling wasn’t always easy for Emma.

Her diabetes continued to affect her, and she suffered from problems with her eyes and blood pressure.

But she always tried her best not to let her condition get in the way of what she wanted to do. There were still so many places she wanted to visit.

‘I want to climb to the Mount Everest base camp,’ she’d say.

It was something she’d dreamt about since she was a teenager.

So she started looking into the logistics of it.

But, on 5 August 2014, everything changed.

I was on holiday in Corfu with Rick and the kids, celebrating Hannah’s 12th birthday.

That morning, I received a call from a family friend.

They told me that Emma hadn’t shown up for work that day, so a colleague had gone to check on her. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘Emma’s gone. They’d found her in her bedroom, she’s dead.’

I don’t remember any more of that conversation.

In a daze, I hung up the phone and called out for Rick.

I could barely get my words out as I desperately tried to explain to him what had happened. Why Emma? She was only 46. I cried for hours, and just when I

It had been her dream since she was a teen

thought there were no more tears, fresh ones would fall.

I was so distraught, I couldn’t bear to tell the children, so we waited until the next morning. Like me, they were in shock. A post-mortem revealed that Emma didn’t have enough insulin in her body.

Nobody knew why, and I just couldn’t understand it.

Emma had been so meticulous when it came to managing her sugar levels.

As I arranged her funeral, I knew that she wouldn’t want anything too sombre.

She’d want it to be a celebration of her life – and that’s exactly what it was.

But life without my sister was bleak. It felt so unfair. There was so much more that Emma wanted to do and it had all been so cruelly taken away.

Still, I knew that she wouldn’t have wanted me to sit around all the time moping.

She would have wanted me to turn my grief into something positive.

So, I spent the next two years fundraising for Diabetes UK.

But even then, I wanted to do something more significant – in Emma’s name. Then in 2015, I had an idea… ‘I’m going to climb to Mount Everest’s base camp in her memory,’ I told Rick.

Emma had never got the chance to live out her dream, so I wanted to do it for her.

Rick thought it was a great idea.

So, after some research, I found a company online who took groups out on the trek and booked myself a place.

Then I started the training for the trip.

I was a regular at the gym, so I thought I was fairly fit, but the training was gruelling.

I walked miles every weekend and worked out every day with a personal trainer. And in June last year, I even completed the Three Peaks Challenge. Finally, on 15 November last year, I met a group of 25 others at the airport. We were all different ages, but we had one goal in mind. That day, we flew to Nepal to start the climb. I told everyone about Emma, her love of travel and her dream to climb the Himalayas. They were stunned when I told them how young she was when she died.

The climb was both physically and mentally draining, and it took every bit of willpower I had.

Temperatures dropped to lows of -25C and we stayed in tiny wooden huts where we’d wake up to find the windows frozen on the inside. ‘I’m doing this for you, Sis,’ I’d repeat to myself when things were getting particularly difficult.

There was no hot water or proper toilets, and despite wearing gloves, hats, thermals and fleeces, we were never warm.

The altitude sickness was awful and it was too much for two members of our team, who eventually had to be airlifted off the mountain.

After nine days, I arrived at the base camp. As I stood there, I wished more than anything that Emma was standing there by my side.

She would have loved it.

As we started our descent, I threw a photo of Emma off a suspension bridge, to make sure that part of her always remained in Nepal.

‘I did this for you,’ I said quietly, knowing that in some way, Emma was there with me.

Four days later, I was back home. Rick and the kids met me at home and pulled me in for a hug.

I managed to raise £1,700 on the trek and, since Emma’s death, I’ve made more than £6,000 for Diabetes UK.

I know Emma would have been so proud of me. I miss my sister every day. Emma experienced more than most people ever do, and when I look at the photos of me standing at the base camp, I don’t doubt that on that day, on that mountain, she was right there with me. To donate, go to www. justgiving.com/ fundraising/ sarahmarchbank1