She had spent her whole life looking like her sister. They were always compared to each other. The older one is taller, the younger one can sing better, the older one can run faster, the younger one is better at Math. Despite all of the comparisons the two sisters had always gotten along fine. Their relationship had started nine months before they were born, they hadn’t just been room-mates growing up, they had actually been womb-mates right from the start. Identical twins who looked the same on the outside but were actually different people. Their life paths had followed each other closely before wildly diverging at the age of 26. The older one became unwell two years ago, the younger one carried on with her life.

The family had been scared of hospice, they didn’t really know what it was all about, but most people associated it with death and dying. Not something that is usually discussed in the Island culture. They resisted the hospital palliative care nurse’s attempts to send them over. What changed the older one’s mind was another patient on the same ward. A Maori lady who had been in hospice before. She had told the family what it was like, that it wasn’t a scary place at all, that on a previous admission, that they had been kind and were willing to do things in the traditional way. This lady was actually going to be heading over to the hospice that afternoon. She convinced the older one and the family that going to hospice to control symptoms would be a good thing.