Sisters separated by Sickle Cell, united by hope this Christmas

For 10-year-old Kendall Richmond, every day has been a battle. Since she started experiencing the pain of sickle cell disease at age 2, her life has been punctuated by hospital stays, excruciating pain, and difficult choices.

“That’s when I learned this is something we would have to advocate for. It’s not something that would come easily for us,” Kendall’s mom, Marquitta Richmond, recalls. “The past 12 months, she’s been hospitalized 13 times, 13 times.”

Despite the challenges, the Richmond family has held onto hope. 

“We have been very blessed on our journey, but it has still been very hard for us,” Marquitta says. “When I say she’s in pain, it’s excruciating, she’s screaming, she’s turning red, her body is warm from being in so much pain.”

This Christmas, hope comes in the form of a bone marrow transplant at Children’s Healthcare of Atlanta, a procedure that could cure Kendall of sickle cell disease. But that cure requires a donor, a perfect match. 

And that perfect-match donor is her own 11-year-old sister, Kennedy.

“When she seemed so excited about being a match, it warmed my heart!” Marquitta says. “She really wanted to do it, and when they said she was a match, I was so touched. So touched. I called my mom, my mom cried, my dad cried, my grandparents cried.”

Kennedy herself remembers the moment she learned she could help.

“I was just hoping and hoping that it was me. Because I wanted to be the one to help her!” she says. She knows the months ahead will be hard, but her focus is on what comes after. “Of course, the next few months will be painful, it will be painful, but after that, clear skies!”

The sisters are close in age, close in heart, and they’ve spent months apart because Kendall is in strict quarantine while she prepares for the transplant. They can’t hug. They can’t be together in the same room. Even a few steps toward each other could be dangerous.

“She’s right there! I waved to her and said, “Hi!” I said Hi! I can’t hug her, though, I can’t hug her, and that HURTS,” Kennedy says.

Still, the Richmonds have found ways to connect. Video calls, window visits, and Zoom sessions help keep them close. “I can see her, she’s right there!” Kennedy says during a recent window visit. “Hi! You’re so close, Kendall!”

And for one night, just before the transplant, the sisters were able to be together in the hospital room—a gift from their mom.

 “That night before the surgery, you can actually stay in Kendall’s room with her,” Marquitta says. “You’ll have a little sleepover the night before.”

The transplant is scheduled for Dec. 23. Marquitta and her daughters are cautiously hopeful. “If this can be the last Christmas we spend in the hospital, we’ll take it,” Marquitta said

Kendall is dreaming of the life she hopes to lead post-transplant.

“I can join the swim team, I can go outside whenever I want, I will have a pretty good life,” she says. Kennedy can’t wait to play with her sister uninterrupted.

“I’ll finally be able to play with her uninterrupted, because of sickle cell! I’ll be able to have my sister back with me!”

For the Richmonds, this Christmas is bittersweet. They are still separated, still facing months of quarantine and recovery, but for the first time, there’s a clear path forward. A cure. And the promise of family, togetherness, and normalcy that every child deserves.