Zoe Elizabeth Davis, 33, a writer from Yeovil in Somerset, lost Katy and Emma, both 37-year nurses, to Covid during the first lockdown. Here, she tells her family's story…
Our singing filled the room before we broke into laughter, trying to keep up with The Sound Of Music tracks we were playing – they were my identical twin sisters’ favourites.
It was November 2019 and it was the first time I’d brought my boyfriend, Mark Britten, 41, an IT trainer, to meet Katy and Emma.
Things were getting serious with Mark and I wanted him to meet my sisters. We were all close and I was so proud of them both being NHS nurses in Southampton Hospital.
They were six years older than me and when we were all together, we never stopped giggling. Katy was stubborn whereas Emma was more shy, but both were kind natured – they loved taking care of people.
I didn’t realise those precious few days with them would be the first and last time Mark would see my sisters, as by April 2020, within the space of three days, both died of Covid in the very hospital they worked in.
From a young age, the twins dreamed of working for the NHS and dressed up as nurses, feeding their dolls Smarties as medicine. They’d mother me too and they made everything so much fun.
The three of us were joined at the hip – best friends as well as siblings.
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We were a close family. Our mum Julie, 61, retired as an NHS office manager to be a full-time carer to my grandpa, Roy, while my dad Alan, 69, retired from the Department for Work and Pensions.
But the girls had a special bond and both attended Southampton University to do nursing degrees, eventually sharing a house together in the city.
All three of us were diagnosed as having Behçet’s disease, a rare auto-inflammatory disorder. From the age of 10, I suffered horrendous fatigue and joint pain, as did my sisters.
In 2009, Katy received her diagnosis, with her joints and organs being inflamed. I was told I had it too in 2014, with Emma then confirmed with the disease the year after. Emma’s diagnosis presented as problems with her heart and walking, which affected her mental health.
As soon as the first lockdown was announced, Katy, a paediatric nurse, worked from home. She knew she’d die if she got Covid because she was so vulnerable from the disorder.
Meanwhile, Emma, an adult care nurse, saw her own health worsen. Her lungs deteriorated, she struggled to breathe and became immobile. She could just about manage to walk from the lounge to the kitchen so she had to take early retirement.
Katy became a wheelchair user in the last three years of her life, but was determined to work in her chair.
Still living together, they had carers to help with daily life, ordered groceries online and managed to survive, just about, on Katy’s salary. Meanwhile, I was instructed to isolate. It was tough.
Emma’s carers came and helped bathe her, dress her and prepare food. She and Katy were terrified of catching Covid as they knew it would be the end. Yet they said some of the carers never wore masks or gloves.
My mum witnessed this and Katy even emailed the care company to report it. In fact, in the week the girls were taken into hospital with Covid, three of Katy and Emma’s carers tested positive.
I feel that vulnerable patients like them, as well as the elderly, were treated as fodder during the outbreak and paid the ultimate price.
Emma became increasingly breathless and was admitted into hospital on 16 April 2020. Katy followed the next day. She told Mum as she left the house for hospital that she sensed she wouldn’t be coming back.
In fact, she managed to use her phone for an afternoon and texted me “I’ve got this funny feeling I’m going to be a news story.”
Becoming patients themselves at the same place where they’d worked was tough on my sisters – they hated feeling like they were being a burden to their colleagues.
The hospital offered to put them in the same room, as they didn’t like being apart, but Katy refused. “If Emma sees me suffering, she’ll also give up and I want her to keep fighting,” she told my parents.
Katy also insisted I was banned. “I don’t want Zoe to visit as she’s at risk of catching Covid,” she said. “She must be protected.”
Even towards the end, they were both thinking about others and being a big sister to me. They were angels on Earth, as they are now in death.
Medics told the twins they couldn’t do any more for them, as they battled to stay alive and they were placed on end of life care. I think Katy was too ill to understand, but had worked it out herself. Emma may have been aware, though she was sleeping mainly.
Emma and I were able to talk the night she was admitted. She was breathless but we chatted about TV. I called her from our grandpa’s house, where I stayed during the first lockdown.
Mum held the phone and Emma could hear as I said, “Love you lots.” She managed to reply, “Love you too – hope you and Gramps are OK. See you soon.”
When I FaceTimed Katy, she was too breathless and drowsy to talk but she raised her hand and waved. I didn’t know that was her final goodbye.
Just a week after admission, Katy died on 21 April. Then on 24 April, Emma passed away. They never got the chance to say goodbye to each other. I was heartbroken that I wasn’t allowed to visit.
Our parents were at their bedsides dressed in full PPE for the girls’ final days, unable to hold their hands without wearing latex gloves. Mum says she’ll never forget watching them take their last breaths.
When Mum rang to say Katy had died, my legs gave way and I collapsed to the floor. Gramps had to pick me up.
Mum and Dad tested positive for Covid not long after the girls died so they couldn’t attend their funeral – neither could I as I was deemed too vulnerable. It all felt so cruel and it breaks my heart that we couldn’t be there. Mum suffers long Covid symptoms to this day.
We struggled to cope in the immediate aftermath. But six months later in November, my much-loved 92-year-old Gramps died from the virus. He’d been admitted to hospital for tests after a fall and caught it there.
Another patient on the shared ward he was on tested positive and two days later my lovely grandpa died suddenly – with none of us at his side.
I’m now the sole surviving sibling and I want everyone in the country to know how awful it is to lose a loved one in Covid times and not be able to be there.
Covid still needs to be taken seriously. My fabulous sisters were amazing ladies who didn’t deserve to die in the way they were forced to. They were brilliant NHS nurses and they deserved a better death, as did we as their family.
The Covid bereaved community is very angry. We have been left in the dark while the prime minister and his wife and cronies partied – drinking wine while so many mistakes were made by them that meant lives were lost. I will never forgive them.
We’re traumatised by how our family has been ravaged by the virus. Mum says her heart has been ripped from her. I know my sisters would tell us we have to enjoy life but it’s not that easy.
I’m campaigning for a day of remembrance for all Covid victims and am planning a memorial service in May this year on what would have been their 40th birthday.
I’m glad my sisters saw how happy Mark and I are. We’re getting married in September – they will be so badly missed on the day.
They did everything together – they were inseparable. Katy once said to me, “We came into this world together and we will leave it together.”
They did exactly that, but for me, it was just far, far too soon.
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