When the plane safely touched down in the middle of the lava field that had been turned into a landing strip, I knew the healing would begin. I had imagined that all the pain I was feeling inside would be magically washed away with the first sounds of the ocean. Instead, it was more like I had stepped on a spiny sea urchin. The grief only intensified to a debilitating level of tears and anguish as I rushed off to my lavish resort overlooking the Pacific.
My first day back in Hawaii was not paradise. As I remembered him, it felt more like hell. He had been the reason I leaped. If he hadn’t pushed me to consider moving to the island, it would all still be a fleeting fantasy in my mind. And now he was gone. How could I do this by myself? And did I even want to?
Four days before my trip to Hawaii was to begin, four devastating events occurred.
One of my greatest friends and colleagues was diagnosed with brain cancer. Looking at another ER doctor and comrade, lying in a hospital bed and unable to use his skills to save lives, much less to move the right side of his body, hurt my heart. But I knew that he was strong, determined, and had one of the most beautiful spirits I had ever known. He would be brilliant no matter the outcome.
And then my Aunt, my second mother, lost her husband and father of her three sons. He was working in the Dominican Republic and contracted a deadly infection. We attempted to get him airlifted out so that he could get better medical care, but he died before the plane arrived, in a clinic without the resources to help him. I took some solace in the fact that he knew we were coming for him before he transitioned.
The next day, I heard that a woman that I had admired and loved for years, a woman who was once family, had finally lost her battle with metastatic brain cancer. She had been hurting for a long while. There was some comfort in knowing her body no longer was suffering and that her spirit was now free.
But the final blow – as much as I tried to rationalize it with my brain, I just could not explain it to my heart. I had been sucker punched. It had come out of nowhere. It wasn’t fair. I had finally opened my heart to trust another man with it. I had fallen in love. I had brought him into my family. I had let down that fortress that was protecting me from another failed relationship. And when I was finally at my happiest and most secure juncture, he was gone. His quick disappearance felt as if I had only imagined him or dreamed him up.
There had to be a reason for these tragedies that were ripping scars through my heart. Crying uncontrollably, I quickly unpacked my suitcase and set out my work clothes for my first shift back in the ER in Hawaii in almost a year. Searching for my ID badge in the tattered Hawaiian bag that I had not touched since my last departure, I reached in and found crumpled tissue paper hiding a treasure.
Unwrapping the paper, I recognized a beautiful rose quartz stone in the shape of a heart. I had forgotten that I had bought myself this stone on my last day in Hawaii. Holding it to the light, I saw all the imperfections and scars that made up this exquisite rock. It clearly resembled my own imperfect yet unique heart. I began rubbing it on my chest, as close to my beating heart as I could get, as I let the tears fall and felt the pain. I thought of little Liberty and her lesson to me.
In the middle of my rubbing ceremony, a text message beeped through the phone. Usually, I would ignore such a thing, but as I glanced down, I saw the kind words from my daughter’s father, who had no idea of the recent events. I had to laugh and appreciate him.
“Please don’t forget how big your heart is! I am always amazed by its size, its beauty, and its compassion.”
Drying my eyes, I remembered that there was always a bigger plan. And I refused to shut down my heart again. It had grown, it had learned, it had loved, and it had healed many times from its perceived wounds. And I was sure it could do that again. Maybe that is why I was here on this island. I was confident that my journey and my purpose would soon be revealed.
The universe always seems to divulge such teachings to me through my patients. So I’m not sure why I was even surprised that my lessons would need to begin in this overwhelmingly busy emergency department. It would start with a sage, elderly Hawaiian patient and continue on.
When the man’s CAT scan results returned, I had to tuck my personal sorrows away. I had an answer for his excruciating abdominal pain, but it wasn’t good.
Greeting me with a smile as I reentered his room and pulled the curtain, he thanked me immensely for easing that terrible hurting that had prevented him from eating or even functioning this past week. He may have been 80 years old, but he still enjoyed his life in paradise. He had not been able to fish, swim, or garden. Although he apologized profusely for bothering me on such a busy afternoon, he could no longer tolerate the gnawing agony in his gut.
Sitting down and touching his hand, I went on to explain to him and his only granddaughter the cause of his abdominal pain. He had a large mass in his colon that was blocking the rest of his bowels. This was causing a severe infection. I would need to hospitalize him for intravenous antibiotics to get the infection under control before they could do the surgery to remove the mass. It was most likely cancer, given the areas of what looked like metastasis to his liver.
“I’m not staying. You treated my pain and it’s now gone. I’m ready to go home. Thank you for all that you have done.”
Maybe he was actually demented and I just hadn’t picked up on it yet, or maybe he was hard of hearing and did not understand the gravity of the situation. So I framed it in another more abrupt way to get my point across to both.
“You don’t understand. If you leave, the pain is going to come back and you are going to get very sick and die.”
He laughed, “Dear, it is you who does not understand. Last time I checked, this body belonged to me and my maker. I’m taking it home.”
Motioning for the granddaughter to step outside with me, we excused ourselves. I had to make sure my message had been heard. Smiling through her young tears, she explained that she was the only one in the family who could convince him to stay and get treatment. She vowed to try once more, but mostly she pledged to respect his decision whatever that may be.
Ultimately, he chose to go home to die – but I could see now that he just wanted to finish living. He wanted to complete his days left surrounded by the beauty of his land and his loved ones. I felt honored to write him a prescription for the strongest pain pills I could, and then hand him his discharge papers. It would not be long before he was discharged from the pain of his physical being into the realm of complete peace and unconditional love.
Little did I know that my next patient was already there.
The code blue was called on the speaker overhead just as I had released my old Hawaiian Kupuna. When I entered the resuscitation bay, I found the dead bloated man that EMS had just delivered. He was in his early fifties and had collapsed in his hotel room. His wife had been performing CPR when the paramedics arrived. It had now been almost an hour and there were no signs of life, regardless of all the drugs, shocks and compressions that had been performed. My ultrasound confirmed that he was dead. His heart was motionless.
The nurse showed me to the room where his wife and mother were waiting and praying. I broke the news as gently as I could, but there is never an easy way to tell someone that death has come so suddenly. His mother just looked off and repeated, “my firstborn son.”
His wife sobbed hysterically, and then she started the process that I see too often. She blamed herself. If she had only stayed in the hotel and not gone for that walk on the beach, maybe she could have gotten there sooner. Maybe the paramedics would have arrived quicker. Maybe he would still be alive if she had not made that fatal decision.
It almost felt as if he was speaking through me with the words that left my mouth.
“Stop. Don’t do that to yourself. I have taken care of death long enough to know that when it is a person’s time to die, there are no mistakes. There is no blame. He was still young but yet it was his time. I don’t know why, but I can tell you that it happened quickly and he felt no pain. But he did feel you right there next to him. And he can still feel you now and send you love.”
She stopped crying and looked deeply into my eyes.
“He was my best friend. We never left each other’s side for thirty-five years. He is the love of my life.”
And then I heard myself say thank you. “Thank you for letting me be a witness to your love, one that surpasses death.”
And I told her how very lucky she truly was to have such a long life with this man. I sighed, remembering the man that was no longer next to me.
She stood up and asked me my first name.
“It’s Charlotte,” I replied.
She wrapped her arms around me as tears fell onto my shoulder where she had placed her sweet face. I felt as if she was trying to comfort me in all her turmoil.
“Thank you for taking care of my husband. Thank you for being his doctor. We are both so fortunate. I feel your heart and it is so big. Thank you. I am ready to see him now.”
Leading her to his body, I watched as she bent down and kissed his face one last time as I gently closed the curtain.
This wife and the Hawaiian Kupuna both showed me that I was a blessed woman, with all my personal pain. It was truly a gift, because I had let myself deeply love. That pain was proof. I was a firsthand witness that love transcends death or any fear of it. Love never dies, not with the body and not with change.
And I had a calling. There was something more for me in those two patients. There was bliss. I experienced pure joy and gratitude in being a witness and a facilitator through that sacred passage of death. There was more for me to learn on this island. I knew that in my soul and my big heart.
