When One Moment Changes Everything

It was supposed to be a quick, inexpensive trip to Hawaii. We would spend a week in Honolulu, which we hadn't visited for 47 years, staying in a studio condo, walking to everything and swimming in the calm waters of Waikiki. It was a quiet celebration of Bob's 80th birthday and a brief respite from my busy work schedule.

But, in a moment, it became something quite different, ushering in a new era in our lives. The second full day of our vacation began peacefully enough with our second breakfast at the beautiful oceanfront Halekulani Orchids restaurant. As we enjoyed fresh baked pastries and popovers, Bob chatted enthusiastically with our friendly server Tony. His good cheer exended to our walk along the beach to the lagoon at Hilton Hawaiian Village, though he struggled to keep up with me as we walked, unusual for my athletic, fit husband. When we got to the lagoon, Bob told me that he felt a bit tired and would sit on the sand for awhile to watch me swim. I dashed into the water, delighting in the warmth and calm. Then I heard Bob call my name. He was in the water, quite a distance from me. "Come here!" he called. There was an uncharacteristic sharpness and urgency to his voice. I quickly swam over to him. "Are you okay?" He could only whisper "No." I put my arm around him. "Let's get you out of the water." We took two steps and then he collapsed, slipping out of my arms and sinking to the ocean floor. I looked down at him through the clear water. His eyes were open, unseeing, staring up at me. I dove down, grabbed him and brought him to the surface, struggling to keep his head above water. Two young nearby swimmers rushed to help. As we put him on the sand, three beachgoers -- two nurses and an off-duty firefighter -- rushed up and took his pulse at his neck and groin. "He has no pulse!" one of them called out. "He's not breathing." She immediately jumped on him and started CPR with the two others alternating with her. Another bystander called 911. Paramedics continued CPR, first on the beach and then in the ambulance en route to Straub Medical Center. A nurse in the ER put her arm around me and guided me into a private waiting area. "He's in extremely critical condition," she told me. In my still wet bathing suit, with no cell phone or cash, I settled into what seemed like an endless wait until another nurse took me to see him. He was on life support, a ventilator breathing for him and a diagnosis: he had experienced a full cardiac and respiratory arrest due to severe stenosis of the aortic valve in his heart. We had had no idea that Bob, always so healthy, slim and fit, had a heart problem. Right away, he was something of a celebrity at the hospital. One doctor explained to me that only one in ten people who experience a cardiac arrest out of a hospital survive. Considering that Bob was not only out of a hospital setting, but actually in the water when his heart stopped, the odds of his survival were incredibly slim. Medical personnel looked at him with wonder that he was still alive albeit on life support with a guarded prognosis.

He spent three days on life support, nearly a week in ICU before having heart surgery -- a valve replacement -- and graduating to the Critical Care unit for the next few weeks. He was frail, confused and combative.Even when he was only semi-conscious, he had to be tied in restraints. Bob first opened his eyes three days after his cardiac arrest as he was being weaned off the ventilator. His eyes filled with tears when he saw our young friend Ryan Grady, his Little Brother in the Big Brothers program, who had dropped everything in his busy life in L.A. to fly over to Honolulu to lend support.

Estelita (Bellia) Caramancion, the cousin of one of our Arizona neighbors and a health professional at another hospital in Honolulu, spent hours at Bob's bedside after finishing her night shift. And my brother Michael, a retired physican, Facetimed daily from his home in Thailand.

We also had support from an unexpected source: Hilton Hawaiian Village personnel had alerted a local volunteer organization dedicated to helping tourists in crisis far from home. When I returned back to our rented condo that first long day, my cell phone was ringing. It was an administrator of the Visitor Aloha Society of Hawaii. She told me that one of their most experienced volunteers was ready to be of help. He was Bob Gentry, a former adminstrator at UC Irvine and former mayor of Laguna Beach, CA, who had retired with his husband to Honolulu 20 years earlier. He was a godsend, spending every day at the hospital with me, sometimes advising and comforting, often simply listening. Later in the month, he was joined by another wonderful volunteer Jim Patterson, a Honolulu native, who also was incredibly kind. The day after Bob's cardiac arrest, I went back to the Halekulani for a comforting breakfast. Darrelynn, the hostess, asked where my husband was. I told her. She took the flower out of her hair, put it in mine and embraced me. Then she gave me the best ocean view seat in the restaurant. Tony, too, asked about Bob and listened with his hand on my shoulder,expressing his concern. Before I left, he brought an apple pastry, Bob's favorite, for me to take to him. "And if he can't eat it himself, may it bring you comfort," he said softly. That first week, Ryan and I started every day at the comforting Halekulani as the Orchids staff -- especially Darrelynn and Tony -- offered warm support.

As time went on, there were challenges: airline reservations to be rescheduled, finding a new, relatively affordable condo to rent when our week was up and couldn't be extended at our original condo, moving all of our stuff by myself in an Uber and accidently leaving my purse (with my cell phone, credit cards and cash) in the back seat of the uber and spending the first 20 minutes of my stay at the new condo having my first emotional meltdown of our Hawaiian adventure until the uber driver appeared at the door and handed me my purse. The view from our second condo included the lagoon where Bob had his cardiac arrest (between two buildings on the upper right of the photo below).

There were numerous phone calls to our travel insurance carrier and the growing realization that we would not be flying coach using our air miles on our return flight, whenever that might be. Bob had broken ribs from 35 minutes of vigorous CPR. He couldn't sit up and was in terrible pain. I purchased two First Class lie-flat seats for our return flight -- which had to be rescheduled into July. And I was busy canceling appointments with my patients, missing seven weeks of work as we spent nearly a month in Hawaii, had a nightmarish flight home (Bob was delirious and screaming) and then he spent another week hospitalized in Phoenix (photo below) until his heart rate stabilized.

Since the moment Bob collapsed and fell lifeless to the bottom of the lagoon, life has never and will never be quite the same. He is physically and emotionally fragile, walking uncertainly with a cane, struggling with cognitive deficits and mood swings linked to brain damage due to oxygen deprivation in those first few moments. He struggles to accept the new limitations in his life and his dependence on me. And yet there is gratitude we both feel, too: that those three angels on the beach, expert in CPR, made the difference between life and death for him; that, in an age of rancorous divisions in this country, so many wonderful people -- both loved ones and strangers -- came together to offer comfort and support when we needed it most. And, most of all, we're grateful for another chance at life together. It's a somewhat different life, but cherished nonetheless.