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This work is a memoir. To write this book, I relied upon my personal journals, meditations and guided channeling. This is my recollection of events in the telling of my story. I omitted certain individuals. The names of the persons included have been changed to protect their privacy. The names of the deceased have remained the same in honor of their memory.

Copyright © 2016 by Donna Starrett

All rights reserved in all media, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form whatsoever without the written permission of the author. This book was self published by the author. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

Cover design © Donna Starrett

Cover photograph © Donna Starrett

Back cover photo © Gloria Primpas

ISBN-13: 978-1539106708

ISBN-10: 1539106705



Donna Starrett









Rich, Alana & Angelia


It looked like a crime scene. The once all-white room was now splattered in red. Remy ran down the hallway waving his hands in the air. He was covered in blood and screaming.

“Help, I need help! Doctor! Doctor! I need help!”

A line of staff rushed into the room at the emergency ward. They stopped and stared. Everyone scrambled to clean up the mess. The doctor glared at her patient as one daring nurse wiped the blood from his mouth. He turned his head towards her and gasped.

“Oh, I feel so much better now. What’s wrong with your eye?”

“Well, you know, I got a little pig sty,” she replied.

“Ewww,” he shook his hands and turned away. Then he glanced over to Remy and laughed, “You should have seen your face!”

Remy had planted himself in the nearest chair to catch his breath and snapped back, “Are you fuckin’ kidding me right now? You’re wrapped tight. You just did an exorcism on me. You opened your mouth and projectile vomited blood all over the place and now you’re knocking the broad’s pig sty! Your sense of humor you’ll go to the grave with. You’re worse than me. You’re definitely worse than me.”

The doctor pinned her eyes to Remy, “The two of you, between you and him, you got to go.”

Remy jumped out of his chair and laughed anxiously, “Listen, you’re single and you probably just came out of a bad relationship and I’m available. We both got the same last name. We don’t even have to switch papers. You don’t have to get a new license. In fact, you don’t have to do anything!”

They transported him to Brigham and Women’s Hospital in Boston. It was the only hospital with a bed available and an intensive care unit.

My brothers Remy and Dom took turns around the clock. They ordered me to stay home to spare me from any gory horror show that could happen next, or the blackest of black-death.

We stayed close to our cell phones. It didn’t matter how many times we had called each other, there wasn’t anything we could do except wait. We got the updates the minute the doctor relayed any new information.

The following day Remy called me, “Margaux, they kept him in the intensive care unit overnight. I’m leaving now; Dom showed up, it’s his shift. I’m going home to get some sleep.”

“Okay, get some rest and tell Dom to keep me posted.”

That night the bloody scene happened all over again, only this time with Dom. He called us when it was over.

“The doctor said he’s going to be in the ICU for another 24 hours to ensure he’s stable. Then he will be moved to the floor. He lost half his body weight in blood and had several blood transfusions. I will stay here overnight.”

“That was close, Dom.”

“Yup, it was close. He should be okay now. They did a procedure to band the lesions in his esophagus. He’s getting blood and fluids. They have to let the blood vessels heal and check again to make sure they healed. Thank God he is here. That hospital saved his life.”

After the doctors confirmed that he was stable enough to be alone that is, without a family member, Dom headed straight to the nearest steak house. He sent me and Remy a text.

“He was moved to the floor. He started walking, went to the bathroom, and has the newspaper and a word search.”

Then next day, Remy and I went to the hospital, in my car. It was a beautiful, hot sunny day in July. We savor summer days like this. We do things slower and take a longer look around all the happenings in Boston with new eyes.

Nausea sets in right before I enter any hospital. I prepare ahead of time and faithfully wear my running shoes. After a quick glimpse of the oversized revolving glass doors, it took me a good few minutes to get up the nerve to jump in. As I pushed my way through, the vacuum sucked me in, smacked me in the face and blew my hair straight up into the air. Once I set foot inside, the faint smell of thick blood and alcohol made it official. I am going to be sick. Chocolate usually helps.

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