2026 JABSOM GHHS Essay Contest - 1st Place

A New Wahine is Coming

by Aileen Ferrer, MS3

She is a multiethnic woman of Hawaiian heritage living with end-stage liver disease from alcohol- related cirrhosis. Full of heart and spirit, she radiates life even through the telltale yellowing of her skin and eyes, the abdominal distention from worsening ascites, and the spider angiomas that trace across her chest and back. But this isn’t just the story of her illness. It’s the story of a woman who has walked through darkness and is choosing to step into the light. 

She grew up on the west side of Oʻahu, where life was anything but easy. Her childhood was marked by trauma early on. Her father struggled with substance abuse and ultimately succumbed to his addiction. Not long after, her mother suffered a traumatic brain injury while surfing and remained in a coma for over a decade before she too passed. Losing both parents at a young age left her and her siblings, a twin sister and younger brother, to navigate the world alone. Not only was she burdened with grief, she endured bullying and abuse. Growing up in this hardship, she learned how to carry pain quietly. On the outside, she had to be tough in order to survive. But deep down were unhealed scars that never truly faded. 

“I thought I was okay, but I wasn’t,” she said. When the COVID-19 pandemic hit and the world shut down into isolation, those old wounds resurfaced. During this dark time, she turned to alcohol. She felt alone, and drinking became her way of numbing it all. 

Everything changed the day she was hospitalized and learned she had advanced liver disease. Her body was failing, and the diagnosis hit her like a wall. Knowing her life was on the line was a turning point for her. She quit drinking alcohol cold turkey. “I want to live,” she said. And she hasn’t had a single sip of alcohol since. 

Giving up alcohol, especially under those emotional circumstances, is no easy feat. When asked how she did it, she told me, “When you’re staring death in the face, something inside you just lights up. A fire to live.” Her fire to live gave her a strong mindset and tethered her firmly to her Christian faith. It became her lifeline. “This is the rollercoaster I put myself on,” she told me. No blame. Just humility, accountability, and surrendering to what is in order to pave a path forward. 

As her condition worsened, the uncertainty grew heavier. She knew her time was limited. That all changed when she received news that she had been medically cleared for a liver transplant. During her stay at the hospital for expedited transplant evaluation, she went through a series of tests, including a cardiac catheterization. Just before the procedure, when she was afraid there might be something wrong with her heart, she said it felt like her whole life flashed before her. She remembered the darkest moments she endured and how she was able to pull herself out of them. She reminded herself, “You are tough. You are a warrior. You are going to fight this. And you will get your second chance at life.” 

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Being cleared for transplant, for her, is more than a shot at survival. It’s “hōʻailona,” she says, a “sign from God” that her life isn’t done yet. That she is meant for more. A gifted aspiring Native Hawaiian artist, she dreams of seeing her designs, rooted in culture, faith, and honesty, come to life on clothing, home goods, and stationery. Her work carries a signature element she calls “walaʻau,” the quiet chatter in the background, imperfect specks intentionally woven into her art that reflect her own journey. “My life’s not perfect,” she says. “And that’s what makes it beautiful.” 

Through our conversation, I was reminded of the humanizing power of simply talking story when caring for patients. Of being fully present and truly listening. By listening, we give ourselves the opportunity to understand our patients beyond their diagnoses. It is then that we begin to cultivate genuine empathy for their experiences. In that shared space, connection, trust, and dignity took shape, and the idea of placing the person, not just the illness, at the center of care strongly resonated with me. I found myself rooting not only for her recovery, but for the second chance to live out the dreams she held so clearly for herself. 

“A new wahine is coming,” she says with quiet power. “She is going to bloom. She is going to thrive. She is going to live.”