The Art of Kintsugi - A Healer’s Story (Part 1)

He was broken. Body and spirit. The diagnosis wasn’t good. We knocked gently and offered a “Hello?” through the door opening. “Sure,” he replied in a gravely, alto voice. As we entered the patient’s room, he stared out the window. The sun was shining, the greenery of late spring was in the trees, and the blooms along the walkways colored the edges of the otherwise bland and boxy medical center. The room was lightless. The television was off. The only sounds were the low-toned beeps of monitors and pumps. Sitting on his bedside tray was a weathered Sudoku book, a styrofoam cup half-filled with water, and a business card from the hospital chaplain who had stopped by while he was asleep.

He shifted his gaze to us, picked up the business card, and asked, “Is this something I should be worried about?” The awkward tension was broken when he offered a half-smile and frisbee’d the card back on the table.

It was his second heart attack. Not good for a guy who was a star athlete from his teens to these later years.? “You must be administrators or bosses or something. The suits are a dead giveaway. Pardon the pun. Before you ask, everything’s been just fine. I’m sick and probably won’t be playing pickleball for a while. I’ll trade that for living longer.”?

Before we could get a word out to inquire about his care and offer assistance for his discharge, his nurse bounced into the room.

Adama’s smile was as big as Sierra Leone, her country of origin. His smile met hers, and he said, “Where have you been? I needed my morning dose of Adama.” She laughed and said, “You know I’m your best medicine.” She looked at the Doctor and said, “No offense, Doc.”

After a short chat with the cardiologist about care plans, resistance exercise, diet, and precautions, Adama said, “Doctor, his heart may have a few scars now, but whose doesn’t? I can tell you right now, Mr. C is all heart.”?

The energy in the room changed. There was a feeling of peace and possibility. There was a sense of manifesting quality of life. There was love.

Our patients come to us broken. Our compassion, empathy, kindness, and competence personify Kintsugi.?

Kintsugi is the Japanese art and method of repairing the broken. It doesn’t hide the scars but brings the broken together in a stronger and more beautiful form. The once-broken is highlighted in gold.?

"Doctor, his heart may have a few scars now, but whose doesn’t? I can tell you right now that Mr. C is all heart."

The patient’s heart was put back together with precision and care from the surgeon and continued support from his cardiologist. Adama’s smile, healing words, compassion, humor, and touch were the gold layers applied to his spirit.??Your presence is much more than clinical and operational; it is healing the broken, finding purpose in the scars, and making life more beautiful. Be an artist today. Offer the gold lining in a broken moment.

NOTE: I am not the only one to find the metaphor of Kintsugi applied to medicine and life. However, I have been a subscriber of its application for over a decade. Thank you to my old friend and mentor, Larry Littlebird, Laguna/Santo Domingo Pueblo Nation, for introducing this metaphor and so much more all those years ago to this compassion pilgrim. Your own philosophy of "spiritual wholeness, cultural restoration, and regenerative living informed by Indigenous wisdom and life-ways for healing land and people" is entirely consistent with this practice dating back to 15th century Japan. Thank you to my friend Dr. Jonathan Fischer for your recent elaboration on Kintsugi in conversations with Jim Doty and for your constant inspiration on all things HEART.