Island Nightmare by Nicole Irizawa

Island Nightmare by Nicole Irizawa

My sister could have died on a remote island because we were hungry for s’mores.

Thinking back to the overnight ferry from Tokyo, I can’t recall who organized the camping trip to Oshima Island. Likely my husband, who’s always looking for an excuse to bring random people together. In this case it was my mother, stepfather, sister and boyfriend, and kid brother. Plus, a fellow expat thrown into the mix.

I was only a year or two into my decades’ long relationship with Fumi. Japan born and raised, he broke the mold of what one often hears about Japanese culture: refined, polite, quiet, conservative. Birthed with passport in hand, the man hopped a ship to Russia at the age of 19 and hasn’t stopped traveling since.

Camp was set up. Ready to embrace the cozy night, we were gathered around the fire drinking beer, roasting marshmallows, and relishing the freedom to be loud outdoors, a welcome change from cramped living spaces.

Brandon went to check on Erika in the tent, who had apparently developed a stomachache. He rejoined the group, then Mom and I had to see for ourselves. She was curled in the fetal position. “Just rest. It’s probably gas. I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning.” And back we went to savor the nocturnal fireside chat.

The next day Erika could barely uncurl herself without wincing in pain, let alone stand up straight. This was long before the days of Googling symptoms and self-diagnosis. The day’s plans quickly derailed as we realized we had to get her to a doctor. All eight of us piled into two cabs to the nearest clinic in the small village. Fumi served as interpreter for the elderly doctor, while the rest of us waited anxiously, noting the outdated and decidedly non-modern surroundings.

It didn’t take long for Fumi to burst forth with the diagnosis: acute appendicitis. His words to Erika as she lay on the examination table? “You will die if you don’t have surgery now.”

Not the softest of deliveries.

Yet we had Fumi to thank for his swift interpretation skills, since none of us spoke Japanese with enough fluency to navigate a medical emergency, much less order a meal in a restaurant without having to waggle a finger at a plastic food display, one of Japan’s many intricate artistries.

A helicopter medical evacuation back to Tokyo was in order. No surgery was to be had on this island. One person was allowed to accompany our patient, and that of course was Mom. I had never confronted this, the possibility that I could ever be in the world without my sister. I fought back tears thinking about all the stupid fighting over the years, the years of not getting along. I wanted another chance to be her sister.

Eric, my stepdad, assured me everything would be fine. While I wanted to take the first slow boat back to Tokyo, the gang rallied and decided to make the most of the weekend. So, around the time Erika was flying over Tokyo Disneyland, the rest of us were stumbling around the scenic volcanic trails on the island.

My worry didn’t cease until I knew she was on the operating table at one of Tokyo’s top hospitals. Later she regaled us with hilariously horrific stories about being able to hear the nurses and doctors joking during surgery, radio blasting, and gloveless nurses tending to her bloody wound.

This is the kind of milestone you can laugh about years later, after you know the outcome and see that, yes, it will all be okay somehow, in the end.

Nicole grew up in Ohio and has made Japan her home for over 20 years. She works as a communications professional in Tokyo and fills her weekends with hikes, yoga, paranormal podcasts, astrology, café hunting, and of course reading. She lives with her husband, daughter, and pet yorkie in Chiba Prefecture.