What Would Have Been The 32nd Birthday of Danielle Alvarez
Instead, Northwell Hospital Had Their Way
I try to be something or something to everyone. Whether it’s my husband who is successfully fighting recurrent bladder cancer, those who need ‘Ed’s Cancer Protocol’ updated, our blind and elderly friend who needs help, or a Mother mourning what would have been the 31st birthday of her daughter. I try to be that one person who they can count on.
So I am getting this out before the day is over.
Let me backtrack for a moment.
What Hospitals Are Like
My soul cries for Rebecca, and all Moms and Dads who knew nothing about how a hospital works, especially vs. my knowledge as an anesthesiologist and critical care specialist in the ICU.
In the course of just the past three days, it has occurred to me that very few doctors in the medical freedom movement know how hospitals work— they are clinic or SurgiCenter-based. They never stepped in a hospital after training, except to visit.
They never rounded with medical students or wrote their evaluations, nor interviewed Fellows and helped decide whether to accept or reject an application for someone to have a career in surgery, anesthesiology, or in the ICU.
I was Interim Chief of Anesthesiology at the University of Pennsylvania’s VA Hospital in Philadelphia and later, Surgical ICU Director at UCLA’s West Los Angeles VA Hospital. That was after graduating USC School of Medicine, Stanford Anesthesiology, and then Stanford Critical Care. On the latter, I was only one of a few ICU Fellows who were accepted into the program that year, 1996. God was with me.
For decades, I walked the hospital halls and ate most of my meals in the cafeteria. Sometimes I wore Operating Room (OR) scrubs, and did my own cases; other times, I supervised Nurse Anesthetists or “Ran the Board” coordinating every OR and making sure everyone got lunch— and no one fell asleep at their station, at 4 am; I also ran Codes for the entire hospital, whether they were in the ER, ICU, or a regular floor.
They don’t run to Codes anymore. They walk away. They do nothing because they made them a DNR and then they over sedated them— euthanized men and women— killed them.
To protect yourself from hospital protocols, see IDoNotConsentForm.com.
Other times, I donned a skirt and heels, Attending in the ICU with nursing and pharmacy students, medical students, interns, residents, Fellows, Charge Nurses, and Pharmacists. I sometimes rounded on 30 ICU patients in Surgery/Traumatology, Neuro ICU, or the Cardiothoracic ICU that cared for those after a heart attack, with bypass surgery, ECMO machines bubbling oxygen into the veins, or mechanical LVADs (Left Ventricular Assist Device) or RVADs functioning as a left or right heart, respectively. I cared for people after receiving a heart or lung transplantation, sometimes both.
I never met a person ‘in real life’ after having a heart transplantation, but I saw them receiving them in the ICU. I still wonder who gets all the hearts, but we’ll leave that for another day.
I don’t expect anyone from the general public to know the hospitals where I used to live, 100 hours a week.
What It Would Have Been Like
Danielle would have been scared, left alone to die without her Protector, her Mommy.
Her Mom would not have known how things work, nor how to get around certain situations. She would not have known the questions to ask, the parameters to observe, what to write down, nor exactly what (or who) to remember.
In the ICU, people look different. Faces are blown up with extra fluid or edema, legs are barefoot and feet bend downward, tubes and IVs go in and out of multiple body parts. Alarms constantly beep. No one sleeps.
People walk in and out, sometimes without providing privacy. Meals are skipped, water is withdrawn, eyes are sedated, hair becomes matted, and expressions are sedated and rendered incompetent.
Brains are made to have amnesia: Precedex anesthetic, lorazepam or Versed benzodiazepines (like Valium); Danielle got the opioid, fentanyl: IV, IV drip, AND a patch or two on the chest. That was after the series of Remdesivir doses. Nevertheless, she survived much drug-induced stupor.
Danielle was hard to put down, because she was a strong, strong girl who ate good food, took supplements, and was well cared for, like others who suffered a similar fate.
Doctors and nurses plotted and planned, writing and following orders, respectively. Danielle was no match for them.
It was a grand orchestra playing the same song, over and over again. The players become adept at taking one life after another, developing into something they never wanted to be when they grew up: experts at causing euthanasia without informed consent. Murderers.
Here is Danielle in a little-known video, singing Happy Birthday.
You can hear how sweet her voice is, how kind and soft her mannerisms are. You can see she has a good soul.
I can’t imagine missing that voice.
In today’s article by Rebecca Charles, she explains:
August 5th, 1993, feels like it was just yesterday. It was a mix of emotions—excited, nervous, scared—as we awaited the arrival of our first child. Despite our meticulous plans, life had its way of throwing unexpected twists, altering our lives forever. But it also brought us the most extraordinary gift—Danielle.
Please read Rebecca’s account of what happened, and get ready to follow her case, Charles vs. Northwell. It will be developing over the next months, and I suspect (but don’t know) probably into 2026.
Here’s what Rebecca has to say:
The Incomprehensible Stillness
The past three years have been marked by an unbearable stillness and silence. The absence of Danielle's laughter and joy has left a void that words cannot describe a heart that could only be healed when I leave this earth. Some days, my mind plays tricks on me, making me believe she is coming home. But then I see her picture, and my heart shatters all over again. This weekend, is quite as never before, as the parties have ended, and the pain lives on the inside on the inside of our brokenness for a life that meant so much to us but nothing to the doctors and nurses.
The rawness is still so raw.
Those Who Mourn Will Be Comforted
I can’t bring back Danielle but I know she still alive. She left her body and is in the presence of God, the Mighty God I met during my Near-Death Experience.
There’s no better place to be than in the presence of God ~ it’s where we belong, where we all want to be, where He meant us to be.
I just wish that I could impart one iota of that feeling. Because if I could, no one would miss anyone who died… they would really believe.
What Happens When We Really Believe?
I only tell this story because it’s the best story I personally know on REALLY BELIEVING.
I was voted to be the one to tell the family that their mother, an elderly Black woman, was going to die. And my style was to tell the family that they should get the rest of their family to the bedside, and if that’s what they wanted, we could transfer her to a regular floor and remove some of her invasive lines. Then could get more people into the room to say their goodbyes.
Two of her daughters were disgusted with me and weren’t very nice about saying, while one of them pointed her finger at me,
“No! She’s going to live, IN THE NAME OF JESUS!” And they shooed me away.
That very night, it was 2:00 am in my ICU when I was called to her bedside.
She had gone into Atrial Fibrillation. Once she was stabilized, she pulled me over and said,
“I have to tell you something.”
“I saw Jesus!”
She pointed to the right side of the foot of her bed.
“He was standing at the foot of my bed. And He told me,
“It’s your time to come home.”
“So I am ready to go.”
I called her daughters and explained what she told me. They said,
“We don’t believe you.”
By 6 am, they were at her bedside. I was elsewhere but noted that in just a couple hours, she had been moved out of the ICU. I thought about how lucky she was to see Jesus. And I went about my day.
That evening, I walked to the cafeteria to get dinner.
On my way back, I saw a beautiful young Black lady walking down the hallway in front of me.
She was wearing a full-on wedding gown with a long train.
I slowed down enough to remain in the distance. And once I saw which room she entered, I peeked in ever-so-gently.
It was her.
My patient.
Her Granddaughter got married in my patient’s room, which was filled with happy music, clapping, and dancing!
They REALLY BELIEVED.
All of them.
And when the service was over, she died. My patient died.
And when she died, I believe she was personally accompanied by Jesus to meet God The Father.
And nobody cried.
There was only happiness.
~ ~ ~
Let Us Pray
Holy Father,
Bless Rebecca and her family, bring them unto Your place of perfection. While Rebecca’s path is very rocky and uphill, Lord, give her Your shade, and lead her to Your clear water, as You promise., MIGHTY GOD!
Let this day pass without incident, Lord. Let Rebecca see newness to her path.
And bless all those who lost children and family members in this darkness, as we find new ones every day. Continue to expose it, and open more eyes. Use us to not only bring others into Your Kingdom, but to attain that peace that surpasses all understanding.
We ask this in the Name of Jesus.
Amen.
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What a beautiful, noble and Life-Giving post! God bless Rebeccas family, and you and yours! Eternally
👊❤️ speechless