Dr. Chelsea Garcia

17/04/2026

Matching with my fur baby today—happy Friday 🐾
Still feels like a dream that I get to take my dog to work. Huge thank you to LivHealth’s Patient Care Coordinator extraordinaire, Camille Hutchinson, for gifting him his very own LivHealth uniform- he understood the assignment 🐶💼
Introducing our newest (and cutest) team member: Perro 💙

07/04/2026

If you know me, you know how much I love Easter.
In recent years, my family has stopped trying to hold me back—they already know I’m going to overdo it. Three suitcases of Easter extravaganza for my littlies.
There’s just something about watching children’s faces light up. Whether it’s an Easter egg hunt or a full treasure map I’ve spent months planning—complete with gold coins and buried treasure—it brings me so much joy.
Because this palliative doctor knows one thing for certain: life is fragile.
So if there’s joy to be made, I’m making it—treasure maps, gold coins, and all. 🐣✨
My patients have taught me how important these moments are. Not just the big milestones, but the simple act of celebrating—together or even on your own.
Living in Trinidad and Tobago, we don’t experience seasons the same way. But holidays? They mark time. They create rhythm. They remind us to pause, to gather, to feel.
So I make space for them.
And I encourage you to do the same—whatever that looks like for you.
Happy Easter
❤️ Love Dr G

04/04/2026

The Me Between the Medical Calls: Pet Therapy
My love for animals runs deep.
Since I was a little girl, they’ve held a special place in my heart.
A year and a half ago, I rescued my Perro from the Paramin mountains. He was half-blind, half-deaf, covered in mange, and skin and bones.
I thought I was the one taking care of him.
But what unfolded was something much deeper—he brought light, joy, and rhythm back into my everyday life.
And now, research is beginning to validate what so many of us have always felt.
A recent study published in Nature found that among people living with serious illness, those with regular contact with dogs had a significantly lower risk of death over five years—even after adjusting for age and other health factors.
In other words, connection—the simple, steady presence of a companion—was associated with better long-term outcomes.
As the study noted: “Contact with dogs was associated with improved survival in patients with serious illness over a 5-year follow-up period…”
This doesn’t mean animals are medicine in the traditional clinical sense.
But it does remind us that relationships—those that bring joy, routine, love, and presence—have real impact on our health.
It resonates deeply with me. Not just because of my Perro, but because of every patient who has shown me that healing is more than treatments and protocols.
It’s human experience. It’s connection. It’s emotional support.
So for all the animal lovers out there—loving your pets might just be one of the healthiest things you do.
Some lessons aren’t found in textbooks.
We live them. 🐾❤️

03/04/2026

The Me Between the Medical Calls: Daily Dose of Nature
Once upon a time, I prioritized my patients’ health over my own.
Years of eating poorly, skipping exercise, and forgetting that the healer needs healing too.
What a contradiction—guiding others to care for themselves while neglecting my own well-being.
Over the last year, that has changed.
I’ve made my health a priority again.
One of my favorite ways? Hiking—where movement meets stillness, and exercise blends with the outdoors.
Out here, I feel alive. I feel strong.
I’m so grateful to live in Trinidad and Tobago, where spaces like Chaguaramas offer both beauty and meaning.
The Trinidad Tracking Station sits about 3–4 miles up a steady incline.
From the 1940s to the 1960s, it quietly placed our island on the map—helping track and communicate with spacecraft orbiting Earth.
I love knowing that our little island played a role in space history.
Today, the base is closed, but the space still holds a quiet kind of power.
I try to make this hike 2–3 times a week.
A reminder to move my body, breathe deeply, and reconnect—with myself and something greater.
💪🏽 Don’t forget to exercise and get your daily dose of nature.

02/04/2026

This month, I’m intentionally filling my cup: celebrating Easter, getting my daily dose of nature, and making special time for my fur babies. 🐾✨

Swipe through my three-part series to see why these moments matter—not just for joy, but for your health. Sometimes, the most important prescriptions aren’t found in a chart.

27/03/2026

18/03/2026

If you have any questions at all, don't hesitate to give us a call at 📞 +1 (868) 331-2441 to learn more!

17/03/2026

Ireland shaped five years of my journey, so St. Patrick’s Day is a celebration I’ll always keep.
Today I’m reminded how lucky I am for this village — the people who help me balance the demands of motherhood, medicine, and everything in between, while always making sure there is laughter and fun along the way. In this family, there is no shortage of entertainment. 🍀🤍

16/03/2026

🏛️ When I became Medical Director of Living Water Hospice, the building felt worn and in need of repair.

My first year was spent on protocols, staff training, and systems — the tangible parts of care.

The hospice is dedicated to Saint Maximilian Kolbe. Over the years, staff and patients quietly shared stories of seeing him — a presence walking the halls, appearing in moments of suffering or near death.

At first, I listened respectfully, but privately wondered if it was simply legend. The building itself, tired and worn, made it hard to feel the spirituality people described.

But one day, everything changed.

I opened the chapel door.

And I stopped.

A presence of peace and love filled the room.
Quiet. Profound. Undeniable.

No one else reacted. Only me.

In that moment, I understood: this place was holy.
Its purpose went beyond walls or renovations.
It had been sustained by decades of care, prayer, and love — by the countless lives that had passed through its doors.

My role wasn’t just medicine.
It was spiritual stewardship — to honor the lives, the struggles, and the sacredness that had been here long before me.

Hospice care is not just treating illness.
It’s holding space.
It’s nurturing peace, even at the edge of death.

And in that chapel, I realized something essential:
We don’t just care for bodies.
We care for the spirit of a place, the dignity of each life, and the love that continues long after someone has gone.

Sometimes, the place itself remind us why we do this work.

15/03/2026

⏳ Do you believe death can be perfectly timed?

I do.

One of my patients told me exactly when she was going to die.

I had just returned from being away. When I walked into her room, she reached for my hand, held it tightly, and looked at me with a calm I have learned to recognize.

“Dr… thank you. I’m at peace. This is my time.”

I whispered quietly, “Yes. Go in peace.”

That night, she passed. Peacefully.

Moments like that stay with you.

There was another woman in our inpatient unit. Her body was tired, failing slowly. But she held on. Every day, she asked the same question:
“Has my son arrived yet?”

He was flying in from overseas.

Three weeks she waited.

The day he finally walked through the door, she smiled, held his hand… and within hours, she let go.

I see this more often than people realize.

Sometimes patients hold on for someone.
A daughter’s flight.
One last conversation.
One final goodbye.

Other times, it is the opposite.

The room is full of family. Hands clasped. Prayers whispered. Tears falling.

The breathing slows… but does not stop.

Sometimes I gently suggest, “Why don’t you step outside for a moment?”

They don’t want their loved one to die alone.

But sometimes that is exactly how the patient chooses to go.

The door closes.
The room quiets.
And the body finally lets go.

Families often carry guilt when they weren’t at the bedside in that final moment.

I tell them something I’ve learned from years at the bedside:

Sometimes it would have been too hard for them to leave if you were there.
Sometimes they wait for you.
Sometimes they wait until you leave.

After walking beside so many people at the end of life, I have learned something extraordinary:

Even in dying, we are still protecting the people we love.

And love —
love never dies.

14/03/2026

I was in the room of a patient I was caring for, and I felt something I couldn’t explain…

a presence— calm, grounded, ancient.
It was as if nature itself had stepped inside, it reminded me of a Native American.

I said nothing. I questioned my own mind.

Then she opened her eyes and whispered softly:
“That presence… he’s Native American.”

It wasn’t coincidence.

Another patient, in the ICU, spoke of past lives.
“This life is ending,” he said calmly,
“I am ready for the next one.”

He passed peacefully the next day, leaving a quiet certainty that stayed with me.

And then there was the man I cared for at home during COVID.
Medically, he was stable — truly stable. Nothing suggested sudden decline.
But as I prepared to leave, he looked at me with a calm I will never forget.

“Doctor,” he said,
“Care for my daughter. I know what is about to happen. And I am content.”

That night, he passed quietly. Peacefully.
No alarms. No struggle. Just certainty.

I don’t know if I believe in past lives.
What I do know is this: sometimes our patients seem to know more than we do.

They teach us courage.
They teach us love.
They teach us that even in death, there is wisdom — presence — that we cannot see, but can feel.

Sometimes, the bedside speaks louder than any words ever could.