If someone had told me five years ago that I would experience death’s shadow and emerge with a new-found purpose, I wouldn’t have believed them. My life was a tapestry of success, a vibrant blend of being a natural health practitioner, owning a bustling health shop and launching two successful health products. With a loving husband, two wonderful kids and a cosy suburban home, life couldn’t have been more fulfilling.

I cherished my profession, my family and the place I held in life. Little did I know that, early in 2018, a colossal medical crisis would shatter my health and the serene picture I had painted for myself.

It was a sunny Friday morning in April when the unthinkable happened. A sharp, unexplainable pain pierced through my stomach as I went about my work. Being well-versed in health, I tried to pinpoint and alleviate the issue but found no relief or answers. By day’s end, the pain had intensified and I made an unusual visit to the doctor’s office. Her diagnosis was startling; I needed an immediate second opinion with a specialist at the hospital. I protested, thinking it unnecessary, as I had no prior symptoms and I knew it wasn’t my appendix. But she insisted and, after a tiresome argument with my husband, we went to a city hospital, our local one being full.

At the hospital, a specialist conducted a quick ultrasound, revealing a mass in my abdomen that needed immediate removal. Alarm bells rang in my head, but I silenced my gut instinct as I was prepared for surgery the following morning.

I can vividly recall the uneasy feeling as they wheeled me into the operating room. I asked myself, ‘What could possibly go wrong?’ After all, this was supposed to be a routine laparoscopic procedure with just three small incisions. I expected to be home in a mere two days.

However, the reality was far from ordinary. During the procedure, the surgeon made a grave error. Instead of removing a small cyst from my ovary, he punctured my colon. In a cruel twist of fate, my body spiralled into septic shock within 30 hours. What followed were seven more surgeries in the next three weeks, as the surgeon fought to remove more and more dead colon and small intestine. My abdomen remained open, stretching from my sternum to my pubic bone.

During those agonising weeks, my lung collapsed and a chest tube was inserted to drain fluid. Countless litres of antibiotics, medicines, morphine and what felt like toxic waste coursed through my veins via ports and tubes. I teetered on the brink of death, experiencing moments of fading consciousness, resuscitation and a week on life support. I lost the ability to walk, talk and even breathe on my own.

The days and nights blurred together in a nightmarish haze and my body became a shadow of its former self. My skin showed dark blood beneath as it struggled to heal from the daily blood tests. I was far from fully aware of the trauma my body endured, but my near-death experience on the 16th day remains etched in my memory.

That night, I knew I was dying. My connection to my hospital bed and my husband’s hand started to slip away. I tasted the acrid scent of burning tar, felt the searing fire in my lungs and the deafening pressure in my eardrums. My gaze didn’t settle on my husband’s face; I found myself detached from my body, trapped in a torment I can hardly describe.

In that terrifying moment, I begged for God’s mercy, overwhelmed by fear, panic and an intense desperation. Although I hadn’t been particularly religious, I clung to my belief in a divine creator and the continuity of my soul after death. But in that instant, I was consumed by fear.

As swiftly as it had arrived, the darkness vanished, replaced by an ethereal realm of radiant light. Profound gratitude, bliss and tranquillity washed over me. The silence resonated like the most beautiful melody I’d ever heard. In that moment, I shed the roles of daughter, sister, wife and mother. Possessions and suburban comforts lost their significance.

It was a state of pure joy and I yearned to linger in it indefinitely. Time ceased to flow and my soul floated weightlessly, no longer attached to the physical form. Yet, something tugged me backward, filling me with dread. I gradually returned to the ICU, alone and now connected to life support.

I spent a week on life support while my family’s desperate attempt to save me led to my discharge and readmission to another hospital. Strangely, the surgeon offered no resistance even though it had been four weeks since he ruptured my colon and I was getting more ill. It was a stark reminder that even doctors can make grave mistakes, but the choice to take responsibility remains in each one of us. This surgeon had tried to conceal his error, nearly costing me my life.

At the second hospital, I was admitted with a massive, infected wound on my abdomen. A significant portion of my colon and small intestine had been removed and I was severely malnourished, teetering on the brink of death. I had suffered a mild stroke and my prospects for recovery looked bleak.

The journey to regain control of the infection, nourish my body through IV protein, blood transfusions and rehabilitation, was long and arduous. Four months later, I finally shuffled out of the hospital, more than six months since that fateful day. I was broken, weak and sick and the wound on my stomach still hadn’t closed. The medical verdict was clear: I would need a permanent stoma bag to lead any semblance of a normal life.

Two moments stood out in my mind during that time. One was the night I knew I was dying and felt the life slip away from my body and the other was the day I realised that life with a stoma would be unbearable. I knew that, even if I went against medicine and doctor’s opinions, I had enough knowledge and choices to take back and reclaim my life and my health on my own terms.

I needed time to allow my body to heal and my health to recalibrate. Deep down, I knew I had allowed the doctors to fill me with fear and doubt, so I had to take control back from all of big pharma.  I needed to focus on my years of experience, trust and faith in holistic health and healing. The journey was long, painful and filled with uncertainty, even with my extended background in health and supplementation. Every step was a trial-and-error experiment as I navigated my body’s response to food and supplementation. I often had to change my approach or direction, but my unwavering faith in my body’s innate healing power kept me going.

This process was long and painful as I had relentless pain and chronic diarrhoea. Frustration, anger, and bitterness consumed me as I grappled with the abrupt loss of my vibrant existence and complicated health issue. Profound memory lapses compounded my sense of loss. I feared that I would never regain my memory and this robbed me of my identity, passion, health and career.

The year ended with my eighth surgery to remove the massive scar that had replaced the open wound. I hadn’t worked in nearly a year and I was facing huge medical debt, despite having medical aid. This injustice baffled me. Many daily tasks became a struggle as my traumatised, foggy brain tried to catch up. I was fortunate to have the unwavering support of my family, friends and clients, but I felt restless, angry and uncertain about what lay ahead.

As I regained my health and adapted to the changes in my body, life threw yet another earth-shattering curve ball my way.  The impact of trauma extended far beyond myself, a realisation that would become painfully clear two years into my own recovery when my husband of 27 years died of a sudden heart attack.

The grief I experienced during those initial months was, in some ways, even more excruciating than the nightmares I had endured during and after my surgery and recovery. I felt a searing pain in my chest, one that I feared would be insurmountable. Grief, loss and sadness brought an entirely different set of challenges. During my own illness and recovery, my husband had been my rock, unwavering in his belief that I would not just survive but thrive. The prospect of navigating life without him seemed overwhelming, especially since I had not fully regained my health.

For the first four months following his passing I operated on autopilot, merely going through the motions of life. Then, a profound event shook me to my core. I stood in our now-empty house one weekend and, suddenly, the weight of my broken heart became physically suffocating. Every symptom convinced my brain that I was having a heart attack. My confused mind led me to believe that lying under a tree at the top of my garden, next to the compost heap, was a more responsible choice than having my son discover his only remaining parent dead in the house.

As I lay on the grass, my symptoms gradually subsided and I realised I had suffered a panic attack. A gentle breeze rustled the branches above me and I focused on my breath and the world around me. In that moment, I understood that I faced a second chance to rebuild my life, just as I had during my rehabilitation. While support is crucial, I had learned in rehab that no one else can carry us through life entirely. Back then, I’d uttered the words ‘I can’t’ countless times, feeling weak, frustrated and pathetic. I had lost faith in both the divine and myself, until I realised that building strength and overcoming challenges fell squarely on my shoulders. This time, it felt even more daunting, as I confronted it alone, without my husband’s daily reassurances, love and support.

One thing remained clear: I had survived my own death and ordeal for a reason and I was determined to survive this sorrow and sadness too. I made the unthinkable decision to sell my beloved shop and house, leaving behind everything dear to me. The grief and trauma had taken a toll on my already complex health and gut, affecting my mental health and overall physical wellbeing. I searched for purpose amidst the chaos, grappling with painful memories of all I had lost in recent years.

With time came acceptance and my perspective shifted. Instead of dwelling on all I had lost, I had to embrace the abundance of what remained. I found purpose in my blessings and triumphs. My zest for life reignited my passion for health and healing. The transformation led me to reinvent myself, leaving behind the familiarity of my bustling health store in KZN as well as everything that was dear to me.  Embracing change, I took my business online, crafting a personalised platform that allowed me to reach a broader audience.

This evolution became a canvas for my expertise and personal journey, enabling me to connect with others facing health challenges big and small. Each day, I worked on acknowledging how far I had come, celebrating even the smallest triumphs and letting go of the rest. I recognised the wealth of wisdom and experience within me, a beacon for those struggling in their wellness journey. Through this transition, I discovered the power of resilience and the boundless potential for growth, proving that even in the face of adversity, life can flourish with renewed purpose and meaning.

In the face of adversity, I discovered an unwavering spirit within me, a determination that transcends the darkest of moments. Embracing the power within, I learned that relinquishing control doesn’t equate to helplessness; it’s a gateway to resilience. My journey, marked by survival against medical odds, taught me the transformative potential of the human body when nurtured with care, nutrition and accurate guidance.

As I guide others through their health challenges, I am reminded of my own struggles. I advocate for the strength that lies within us, urging everyone to trust their instincts and seek help when needed. My odyssey was arduous, yet I emerged stronger, for I chose a path of healing over a life of suffering.

Surrounded by those who truly understand the depths of our joys and sorrows, we can transform our journey into something beautiful. In the darkest of times, inner faith and the light within us illuminate the way to healing, joy and life. So, let us embrace our resilience, trust our inner voice and remember that, even in the face of darkness and despair, there is always a path back to the light.

Heleen Page is a natural health and bio-scan practitioner. Since graduating in herbalism and nutrition in 1998, she has dedicated herself to a health and wellness career. She has launched two product ranges, established a health store and a consulting practice. Helen’s passion, knowledge and personal health journey are what fuel her journey as a natural health practitioner. Her practice operates both in-person (Western Cape) and online, enabling clients to achieve their ultimate personal health goals.

To connect with Heleen:
www.resetmeza.com https://www.instagram.com/resetme_za  WhatsApp +27 769474024.