Unfamiliar paths

When the usual therapies stopped leading anywhere, I began looking elsewhere.

We did everything we could

In hindsight, the neurologist’s warning not to get our hopes up had one unintended effect: it only strengthened our determination to help Naomi recover. We did everything we possibly could.

At first, our focus was primarily on physical, occupational, and speech therapy, as well as helping Naomi relearn how to swallow small amounts of food and water. Paulina essentially became a dietician, painstakingly working out how to keep Naomi properly nourished, while I looked for other ways to support and complement our efforts.

On the recommendation of Jiska, we arranged hyperbaric oxygen therapy for Naomi and contacted various organisations specialising in the rehabilitation of children with brain injuries. Both Paulina and I attended seminars to learn the techniques and exercises promoted by these organisations.

Besides the exercises we did at home, we also took Naomi from hospital to hospital for different treatments, and from one clinic to another for a wide range of therapies, criss-crossing Singapore in search of anything that might help.

Signs of hope

Our efforts appeared to pay off. Naomi became less stiff and more flexible. But from the neck down, she still had no voluntary control over her body. She would move her arms and legs in response to stimuli, but she couldn’t purposefully control them to perform exercises. Naomi was weak and needed to regain strength. She didn’t speak, and eating and drinking remained extremely difficult.

One area where she made remarkable progress was medication. We were able to successfully wean her off everything except her heart medication. The seizure drugs and muscle relaxants that had kept her in a constant “snooze mode” were gone. That change alone made an enormous difference. Her eyes became brighter, she was far more alert, and interacting with her became easier and more meaningful. That she did not suffer any seizures, despite the severity of her brain damage, was enormously encouraging.

Regular cardiac check-ups also brought positive news. Each time, the data recorded by Naomi’s ICD showed that her heart was stable and that the device hadn’t delivered any shocks.

Another major milestone followed: Naomi no longer required the nasogastric feeding tube. She was able to take food and liquids orally again. After everything she had been through, it felt great to make such progress.

Reaching a plateau

But after a while, Naomi appeared to have reached a plateau, and we saw no further improvement. In fact, we even took a step backwards when we had to return to using the nasogastric tube. Her ability to drink water had deteriorated to the point where we could no longer ensure proper hydration, so the tube became necessary again.

The discomfort of having the tube back through her nose and throat affected her eating and sleeping as well, making an already difficult situation even harder. It was a deeply frustrating time. Unfortunately, more such periods were still to come.

It became clear that this would be a journey of ups and downs. Some months everything seemed to move in the right direction, and we felt encouraged by her progress; other months felt like we were moving backwards, leaving us downcast and powerless. Although Naomi had clearly made progress, it came at a pace far slower than we, as desperate parents, longed for. We were growing impatient.

Questions that hurt

Whenever family or friends asked how Naomi was doing—whether we saw any improvement or if she’d made any significant progress—I would reply, “Yes, bit by bit, still improving.” I tried to keep my head up, especially when these questions were asked in Naomi’s presence. Yet underneath, I felt sad. Very sad.

These questions, however well-intentioned, constantly reminded us of how painfully slow Naomi’s recovery was. Most of the time, we couldn’t see any progress at all. I yearned to tell people that she was talking again, or that she could sit on her own, or that we had achieved some kind of major breakthrough, but none of that happened. I would have been overjoyed if Naomi had simply been able to sleep through the night without waking, without grinding her teeth, and without biting her lower lip until her mouth filled with blood.

Longing to see Naomi regain even the most basic abilities, I realised how much I had taken everything for granted, and how little I had appreciated my family’s good health.

Had I ever seriously considered how marvellous it is to be able to speak? Never. I took it for granted. Had I ever thought about something as simple as turning over in bed? Not once. It was only when Naomi could no longer do these things that I became aware of them.

Seeing her gasping for air in the ICU made me realise how we breathe without even thinking about it. Watching her struggle was terrifying.

Life is wondrous and fragile. I had seen the birth of our daughters and held their tiny bodies in my arms. But it was only when I held Naomi’s lifeless body that it truly dawned on me how fragile life is, and how much I should have treasured it.

It changed the way I looked at everything. When I saw a baby sitting in a stroller, drinking from a bottle, or simply playing, I marvelled at the human body, how it develops and what it is capable of. At the same time, my heart would sink, knowing that even a six-month-old baby had far greater abilities than our six-year-old Naomi.

The smile

Especially during the times when I was alone with Naomi, the hard reality of her condition would hit me, and an intense sadness would consume me. On the outside, I maintained my composure; on the inside, I crumbled.

Despite my efforts to hide my sorrow, Naomi sometimes noticed. I remember the first time she must have realised I was struggling, she looked me in the eyes and gave me a serene smile. It was meant to be my role to comfort her, to support and encourage her, yet it was Naomi who comforted me.

Seeing that smile lifted my heart, only for it to sink again as I wondered why a sweet girl like Naomi had to suffer such a devastating cardiac arrest, leaving her in such a severely debilitated state.

Naomi had always radiated energy and joy. She skipped rather than walked. Children loved playing with her and often excitedly copied whatever she was doing, without her realising it. If she had sweets, little toys or other stuff, she gave them away. She would end up with nothing herself and be just as happy.

I also remembered her school sports day, where she had to run a relay race. Some children were nervous, others fiercely competitive, some even cheating to win. Naomi, I’m quite sure, didn’t even realise she was in a race. After her turn, she returned to cheer for the children on the opposing team. Typical Naomi.

I yearned for her to speak with us again. I wanted to know what she felt, what she was thinking, what she wanted to tell or ask us. She always had so much to say, and asked so many questions. I missed her infectious enthusiasm and laughter. I desperately wanted things to return to how they used to be.

This longing led me to look into almost any therapy I believed might help Naomi recover. At first, I focused on the more conventional, scientific therapies. But at some point in my search for the most effective therapy, I encountered various forms of spiritual healing.

These were practices I would normally have dismissed outright. Yet after everything I had experienced, I had become more open to the idea that help might come from beyond what I could understand, and more willing to give these alternatives the benefit of the doubt.

Looking beyond

I was drawn by the hope that these alternative therapies might offer some explanation—or at least some understanding—of what was happening to Naomi. And as I ran out of the usual options to support her recovery, I began to explore these unfamiliar paths.

It was the first time I did so intentionally. I had been exposed to such practices before through my mother, who has a deep interest in New Age spirituality. I had never seen her do it, but she occasionally treated people and described what she did as a form of healing in which she acted as a medium.

Because it made me uneasy, I never had much interest in her spiritual endeavours and preferred to keep my distance.

Still, I remember something she told me shortly after Naomi collapsed.

My mother had a vision of Naomi playing with a group of children, and that Naomi would one day be an example to them. She couldn’t say in what way, only that it pointed to a future in which Naomi would be helping other children and living a normal life again. It was reassuring to hear, but I didn’t know what to make of it. In the midst of everything that was happening, I soon forgot about it.

A different kind of help

Jane's suggestion

While we were still in Shanghai, after Naomi was discharged from the ICU and transferred to the regular ward, we were visited by Jane, our company’s HR director. She was concerned about Naomi and wanted to help.

Jane, an ardent practitioner of feng shui, had discussed Naomi’s condition with her teacher, a feng shui master. He had prepared a banner and two small cloths—almost like handkerchiefs—printed with various symbols. Jane advised us to hang the banner near Naomi’s bed and place the two cloths underneath her pillow. According to her, this would manipulate the flow of energy in the room in a way that would promote Naomi’s healing.

Although I could not see how the placement of these items could possibly have a positive effect on Naomi, I appreciated the thought and the gesture. And given that Jane was fully convinced it would help, we followed her suggestion.

A visit from Father Lu

We were also visited by Father Lu, the priest from the church where Paulina occasionally attended Mass. I wasn’t there at the time and therefore missed his visit. Father Lu came together with several of Paulina’s friends from the same church. Led by the priest, they prayed for Naomi at her bedside.

I only briefly met Father Lu afterward, when I walked out of the elevator just as he was about to enter on his way back to the church. We shook hands, and he told me he would continue to pray for Naomi.

Still searching for answers

Asking difficult questions

As we were struggling to understand what was happening to Naomi—and how we could help her recover—my mother suggested consulting Mel, a Dutch woman who was said to have the supernatural ability to know things about people or to perceive events that would happen in the future. I had always hated it when my mother asked clairvoyants about my own future, so I was initially quite apprehensive about asking this lady any questions about Naomi.

Yet I was desperate. Naomi couldn’t speak to us or otherwise tell us how she felt or what she needed, and I was willing to put my reservations aside if there was even a small chance it might help. I sent my questions to my mother, who forwarded them to Mel. My mother then relayed Mel’s answers back to me. That was how we communicated.

In my first message, I asked many questions about Naomi. Mel didn’t respond to them individually but answered in a more general way. Among other things, she said that Naomi would recover slowly, that she was afraid to eat, and that she could actually speak but didn’t yet realise it herself. Curious about where this information came from, I asked Mel to explain how she worked. She replied that it was difficult for her to describe how she functioned as a medium, and so the way in which she obtained her knowledge about Naomi remained unclear.

Over the following months, I sent several more emails. Mel commented on which treatments were beneficial for Naomi and which were not. Many of her observations aligned closely with what we already believed ourselves. She also made a number of predictions about when Naomi would improve in certain areas or regain specific abilities, such as becoming less stiff, improving her swallowing, or beginning to speak. These predictions did not materialise.

When I asked her about this, Mel explained that it was difficult for her to specify timing because the information she received came from a place where time functioned very differently from how we experience it. But she reiterated that, after a long time, everything would be well again with Naomi.

Although Mel had given us some encouragement and a certain sense of understanding, many doubts remained. We sent her another email, but she didn’t respond. My mother was also unable to reach her, and after that, we never heard from Mel again.

Involved yet excluded

Keen to support Naomi’s recovery from afar in Holland, my mother met every two weeks with her friend Niels, a Reiki master, to send us energy intended to reduce stress and promote relaxation and healing.

My mother explained that Niels could feel what we were feeling and that, with her acting as a proxy for the four of us in Singapore, he would massage her in the areas where blockages existed in our bodies. These blockages restricted the proper flow of energy and could cause stress, pain or illness. Reiki, she said, helped remove those blockages. She described it as similar to acupuncture, except that instead of needles, Niels stimulated the relevant points through massage.

She also told me that during these Reiki sessions, Niels could see us and talk to us, and we with him. I found this deeply unsettling and struggled to understand how I, or the alleged “spirit version” of me, could speak with someone without my awareness. It felt strange to be supposedly involved while being entirely excluded from the experience. It helped that my mother was involved as well, otherwise I would have felt seriously uncomfortable.

Some time later, my mother told me that Naomi had appeared to Niels during one of the sessions. It was the first time, she said, that Naomi had approached him. According to Niels, Naomi told him she found it wonderful to receive so much love from someone she didn’t know. During another session, my mother and Niels gave Naomi and Sienna a hug. These stories made the whole idea feel slightly less uncomfortable, though it still felt awkward to me.

My mother also mentioned that Niels saw colours around us. Once, while he was treating me, Paulina came to have a look and Niels saw her surrounded by beautiful colours, which he described as a delightful sight. Around Naomi, he saw a reddish-orange colour which, he explained, meant she was protected. He didn’t say how or by whom, but my mother felt certain it was Sathya Sai Baba, because the colour reminded her of the orange clothing he was known to wear.

She told me she followed Sai Baba’s spiritual teachings and believed him to be an avatar, the incarnation of God. He had lived in India and had passed away earlier that year. I knew nothing about him and was unsure what to make of her interpretation, but the idea of Naomi being protected felt comforting nonetheless.

Although I never actually felt the effects of Reiki—or perhaps simply couldn’t discern them—it may have helped us cope with the immense stress and anxiety of that time. I didn’t understand how Reiki worked, but I did understand that it took a great deal of energy from Niels. My mother told me she often had to support him during the sessions to prevent him from losing his balance and falling over. Whatever was happening, it was clear they were making a sincere effort, and that, above all, was what I appreciated most.

Trying it myself

When I was told about a woman named Hannah, who had healed herself of a heart condition through a technique called deep breathing meditation, I decided to get in touch with her. It sounded far more straightforward than Reiki, and I could understand the potential benefit of deep breathing. This became the first form of spiritual healing I pursued on my own initiative.

Obviously, Naomi wasn’t able to perform any specific breathing exercises herself, so when I called Hannah, I pointed this out. To my surprise, she assured me that even though Naomi couldn’t, I could do the breathing for her and she would still benefit.

Hannah offered to come to our home to meet us. When she arrived and met Naomi, she told us she already knew what Naomi looked like because she had seen her the night before in a dream. I wasn’t sure what to think of this, but since Niels had also said he could see us during Reiki sessions, I accepted it as a possibility.

She introduced herself and shared that she too, like Naomi, had a pacemaker, though it hadn’t been activated since she began practising deep breathing meditation. We talked with her about what had happened to Naomi, after which she said she needed to speak with Naomi separately, without us being present. She did not explain why, only that she always did this when working with children. This made us uneasy, so we stayed with Naomi.

Hannah then whispered something in Naomi’s ear and moved close to her face, asking Naomi to take a long look at her left eye. This also made me uncomfortable. She didn’t explain the purpose, but went on to say that Naomi was very much aware of what was going on around her. According to Hannah, Naomi could even sense things happening several houses down the street.

This sounded unusual, but it reminded me of something that had happened a few weeks earlier, when Naomi was with me in the living room and Paulina was with Sienna in the bedroom. Suddenly, Naomi began to cry. Moments later, Paulina told me Sienna had started crying at the exact same time. When Sienna stopped, Naomi stopped as well. Naomi couldn’t have seen or heard her. Paulina and I were surprised and concluded that Naomi must have somehow felt her sister’s distress.

After that, we noticed several other instances in which Naomi appeared highly sensitive to the emotions of those around her. So while I wasn’t convinced she could sense things happening down the street, I did believe she had a heightened awareness of other people’s feelings.

What interested me most, was how Hannah had managed to reduce and eventually heal her own heart condition. She said it was best to experience deep breathing meditation rather than talk about it, and invited us to her home for an introductory session. Despite some unease, and a few peculiar statements, Hannah was kind and clearly eager to help Naomi, so we decided to give it a try.

When we arrived at her home—an old colonial house on top of a hill, surrounded by lush greenery—it felt like entering a Balinese spa. Next to the main residence stood a small garden house that Hannah used for meditation and client sessions. That was where we met. The room contained only mats, pillows, a Buddha statue, a set of Indian singing bowls, and a laptop.

Hannah asked us to sit down and relax. She then connected me to her laptop via a clip on my earlobe that measured my heart rhythm. The goal, she explained, was to achieve inner harmony through slow, deep, steady breathing while focusing on a positive experience. This would shift my heart rhythm in a way that positively influenced my body, brain and emotions. On the laptop’s screen, I could see how well I was doing. The highest score was 100, which I quickly reached and managed to maintain.

Hannah then moved the clip from my ear to Naomi’s earlobe and asked me to imagine sending love and energy to Naomi each time I breathed out. On the screen, we saw Naomi’s score increasing. Intrigued, we decided to meet again.

As Christmas approached, Hannah asked about our plans, and when we said we had none, she invited us to spend Christmas dinner with her family. We accepted and had a wonderful evening.

A few weeks later, I contacted her to arrange another session. Three times we tried to meet, but each time something came up on either her side or ours. Not long after, Hannah and her family left Singapore, and that next session never took place.

Exploring further

Shortly after Hannah’s departure, I was introduced to a lady who practised BodyTalk. She in turn put me in touch with a more experienced American practitioner who had successfully helped various people during a visit to Singapore. I discussed with him what had happened to Naomi and then had our first session.

BodyTalk, as he explained it to me, is a therapy that resynchronises the body’s energy systems, bringing them back into a state in which the body’s innate ability to heal itself is stimulated and becomes most effective. I would describe it as similar to Reiki, though without the uncomfortable idea of the “spirit me” being seen by or communicating with the practitioner. In this case, the healing sessions were conducted remotely from the United States.

We also visited an osteopath who gently treated Naomi every few weeks. After several months, he introduced us to practices such as muscle testing and the use of healing crystals. These crystals were meant to be placed in specific locations around our home to have a healing effect on Naomi. I did some research into which crystals might be beneficial but never got around to actually buying them.

We did explore muscle testing, a technique based on the concept of internal energy that underpins traditional Chinese medicine. The osteopath suggested it was a useful way to identify imbalances in Naomi’s body. By observing her body’s responses when slight pressure was applied to a large muscle, he claimed to be able to identify issues such as energy blockages, nutritional deficiencies and food sensitivities.

Simply put, we could ask the body yes/no questions and receive direct answers. The osteopath could perform a similar type of testing using a pendulum. Holding it on a short piece of string above Naomi’s body, he would ask, for example, whether a certain medication was harmful to her. If the pendulum rotated clockwise, the answer was yes; if it moved in the opposite direction, the answer was no.

Some simple experimentation suggested that this appeared to work, but when it came to our biggest questions it remained difficult to validate, as Naomi was unable to communicate with us and provide her own feedback.

At the same wellness centre where the osteopath worked, we were also introduced to a homeopath who gave us homeopathic remedies to dissolve in water and administer to Naomi. We followed this regimen for quite some time. We also met a naturopath there, who offered some advice, and even spoke with an Indian hypnotherapist, with whom we had an interesting conversation but never any session.

Trying to take back control

Before what happened to Naomi, whenever I faced a personal or business problem that seemed impossible to overcome, I had always managed to find a solution and bounce back, often emerging stronger than before.

But this time was different.

The doctors told us Naomi’s condition was permanent. At one point we were even denied access to certain therapies because they believed them to be pointless for someone like her. The focus was on maintaining her condition, not on improving it, as improvement was simply not expected. We were told to accept that and move on with our lives.

Move on… how could we?

Looking back, the main attraction of these alternative healing methods was the sense of control and understanding they offered—and the belief that Naomi could, in fact, be healed.

Practitioners claimed that healing could be found within yourself—or your “higher self”—once you open up and connect to the universal life-force energy. It made me think of Star Wars, but in China this energy was referred to as Qi, in India as Prana, and in Japan, where Reiki originated, as Ki. This energy, they believed, could restore balance and enable healing.

Earlier, I had been given a book by Deepak Chopra that addressed many of the questions occupying my mind. He argued that we are meant to learn from everything we experience, that nothing happens by chance, and that everything occurs for a reason. His ideas reinforced my sense that the coincidences we had experienced weren’t arbitrary.

I also learned about reincarnation and the idea that the choices you make in this life influence the next. The hypnotherapist we met firmly believed in past lives, and my mother even suggested that Naomi had chosen us as her parents before she was born.

This fit with the idea that we each choose our own path, and that there is time between lives for reflection and decision-making. It was an appealing thought, and over time it began to resonate with me. I started to wonder why Naomi had chosen us. Perhaps the “spirit Naomi” had reason to trust we could carry what lay ahead.

If there was any positive to take from all we had experienced, it was that I had become more open to the spiritual side of life.

For a time, this way of thinking helped me cope. But my anxiety remained—if anything, it increased. I continued to wonder where that "It’s all right" message had come from.

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