This is not a quick read, but once you get to the end, I think you'll agree that this true story (mine and Sam's ) woudn't have been done justice being told with fewer words.
My name is Carmen. I have been a professional creative writer for the past 20+ years, but have always held a deep interest in spirituality and self-development. Over the years I have actively pursued this interest in the alternative health fields of NLP (neuro-linguistic programming), hypnotherapy and Journeywork. Soon after the amazing story you are about to read, I received my first Usui Reiki attunement. This was closely followed by certification in Quantum Touch, as well as my becoming a certified practitioner in the energy fields of EFT (Emotional Freedom Technique) and Reconnective and Theta Healing. I have also added Z-Point and QE (Quantum Entrainment) to my box of tools. Sam's Story was such a profound personal experience, it unleashed in me a strong desire to understand my power and find ways to make it even more effective. Nowadays, though, in each unique healing situation, I mostly allow myself to be guided by an innate sense of what is needed for that person.
Of the many spiritual and self-help books I have read, I discovered ‘You Can Heal Yourself’ written by an exceptional energy healer, Seka Nikolic, at a time when I had become disillusioned and disenchanted with the general course of my life. Though I'm still a writer, and will always be a writer, I made this discovery at a time when it felt that my occupation wasn't providing the emotional and spiritual growth I needed. I have long believed that everyone has a natural ability to heal themselves and others, but soon after reading this book, the idea of healing suddenly crystallised from a remote, intellectual appreciation into a deep, gut-felt knowing. ‘Seka is an amazing healer,’ I told myself, ‘But we can all heal!’ The clarity of this knowing has never left me.
Almost immediately I began to put this knowing into practise by laying hands on my children whenever they hurt themselves or became poorly. At first, they responded with bemusement and amusement. However, with good results they began to automatically come to me for ‘healing.’ My son’s periodic night-time growing pains, for example, no longer needed a dose of Calpol. A few minutes hovering my hand over his leg and he would soon be pain-free and fast asleep. However, despite the result, he still forbade me to ever discuss my ‘weird’ pastime with any of his friends. During these sessions, what was interesting was the sensation in my hands – nothing like the feeling of ‘knives’ that Seka describes in her book - but a vague impression of pins and needles. Often, my logical mind would override the feeling and put it down to an over-active imagination. Other times, I persuaded myself to trust the sensations. What happened a few months later, however, was to remove any doubts about the authenticity of the power contained in my (and all of our) hands.
In early 2009, my sister, Jasmine, told me about her close friend’s daughter who was seriously ill in hospital. I knew Yvonne well and also knew her daughter from a young age. Hearing of her plight, I felt drawn to visit this 34 year old mother of three, diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Sam’s disease, now in its terminal advanced stages, was considered inoperable by the doctors. She’d been told by the hospital that there was nothing more they could do. When I arrived, Sam, attached to a catheter, morphine drip, and various tubes, was drifting in and out of consciousness. Her condition was fast deteriorating from even the day before when she had at least been able to feebly squeeze a hand in response to questions asked. Yvonne and Samantha’s younger sister were there at the bedside, and this is what they had told me. Without any clear intention, I walked to the side of the bed and placed my outstretched hands a few inches above Sam’s abdomen. In seconds, my hands became engorged with blood, prickly with heat. I was astounded when this sensation intensified till my hands felt as thought they were on fire. Yet, I stood in this position for what seemed like an hour, silent, concentrating both hands on Sam, whilst noting the activity taking place around the bed. I watched as the palliative care nurse came and checked Samantha’s breathing. Her demeanour expressed obvious concern. Sam’s eyes were closed, she was still unresponsive, and through her partly open mouth, her breathing had become shallow and rasping. The nurse left and returned with the doctor. The doctor looked, frowned and ushered out Sam’s mother and sister.
What I later learned was that the doctor was advising mother and sister to quickly gather the family to say their final goodbyes. Meanwhile, screened by the curtains, I’d begun talking softly but firmly to Sam. Where this 'knowing' came from, I had no idea. I told Sam that I knew she could hear me; that I knew she wanted to get better; that the sensation in my hands was energy; that I was giving her this energy; that I knew she could feel it; and that all she needed to do was receive it. Although Sam didn’t appear to be responding, my instinct told me to keep repeating my determined mantra.
After several rounds, the curtains swished open and my sister, Jasmine, appeared. Extraordinarily, as if responding to the noise, and as if awakening from nothing more than a deep slumber, Sam’s eyes fluttered open. Smiling, she called out my sister’s name, threw her arms wide and welcomed her into an embrace. Sam’s mother, sister, the doctor and nurse rushed back, all with looks of utter amazement! In an obvious state of shock, Yvonne responded to Sam’s request for a drink. Everyone watched in silence as, unaided, Sam held the plastic bottle, raised it to her lips, then, looking around, commented almost coyly that it was strange having so many people staring at her. The next thing that happened was even more extraordinary. Sam’s mobile resting on the window sill suddenly began to ring. She turned towards it, asked for it, held it to her ear and began a conversation with the friend on the other end! The friend obviously had no idea of their role in what was unfolding to be a truly miraculous event. I was so astonished, and so shocked, I’d quietly begun to sink to the floor. Unnoticed by the others, I pulled an apple from my bag and started biting into it to raise my blood sugar level. By the time I staggered to my feet, Yvonne and her other daughter also seemed to be coming out of their own shock. “Jasmine, what have you done!” they squealed at my sister. Jasmine responded with genuine bewilderment. What had she done? As far as she was aware, uninformed of Sam’s dire and worsening condition, she’d simply approached Sam’s bed and responded to being greeted with a welcoming hug. At this point, Sam noticed me, standing beside the others. It was the first time we’d made eye contact, and the first time we’d met in probably 12 years. I wondered whether she’d heard my bedside babbling, but she gave no indication that she had. I said hello and told her that I would return the next day to visit, if that was OK with her. She gave me the sweetest smile and said to no-one in particular, “Isn’t she beautiful?”
On the journey home, and all through that night the movie of the experience replayed dementedly, over and over, in my mind. Each time I thought of Sam my hands burned and tingled with a heat more intense than body heat. Unable to sleep, I wandered downstairs at dawn and noticed that my mobile phone was flashing a message. My first reaction was dread. An early morning text could only mean one thing - bad news about Sam. It was a message from my sister: ‘Stayed overnight at the hospital with Yvonne. Guess what! Sam just got up to go to the toilet!’ Trembling with excitement, I phoned my sister and she described how, pulling along her mobile morphine and catheter units, Sam had got out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom all by herself! I realised that up until this point, apart from my partner, I hadn’t told anyone about what had happened at Sam’s bedside. Perhaps, because I was still coming to terms with believing any of it myself! I filled my sister in on the story, to which she replied, “Now it all makes sense.”
The next day when I returned to the hospital it was immediately apparent that my sister had told Yvonne about the true nature of events the evening before. Visiting friends and relatives were hastily despatched to the waiting room as Yvonne explained that it was so that Sam could spend some time alone with Carmen, in order for Carmen to ‘do her thing.’ When I saw Sam, I was taken aback. Not only was she sitting up in a chair; and not only was her head fetchingly wrapped with a fuchsia chiffon scarf to hide her chemo baldness; but in a complete transformation from the person I’d seen lying in bed the day before, she was wearing make-up! She seemed genuinely pleased to see me and when I commented on her appearance I was gobsmacked to hear that she had actually applied the make-up herself! I went to work right away, holding both hands a few inches away from her abdomen, whereupon I immediately experienced that familiar rush of heat and tingling. Sam told me that exactly where I’d placed my hands she could feel a ‘pulling’ sensation. At the time I could only guess that this was a good indication, a sign of healing. When I returned home I looked up Seka’s book and found a passage in which she describes this healing energy:
"As negative energy releases, some patients may feel the resistance of the energy as a painful pulling sensation, so I do like to warn people that this can happen. It’s normal and it’s actually a positive sign that blocks are releasing.”
I returned to the hospital every day, attracted to Sam’s courage and will to survive. I remember one occasion, her family imploring her to lie or sit down. But Sam insisted on standing, supporting her swollen body, her legs splayed, doggedly gripping the bed frame. She told me determinedly that she wasn’t going to lie in ‘that bed’ and wait for death. When she’d arrived, the woman in the bed opposite had died, and that wasn’t going to be her! I loved her spirit and told her that with that kind of will-power she had everything to play for. Of course, she experienced her low moments, literally sickened by the drugs, the medical interventions, and the depressing prognosis, but she was always co-operative and always eager to continue with our healing sessions, and her general progression was definitely on the up. Every day we tried a different combination of hands-on healing, visualisation, deep breathing and EFT. When I tentatively suggested it, Sam was open to the idea that diseases are not random occurrences in the human body. Disease is usually the end-result of unresolved, long-standing emotional pain. I urged her to look inside herself to find out whatever it was in her past she was holding onto. Now was the time to let it go, in order to heal and find peace. I truly believed, I told her, that anything was possible. In fact, in anticipation of Sam’s recovery I’d already contacted Seka, whose popularity and amazing healing powers means that her clinic appointments can only be made many months in advance. I’d described Sam’s plight and asked Seka whether she could reserve a cancellation appointment for Sam’s eventual discharge from hospital. Seka immediately and wonderfully responded with a yes.
Sam genuinely seemed to benefit from receiving energy, getting a boost with each session. Her mother also noticed, and asked me to continue with my visits. During one visualisation Sam vividly and anxiously described a waterfall that seemed to stop in mid-air. I was sure that the symbol was significant to her healing. Once that waterfall touches the ground, I told her, you will know that you have finally found a way of letting go. And ‘letting go,’ wasn’t to be confused with ‘giving up.’ Letting go, simply meant allowing one’s spirit to return to oneself, to re-connect and find peace. So, she was working with me, and working hard. By Wednesday night, two days after my first visit, I received another text from my sister: ‘Sam is going to be discharged in 2 days. Amazing!’ What, in fact, was amazing was not that Sam was now considered recovered enough to be discharged (it was plainly obvious she was still gravely ill), but that she had defied the doctors and nurses who had written her off, believing she would die there in hospital. They simply hadn’t accounted for the bravery and resolve of this one special patient.
I wasn’t there when Sam finally arrived home, but her mother told me that when they pushed Sam in her wheelchair over the threshold into the hallway, the smile on her face was huge. I continued my visits, and each time found a warm home filled with love and caring. There would always be a number of cheerful visitors, Sam’s children and her sisters reassuringly close by, someone cooking delicious soups in the kitchen, someone holding Sam’s hand, someone talking to her, someone plumping her cushions and making her position more comfortable, music playing, laughter, and her devoted mother always to hand. It was a joy to be part of such a loving environment and, though weak, Sam seemed to be in her element, smiling and joking and laughing and truly at home, away from the sterile and unsettling environment of the hospital.
Twelve days after that first visit to the hospital, I arrived at the house. Sam was padded in an upright in an armchair, sedated by a cocktail of drugs administered by the visiting Macmillan nurses. I tiptoed around her to begin the healing. I was a little puzzled when the usual reassuring sensations were absent in my hands, especially when I hovered over her abdomen. I began to scan Sam’s entire body, from head to toe, looking for ‘hot spots,’ and becoming increasingly concerned. Wherever I roamed, my hands remained cold. It took a while for the possible meaning to sink in. I remember wandering into the kitchen, wondering how I was going to explain the situation to Yvonne. Before seeking out Samantha in the front room, I’d been talking enthusiastically with her mother and made the crazy suggestion of taking Sam on wheelchair journeys out into the fresh air and sunshine. The Macmillan nurses had agreed that this wasn’t such a bad idea. There was such optimism for Sam’s recovery, as I entered the kitchen, I was aware of not wanting to dampen any of it. Yet, if Sam was no longer receiving energy because she had finally decided to ‘let go,’ then her mother needed to know that the time to say goodbye might have arrived.
I found Yvonne in discussion with the Macmillan nurses, concerned about a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) form she’d purportedly discussed with the hospital. She was distraught because this discussion had never taken place, neither had her nor Sam’s consent been sought; and yet the consent box had been ticked on both their behalf. She asked my advice. I reminded her of Sam’s determination to leave the hospital; how she’d amazingly succeeded in her aim, arriving home to this place of warmth and love; taking the opportunity to 'get her affairs in order.' I told Yvonne that giving the Emergency Services permission to resuscitate would inevitably lead to the trauma of an ambulance dash, and Sam returning to the very place from which she had been so desperate to escape. My opinion was that, whatever happened, Sam should be allowed to remain at home. I’m sure her mother, in her heart of hearts, knew all this, but she needed to have the discussion. This gave me the opportunity to lead into what I was dreading. I told Yvonne about the lack of sensation in my hands when I’d attempted to do my healing work. I felt bad, as other than a gut feeling, I had no real way of knowing whether I was right to raise this alarm. At around 2pm when I left the house, I said a quiet goodbye to Sam, as she sat eyes-closed in the chair, still heavily sedated.
At midnight, I’m told that Sam was joking and laughing with her family and that she told them each and every one of them how much she loved them. Two hours later, two months after her 35th birthday, Sam died.
NB: In the context of this story, I use the phrase 'heal others' loosely. We heal ourselves. Those of us who call ourselves 'healers' are simply enabling others to generate or kick-start their own innate ability to heal themselves.
"I cannot express enough my gratitude for the tremendous support, peace and comfort you brought into my daughter’s (Sam) life, who was terminally ill with cancer. Both during her stay in hospital and her final moments at home with us, Sam and I felt an overwhelming sense of comfort knowing that you were there. Sam always looked forward to your visits; you made her felt very special. After each of your sessions with her, Sam always appeared relaxed, yet full of more energy, taking control of her situation, expressing her love for others and most importantly, she did not seem as fearful of her illness. I remember Sam saying to me “Mum, Carmen is so lovely. It’s so nice seeing her, she makes me feel so good about myself.” This would be followed by a determination to remain positive whatever the outcome. She remained positive and relaxed right to the end.
I am certain the visits you made helped Sam in her passing, as she was not fearful when she passed, Actually, her dying words were to “tell everyone how much I love them. I have such a lovely family and friends.” She then gave a Big smile. And she then died.
Carmen, you know the saying, ‘People come into our lives for a reason,’ and it is so true. Your coming back into our life at such a significant time was a BLESSING, and I know how much Sam, the family as a whole, and I appreciated those visits. I am forever grateful… Thank You. Love you (and mean it) x (one from Sam) x"
“It was difficult, but touching and reading this [Sam’s case study] has helped. A request Sam made before her passing is now making sense (or I am trying to make it make sense?). At Sam's final moments she asked for Carol and I to sit her up. Both holding her, we sat her up and she then asked for me to wash her face with water (weird request, I thought). There was a bottle of water nearby, so I poured some into my hands and washed her face. Unfortunately, some of the water went in her eyes. She cried out, “Mum, Mum not in my eyes!” This seemed important to her, but she kept smiling. I tried to get as much water out of her eyes as possible. She then said what I said in my email [above] and then gave that big, big smile and died. What’s the meaning of the water?”
“It makes perfect sense, Sam wanting to be splashed with water. Having visualised that waterfall, finally, she was able to allow her waterfall to reach the ground. In doing so, she wanted to experience it on her skin. When she felt this, she knew she had called her spirit back from the pain of the past. She could then let go, into Peace and Love. If we had any doubts before that Sam is fine, then this should put all our minds at rest.”