The Day It All Began
It started with a yearly routine check-up. During the visit, my family doctor heard a heart murmur — something she had never heard in all the years she had known me. I had never been diagnosed with one before. Just to be safe, she asked me to get a heart ultrasound, which would be a more detailed screening, so I went downtown to Toronto Western Hospital to have it done.
When the exam was over, I figured I would head home and wait days for the results, the way you usually do. But on my way out, the technician stopped me and told me the cardiologist wanted to see me right away. I remember being surprised the results had come back so fast.
My husband and I walked into the room together. The doctor looked at me and asked how I felt. Fine, I told him — because I did. Then he said the words I never expected: he could not release me from the hospital. I was in shock. I had kids to pick up from school. Dinner to make. Work waiting for me. None of it mattered to him in that moment — he explained that my aortic valve had flopped over, and that if any part of it broke off into my bloodstream, it could cause a stroke or a heart attack. He needed one more test done, this time as an emergency, at Toronto General Hospital.
I will never forget that day: November 3rd, 2023.
After the final test, I was told I needed open heart surgery. I still remember the shock of it — the kind of news that stops the room around you.
My aortic valve had been quietly eaten away, flopped over, failing — and yet I felt nothing. No warning signs. No red flags. According to every textbook, I should have been struggling to breathe. My blood pressure should have been very low or erratic. I should have been visibly, unmistakably unwell. Instead, I felt good and was exercising, eating well, living my life. I genuinely puzzled the medical team. To this day, they still call me a phenomenon. Now, I was under a lot of stress, mostly my own doing as I have always had issues asking for help or delegating chores or anything for that matter.
Finding My Way Back
Before all of this, I had drifted from my faith in God. But in that moment — hearing that my heart needed to be opened, my valve replaced — I knew exactly where I needed to be. I prayed more in those two weeks than I had in years.
When one of the top surgeons in the country sat with me and explained my options, he spent close to an hour and a half walking me through two common valve procedures, both which I didn’t want. I told him about my children. I told him I wanted to be here for as long as God would allow to watch my children and family grow. That’s when he mentioned there was a third option — one he only briefly described, but one he encouraged me to research, given my background as a Nutritionist. He told me he would come back the next day asking for my decision.
So I prayed. I asked God for wisdom, for clarity, for a sign I was choosing rightly. What I learned amazed me: this procedure is called The Ross Procedure which is rarely performed, and almost never on someone my age. It’s typically reserved for patients under 40. I was 52. My husband assisted me to finding out all I could on this procedure. This procedure was made famous by Arnold Schwarzenegger and performed in Europe but not rountinely in North America. The next morning, I told the surgeon this was the path I wanted. He informed me that he didn't perform that specific procedure himself, but he offered to connect me with the surgeon who did.
A Name I Never Forgot
Here’s something my sister remembers about me: as a little girl, I loved the name Jennifer. I apparently once told her I wanted to change my name to it.
The next day, the surgeon introduced me to the woman who would perform my operation — Dr. Jennifer Chung. Hearing her name sent a chill straight down my spine. In that instant, I knew, without question, that this was the right path. Dr. Chung gently reminded me again that this procedure was almost always reserved for patients under 40. But after reviewing my scans, she told me my heart and arteries were in great shape, and that I would be a candidate after all.
In the days before the surgery, my family and friends surrounded me with a love I will never forget. I felt held, in every sense of the word. I am, and will always be, deeply grateful for that.
The Day Itself
When the day finally came, November 15, I remember consciously placing my health in God’s hands. I prayed that He would guide the hands of every doctor and every nurse in that operating room. I prayed for success. And I prayed that if He carried me through this, I would never let myself drift from Him again.
While I was in surgery, my sister needed to step outside — I can only imagine how long those 6.5 hours in a waiting room must have felt, how heavy the waiting and the praying became. My husband called to check on her and learned she had made her way to St. Michael’s Cathedral downtown. He told her he would join her there.
What happened next, I only know through his account. As he and my sister sat praying in the cathedral, rows of young men filed in — what looked like a choir, gathering to rehearse. My husband was struck by it and later looked into what he’d witnessed. It turned out to be the choir from St. Michael’s Choir School, the boys’ school next door to the cathedral. He was very moved by it and tucked that memory away, not fully understanding yet why it mattered to him.
Coming Back
After the surgery, I was moved to a recovery room, and when I opened my eyes, my family was right there beside me. Slowly, day by day, I began to heal. After a few days, I was able to go home.
To this day, the doctors and I remain bewildered by the whole story. The best explanation anyone has offered is this: bacteria from a bout of sepsis I had three years earlier had likely hidden itself at the valve, slowly wearing it away without a single symptom to warn me. I still don’t fully understand what happened in my body. But I know this — my faith has grown stronger every single day since. I’ve let go of the esoteric practices I had quietly picked up over the years, and returned to what I know to be true.
Learning to Care for Myself
As a Nutritionist, I have spent my career helping other people heal, eat well, and take care of themselves. This experience turned that mirror back on me. With two young children, a husband, a cat, a business, and a household to run, I had to sit down — really sit down — with myself and ask what I needed.
In the weeks that followed, I leaned on the guidance of the doctors, physiotherapists, and nurses. I began, slowly, to build a plan — not just for recovery, but for how I wanted to live going forward. I asked my husband and my kids for help. And maybe most importantly, I started being honest with myself about what I truly needed to heal, inside and out.
A Circle Back to My Own Work
I am truly grateful for my clients, my friends, and my family, who showed up for me in every way they knew how during that time. And a deep gratitude for my family doctor and all the doctors that came to my healing. I will never forget it.
Out of that season, I built myself a health regime — many of the same principles I’d spent years offering my clients, now turned inward for my own recovery. I added heart-friendly exercises into my days and committed to it the way I would ask anyone in my care to commit.
Three years later, I’m doing extremely well. I’ve gone from seeing a cardiologist every six months to only once every two years.
But what moves me most, what I am most grateful to God for, is this: the very procedure that saved my life resonates so deeply with the work I already do as a Natural Practitioner. It wasn’t a detour from my path — it became part of it because it was the most natural of the three options and no medications for life required.
Loving life more each day has a way of changing what you want to do with it. Out of that deeper love for living, I wanted to share pieces of my health journey with others — and that desire is what led me to create Enzie Naturals.
I feel better each day. And the scar I carry now isn’t something I hide from — it’s a reminder, every single day, of my gratitude to God and to the people who surround me, and of just how precious life truly is.
“Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing… O LORD my God, I will give thanks unto thee for ever.”
— Psalm 30:11–12
And now, looking back, I understand why that moment in the cathedral stayed with my husband and for which we remain truly grateful to my sister and God’s work in mysterious ways. It was her walk into that church, in the middle of the hardest hours of our lives, that ultimately became the reason my children now attend this school. Today, my two boys attend St. Michael’s Choir School — the very school whose choir he and my sister watched rehearse while I was in surgery. They are excelling, truly happy in their new school life, and singing praises to God. Going forward, I am endlessly grateful for that full-circle moment, one I never could have planned, but one I believe was always meant to be.