Sometimes, a single moment changes your entire life.
That’s what happened to me—when sepsis brought everything to a halt.
This is my story. It’s not an easy one—but it’s real. And it shows: there are ways back.
By Michael Schütze
Weeks of Warning Signs – but No One Listened
It began gradually. For two or three weeks, I kept getting worse—exhausted, in pain, constantly unwell.
I went to the emergency room several times, but each time I was sent home—no diagnosis, no blood test, no answers.
During my last visit, both an internist and a surgeon examined me. They, too, found nothing conclusive and discharged me again. Two days later, my condition deteriorated dramatically.
I was alone at home—my family away, my doctor on vacation. I knew: this can’t go on.
When my parents returned, they immediately took me to their GP. Her first suspicion was glandular fever. But she didn’t hesitate—she sent me straight to the hospital by emergency referral.
“We Can’t Help Him Anymore”
At the hospital, I had been there barely an hour when the doctors told my parents:
“We can’t help him here.”
I was urgently transferred to another clinic—my condition was critical.
There, I was admitted directly to the intensive care unit. The staff cared for me attentively; the medical team did everything they could. Yet that time was like a black hole.
I lay motionless for weeks—sedated, connected to machines, completely helpless.
I couldn’t speak, couldn’t respond, couldn’t understand what was happening. Everything was blurred and unreal. Inside, there was only darkness. I felt trapped in my own body—paralyzed—and I didn’t know if I would survive. I only knew: something was over. My old life was gone.
My parents, meanwhile, heard the words I couldn’t:
“He will not survive.”
Those words hit them like a hammer. Looking back, that’s the hardest part of my story—knowing they had to live with that thought while I was still fighting, unaware.
I sensed their despair. I saw them by my bed—helpless, terrified. Everyone was scared. And I had nothing left to hold on to. It felt like watching my life collapse in slow motion, powerless to stop it.
Hopelessness and a Lack of Empathy
After several procedures, I was moved from intensive care to a surgical ward. For many, that might sound like hope—it wasn’t. The atmosphere there was cold, almost emotionless. I didn’t feel like a person, but like a case. Doctors told my parents bluntly: “He will never walk again. He’ll spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair.” I was broken—inside and out. When I slowly regained consciousness and began to understand what had happened, it felt like waking up in a stranger’s body. I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t walk. My body was powerless. My life felt over. I wasn’t just sick—I was shattered. I was 26 years old, and they told me I would never walk again. But the pain went beyond the physical. My entire life collapsed. I had been the CEO of my own company—something I had built with passion. Now I had lost everything. I couldn’t act, couldn’t speak, couldn’t save what I had created. I had to watch it fall apart. There were moments when I didn’t want to go on. No hope. Only darkness. Fear. Pain.
The Fight Begins – One Step at a Time
But at some point—maybe out of defiance, maybe pure will to live—I thought:
Not like this. Not now. Not me. I stopped waiting to be rescued and asked for help. I found a physiotherapist—someone I had never met—who was willing to fight alongside me.
Together, we began with the smallest movements. Everything hurt. Everything was hard. But I moved.
The day I was discharged, I could walk about one meter—with help. For others, meaningless. For me, a milestone. I was alive—and I was fighting.
Withdrawal – Hell on Earth
What followed was one of the worst phases of my life. I had received morphine around the clock for over a month. My body was dependent. When it was reduced and finally stopped, the nightmare began.
I trembled uncontrollably, drenched in sweat night after night, hallucinating, sleepless, trapped in a body I could no longer endure. The pain returned—raw, sharp, relentless. It felt like walking through fire to find myself again. I was angry, exhausted, confused—but I didn’t stop. Because I knew: if I could get through this, I could get through anything. And I did. I finally left the hospital.
Back to Life – Step by Step
After my discharge, I began the long road back to a self-determined life. The first six months were brutal—physically and mentally. Every day was a challenge. Every tiny progress was a victory. During this time, I even founded a new company. I didn’t just want to survive—I wanted to live again, on my own terms. After about three years, I felt almost “normal” again. I had regained my strength, rebuilt my life, and started to look forward again. It wasn’t the same life as before—but it was mine. And I lived it more consciously than ever.
The Turning Point – From Pain to Purpose
Today, years later, I no longer see my sepsis as just trauma—but as a turning point. It forced me to reexamine my life and give it new meaning. I trained in coaching, emotional health, resilience, and therapy. Today, I work as an expert in emotional stability and personal growth. I help people who are themselves in crisis—help them make sense of chaos, find courage again, and rebuild their inner strength.
My name is Michael Schütze. The day my world collapsed was also the day I began to truly understand life.
And for that, I’m grateful.
Michael Schütze – Coach & Mentor for Emotional Strength
www.diagnose-schock.de
