My mum, sister and I left Australia when I was four, to live in Surrey with my nan. I don’t think about why we left that much, although I’m told it was because my mum and dad’s relationship broke down. When we got to the UK, there was occasional contact with my dad (letter writing, the odd phone call), but that stopped after a while, and we lost contact when I was eight. I thought about it a lot and resented him quite a bit for it.

In 2014, when I was 21, I decided to go travelling to Australia. It wasn’t to see him, but I reluctantly came to the conclusion that I probably should try to meet him if I was there. All the resentment over the years had made me pretty indifferent to him, but I eventually emailed him and we arranged to see each other in Byron Bay.

Waking up on the day, in December, I felt sick with nerves. I considered calling the whole thing off. We had arranged to meet in the evening, so my girlfriend – whom I’d met on my travels – suggested we go kayaking to take my mind off it. We went out with two instructors, each of us taking it in turns to dive off our kayaks and snorkel, to look for turtles and dolphins.

In hindsight, being in the water wasn’t the best idea when I was so nervous. I suffer from epilepsy and at the time had regular seizures when I got stressed. The first sign I’m about to fit is when I go into a dream-like state. As I was snorkelling, I suddenly felt one coming on. I realised how dangerous it could be if I started fitting in the water, so I began to swim manically back to the kayak. Seeing my panic, my girlfriend paddled towards me and screamed over at the instructors for help, before yanking my body up on to her kayak. I began to fit. At this point, my memory goes, although my girlfriend has filled in the gaps.

Having paddled over quickly to see what was going on, one of the instructors pulled me on to his kayak and began to paddle towards the beach. But the waves at Byron Bay are huge, and he realised that one misjudgment and the kayak could have overturned – with me comatose, unable to keep myself afloat. A few close shaves where my body nearly slipped off the raft made him realise the safest way to keep me above water was to carry me in.

As this was happening, I later learned that my dad was attempting to calm his nerves by taking a walk along the beach with his wife. Hearing screams from the water, and seeing a body being carried back to shore, my dad began to swim out to help.

He is in his late 50s, but the rugby he played has kept him fit. Linking arms with the instructor, he put his hands underneath me and helped to keep my limp body afloat. As they were carrying me in, my dad asked the instructor what the unconscious boy’s name was. “Benji”, he replied. In all the madness, my dad hadn’t had a chance to look at me, but on hearing my name he looked and realised it was me, and began to weep.

All I can remember is waking up to see my dad’s face. I’d seen pictures of him over the years, so I recognised him instantly. It was such a weird coincidence, and probably the most unfortunate and bizarre circumstance in which to meet; but in a way I’m kind of glad it happened like that – it was the perfect icebreaker.

After they carried me to shore, dazed and shivering, I was taken to hospital wrapped in a foil blanket. The seizure had stopped my blood pumping round my body, so I was treated for hypothermia. The night after I got out of hospital, a group of us, including my dad, went out and got really drunk, and danced and chatted the night away. Things went so well I even went and stayed with him for the next month.

We’ve kept in touch over email, and he’s coming to the UK to visit this year. Our meeting may have been traumatic, but it was great to finally get to know my dad, the man who helped save my life.

• As told to Casper Hughes. Do you have an experience to share? Email experience@theguardian.com