I've always been very stubborn, I won't do things if they don't seem reasonable to me (it's why I do blue collar work), so growing in a secular household, early in my life, I was an athiest, after I had outgrown it in my early 20s, and was more agnostic leaning. I was weightlifting and was in great physical shape, but I felt an utter sense of meaninglessness in my life. Sure, I was "improving myself" physically, but for what. I felt that it wouldn't matter if I died or not, nor would anyone care, and was apathetic about life in general.
I went out with friends for a few drinks on Friday, (I remember rejecting a woman that night, she had kids, and I was rather put off by the thought that she was out drinking rather than spending time with them. Perhaps God would have stricken me down had I acted callously then) and afterwards, had a hangover, and a bad headache I couldn't shake, went to the doctor Sunday, he gave me T3s for the pain and sent me home. My condition continues to deteriorate Wednesday/Thursday, I have a shower, and was unable to make it back to my room, I ended up passing out naked on the couch (I had just moved into this place with an acquaintance about 1-2 months before).
The following is what I've gathered from other accounts told to me.
My housemate was away all that week for work, but came home early Thursday because he had to be in court Friday. He found me on the couch, became angry at the sight, flipped the couch, when I hit the ground like a dead body, and he couldn't wake me up, he freaks out, and calls 911. The hospital does a CT scan and bloodwork, and the CT shows my brain looks like swiss cheese which they assume is cancer. The fact that I have opiates in my system from the T3's, and the city that I lived in has a huge drug problem discouraged the hospital from doing much for me, they told my parents there was nothing they could do, and were going to keep me comfortable until I passed. My talkative pious Protestant aunt ends up schmoozing with the nurses, and she ends up convincing them that I wasn't a drug user, but a healthy guy, and convinces them to try to do something, so they send me to a better hospital, do an MRI, then they cut my head open to do a biopsy, they discover the 12-14 spots in my brain(can't remember the exact amount) are not cancer, but an infection. They tell my parents that chances are that I'm going to die, and if I do survive, I'll probably have little brain activity.
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My parents want to try anyway, so they give me a concoction of drugs to keep me in a coma, I'm on and off life support this goes by for roughly a month, in that time they do the 2nd surgery, putting tubes into my head to regulate the pressure in my head, after that 2nd surgery, my head was so swollen that I looked like Stewie Griffon from family guy, and my mother wanted to pull the plug. The doctor told her to "give him 2 weeks to start breathing on my own, and if he doesn't, then you can pull it". I managed to pull through and regain conciousness, but was entirely disoriented due to the fact that I've drug induced wild dreams for the past month, and did not realize I was no longer dreaming until about a week later.
---- End of secondary accounts
I've always been a very laid back type who's never really tried in life, and just preferred to play video games or read. I've never really expressed much interest in anything, my parents had to fight and drag me out of the house to go to things like concerts. Growing up, every report card I had mentioned that "Aboulia would do better if he tried" or "if he completed assignments", and my life is the same to this day. (Phlegmatic/INTP personality)
In the first dream, I died in the hospital that I was initially brought to, in the 2nd dream, It started exactly like the first dream, since I thought I knew the outcome, I gave up on life, and spent the rest of the dream watching my mother constantly plead with doctors to try to do something for me, She would take pills, and when the bottle was empty, she would puke them up and still try to retake them. I was brought into a lower place in the hospital, near another dead person, which was stuffy and had a bit of a smell, but that didn't stop my mother from pleading with others to help me. I spent awhile here until my aunt came into the dream, as a nurse that was with me when I was raised up to the third floor, where the air was noticibly cleaner and cooler.
I know the Orthodox don't put much faith in dreams, but this dream has entirely convinced me that hell is your conscience torturing you for eternity. Orthodoxy agrees with this view, with the caveat, that your conscience isn't a perfect judge, and will be stripped of superfluous content that may affect it, such as societal rules.
------------------- back to the hospital
On waking, my parents thought my personality had changed and that I became a nice person all of a sudden, but I didn't have my usual cynical shield up, and oddly enough, I made a concious choice to put it back up, so that my mother would recognize that I'm really concious, and it isn't just the drugs talking.
it took me several days to come to terms with my condition, I had lost 50lbs in a month, my muscles had completely atrophied, I was seeing double, and couldn't speak above a whisper. When I regained enough strength, I had a 3rd surgery to remove the tubes/put a plastic bag into my head so they could inject the drugs directly. During this time, my aunt visited me several times, where she told me stories from the Old Testament, I was receptive, and she eventually brought a female pastor with her, and brought me a NKJV bible. I started reading the Gospels in the hospital bed, and cried at the beauty of Christ's teachings in Matthew 7:1-2, the morality and ethics deeply resonated with my loud conscience.
So I re-learned to walk, and was released from hospital ~75 days after I was found in a coma. The only problem being, that the hospital did not release me with any meds, the important ones being blood thinners. I started to work out, and walk more, and gain strength again, when the blood clots in my legs broke off and travelled to my lungs (pulmonary embolism). It took two trips to the hospital for the doctors to figure this out, but when they did I was hospitalized for another 2 weeks.
After this whole experience, and all the various circumstances, I have been thoroughly convinced that God will take me when He deems fit to do so, and there's nothing I can do (aside from suicide) contrary to that, It's also why I was able to see more clearly through the corona nonsense from the beginning (
1,
2,
3) , as my experience has shown me to not fear death, especially not through physical sickness.
Roughly 6 months I had fully recovered, I started attending the same church that my aunt did, but doctrinal inconsistencies wouldn't let me stay there, I had to take a several year long detour before I found Orthodoxy, even then, it was the Old Calendarists whom I was with for a few years before
@OrthoSerb brought a few inconsistencies before my face, but it was Fr Seraphim Rose who gave the context, and was ultimately the cause of my leaving the Old Calendarists and joining ROCOR.