My name is Jeroen, and I reside in the Netherlands, a country known for its picturesque landscapes and tulip fields. At the age of 44, after nearly a decade since the life-altering incident, I find myself compelled to share my story beyond the confines of my immediate family and a select few intimate friends. It is an account that has long remained confined within the walls of my heart, a tale that unveils the profound impact of a harrowing event that unfolded on July 17, 2014—an event that marked not only the day of my supposed demise but also a turning point that heralded the imminent conclusion of my earthly journey.
Nine years ago, on that fateful day in July, the world was shaken by a tragedy that reverberated across nations. Flight MH-17, a passenger plane, was tragically brought down by a Russian missile over the skies of Ukraine. The calamity claimed the lives of 298 individuals, unsuspecting victims of an intentional act of aggression rather than a mere accident. And among the souls destined to be counted among the fallen, I stood as the solitary survivor—an enigmatic twist of fate bestowed upon me by the same universe that orchestrated this ghastly affair.
While my compatriots boarded that ill-fated flight bound for the Netherlands, I found myself in a different predicament. My journey was meant to conclude with a return to my homeland after a brief sojourn in Kuala Lumpur, where I had embarked on a job interview in pursuit of a better position within my field of work. The intricacies of my travel plans are secondary, for it is the essence of my confession that truly demands attention.
The night preceding the flight, I noticed the emergence of a dull ache in my abdomen. At first, I dismissed it as a minor inconvenience, attributing it to the aftermath of my regular runs that often left me with similar muscular discomfort. The pain failed to raise any significant alarm within me, and I continued my preparations, convinced that it would subside as quickly as it had appeared. Little did I know that this seemingly innocuous twinge would escalate into an agony that defied my comprehension.
As the day of the flight arrived, I made my way to the lobby of the Mandarin Oriental hotel, where I had taken up temporary residence. The intention was to indulge in a leisurely respite before heading to the airport. Seeking solace in sustenance, I ventured into the hotel’s restaurant, hopeful that a meal would appease the growing unease within me. Alas, my appetite had succumbed to the clutches of pain, rendering even a morsel of food an insurmountable challenge. Desperate for a semblance of normalcy, I sought solace at the bar adjacent to the reception. However, the agony gnawing at my insides left me incapable of even partaking in a simple drink. Seated in a solitary armchair tucked away in a quiet corner of the lobby, I found myself consumed by the torment that wracked my body, clutching my abdomen in a futile attempt to quell the intensity of the searing pain.
Picture, if you will, an excruciating cramp that surges forth suddenly, without warning, akin to a malevolent force manifesting itself within. A surge of agony that grips you mercilessly, reducing you to a vulnerable state of shrieking despair before dissipating just as swiftly as it materialized. It was at that precise moment that I sensed a profound wrongness, a recognition that something gravely amiss plagued my being. The pain that engulfed me transcended the realm of mere physical discomfort, standing in stark contrast to the familiar muscle soreness that my body had grown accustomed to after arduous exertion.
I lifted my gaze from the cold, tiled floor, my eyes scanning the room with a hint of unease. As I looked around, a sense of urgency tugged at my attention. I noticed a receptionist darting toward me, their steps quickened, and their expression tinged with concern. My curiosity piqued, I glanced over to a nearby table where a group of people seemed to fix their gaze upon me, their eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and worry.
Before I could gather my thoughts, the receptionist was standing before me, their voice slightly breathless as they inquired about my well-being, their genuine concern palpable. It was as if they recognized me as a familiar face, a customer, but deep down, I knew their reaction would have been the same for anyone who sought their aid within the confines of the hotel. I mustered a weak response, admitting that I didn’t feel quite right, and that a sharp pain was gnawing at the right side of my abdomen.
In a swift motion, the receptionist suggested I make myself comfortable on a nearby couch in the reception hall, just a short distance away. Every movement felt laborious as I struggled to rise from the armchair, my body seemingly refusing to cooperate. With each attempt to straighten myself, the pain in my lower right abdomen surged, intensifying the discomfort. Sensing my struggle, the receptionist lent a helping hand, guiding me toward the couch where I managed to collapse rather than gracefully settle into a seated position.
Their urgent call to a colleague echoed through the air, its words a blur in my muddled state. Yet, amidst the commotion, I observed the receptionist gathering my laptop from the table and securing my luggage beside the couch. They reassured me that an ambulance had already been summoned, and that everything would be taken care of. Time drifted by slowly, each minute fraught with escalating discomfort, until around 4:30 PM, the ambulance finally arrived, its arrival a beacon of hope in my increasingly distressing situation.
Within moments, the paramedics were at my side, their experienced eyes assessing my condition with a mix of concern and urgency. Their diagnosis came swiftly, their certainty striking with a sense of gravity. Urgent appendicitis. They informed me that immediate transportation to the hospital was necessary for further examination. In an effort to alleviate the excruciating pain, they administered a potent painkiller, its effects providing a temporary respite from the throbbing agony that plagued me, particularly when they applied pressure to my tender abdomen.
The journey from the hotel to the hospital, a mere 2.5 kilometers, felt like an eternity compressed into a few fleeting minutes. The bustling streets of Kuala Lumpur, especially during the afternoon exodus of office workers and errand runners, lent themselves to a chaotic traffic symphony. Yet, propelled by the urgency of my condition, the ambulance maneuvered through the congested thoroughfares, their expertise cutting through the cacophony of honking horns and jostling vehicles.
At approximately 5:00 PM, I arrived at Tung Shin Hospital, where the doctors swiftly escorted me into an examination room. The intensity of the pain had subsided somewhat, leading me to foolishly believe that I could do without any further medical attention. I muttered timidly to myself, reassuringly, that I had a plane to catch and that I must be at the airport by 10:00 PM to return home. In response, a sympathetic assistant attempted to put my mind at ease, promising that they would handle everything and ensure a favorable outcome. However, deep down, she harbored doubts about my ability to make the flight due to the impending emergency surgery that needed to be scheduled.
Under the influence of a painkiller administered by the diligent ambulance personnel, I found myself in a state of profound relaxation, bordering on euphoria. Consequently, I felt utterly powerless to articulate my concerns. My vision grew increasingly hazy, and my eyelids, burdened by weariness, struggled to remain open. Thoughts of my wife and our two children crept into my mind. I knew they eagerly awaited my return, and somehow, I needed to find a way to reach out to them, to inform them that I would not be boarding the plane as planned and to relay the news of my emergency hospital admission. It was the final cogent thought that flickered through my consciousness before darkness engulfed me. Quite literally.
As the sensation of dizziness and disorientation gradually receded, a peculiar numbness and stiffness permeated my entire body. I yearned to move, to stir from my prone position, but each attempt proved arduous, as if an invisible force restrained me. I was beset by a profound bewilderment, unable to discern my location, the time of day or night, or even whether I was within the familiar confines of my own home. Dizziness and perplexity swirled within me, casting a disorienting spell.
Gradually, the memories of recent events trickled back into my consciousness, like drops of water seeping through the cracks of a dam. The images started to resurface— the hotel, the flashing lights of the ambulance, the hushed wail of its siren, the blur of the ambulance ride, the sterile walls of the emergency room, the concerned conversation with the nurse, and the swirling chaos that enveloped me. But now, as I lay there, everything appeared strangely serene. The only commotion I could discern was the symphony of beeping machines, their rhythms fluctuating from sporadic to rapid, each tone marking another moment in the hospital. I couldn’t deny that I found myself in the confines of a medical facility.
The realization of my surroundings didn’t come to me all at once. It crept up on me, teasingly slow, like the hesitant dawn breaking through a foggy morning. With great effort, I managed to pry open my heavy eyelids. Blinking repeatedly, I struggled to keep my eyes wide enough to take in my surroundings. Gradually turning my head from side to side, I tried to piece together the landscape before me. All I could discern were the intricate networks of machines, tubes, and wires converging towards me like lifelines extending from a technological web. It dawned on me that the surgery was behind me now, and I was presumably out of immediate danger. Those fleeting seconds or perhaps minutes, the exact duration eluding my grasp, stretched out agonizingly, draining me of every ounce of strength. I surrendered to the exhaustion, allowing my eyelids to flutter shut, longing for rest. However, the anesthesia and medications still held me captive, their tendrils keeping me suspended in a realm of altered consciousness. I comforted myself with the knowledge that soon enough, someone would arrive, someone who could reach out to my family, gently unraveling the events and assuaging their worries.
With my eyes closed, a curious phenomenon unfolded. Faint white specks danced and pulsed against the backdrop of my inner vision. Their ethereal presence intermingled with a constant, almost melodic sound that reverberated through the depths of my perception, resembling an alarm of sorts, yet indistinct and elusive. Suddenly, the pulsating spots converged into an intense luminosity, akin to a brilliant beam from a formidable flashlight penetrating my closed eyelids. Startled, my eyes flew open, but the blinding light had vanished. Instead, darkness enveloped me, obliterating any semblance of the familiar. I strained to locate the white expanse of ceiling I had glimpsed earlier, but it eluded me. Despite the enigma shrouding my surroundings, an inexplicable tranquility washed over me, cradling me in its embrace. Even amidst the persistent backdrop of the alarm-like sound, a sense of safety permeated the air. Driven by instinct, I pushed myself into a sitting position, a surge of excitement coursing through my veins as I endeavored to reorient myself within the confines of the intensive care room that had become my temporary abode.
The room hummed with the mechanical symphony of medical instruments, their cacophony filling the air. Its walls stood bare, devoid of any trace of furniture, windows, or doors, rendering it an empty void. Before me stretched a seemingly endless corridor, its high ceiling soaring above, casting a gentle glow that illuminated the space without revealing its source.
Rising from an invisible seat, I glanced down to find myself clad in loose-fitting white pants. Upon my feet rested casual yet sporty white shoes, perfectly complementing the attire. Confusion swept over me as I absentmindedly ran my hands over my body, exploring the texture of the shirt adorning me—an identical white fabric to the pants. Within my mind, I pondered the enigma before me, questioning.
- What in the world is happening?
- Where am I?
- And when did I find myself attired in these peculiar garments?
Though uncertain whether I voiced these thoughts aloud or they remained internal, I felt a curious lack of apprehension. Fear had not invaded my being; instead, I stood simply astounded by the rapidity of events unfolding around me. Intrigued, I turned around, seeking to identify the object from which I had risen, only to discover an absence. My hands roamed the air, seeking any semblance of a chair, a bed, or whatever had previously supported me, yet found nothing.
Attempting to rationalize the experience, I muttered to myself, “Perhaps it’s nothing more than a dream,” grasping at the elusive threads of explanation. Resolute, I turned my attention back to the hallway, ready to explore its mysteries. Once again, the expanse before me revealed itself—a long corridor, suffused with the same comforting luminescence. I reached out, allowing my fingertips to graze the walls, eager to ascertain their texture. It eluded conventional description, akin to the touch of an opulent fabric, warm and inviting, though lacking the expertise of a connoisseur, I struggled to articulate its intricacies.
Determined to proceed, I selected a direction along the corridor and took measured steps forward. As I ventured forth, a new chorus emerged, blending with the incessant alarm—a chorus of voices. Yet, their words eluded comprehension, their deep timbre mingling with the clamor, stirring a restlessness within the vicinity they emanated from.
Unfazed by the aural commotion, I pressed onward, undeterred until I found myself enveloped in the serenity of my surroundings, the echoes of my footsteps the only sound breaking the silence. Lost in my own thoughts, I suddenly heard a gentle, woman voice behind me.
- Hello! Who are you?
Startled, I turned around, not expecting to encounter anyone in this ethereal space. My eyes met those of a woman, and I couldn’t help but be struck by her appearance.
- Oh. you’re dressed just like me!
I smiled warmly and introduced myself:
- Excuse me. I’m Jeroen.. Hello.. And you are?
- I’m Andreea.
- Where are we going? Where are we?
A sense of disorientation washed over me as I grappled with these questions.
- I don’t know; But most likely, we’re in a dream. probably my dream.
Andreea’s eyes widened, and she shook her head emphatically. “
- Oh no No-no; If we were in a dream, it would be my dream, not yours!
Caught off guard by her response, I was unsure how to proceed. We continued walking in silence for a few more steps until Andreea broke it with a contemplative query.
- Do you think we’re dead? What is the last thing you remember?
- Dead?
I exclaimed, my voice betraying a hint of fear.
- No, no, no! We can’t be dead.
Andreea’s expression grew thoughtful as she processed my words. “Oh?”
- We can’t have died -
I continued, my voice trembling.
- You see, the last thing I remember is waking up from an appendectomy surgery.
- Really?
Andreea mused, a touch of uncertainty coloring her tone.
- So you woke up; Me; I remember; I; don’t know. I don’t remember anything.
The weight of her words settled upon us, a shared confusion mingled with a sense of urgency. We stood there, uncertain of our fate and the nature of our reality, searching for answers that seemed elusive.
I glanced at Andreea, trying to find a way to bridge the gap between us, but the words failed me. Instead, I turned my gaze towards the direction we were heading, only to be greeted by a disorienting revelation. The hallway had transformed into a vast expanse—a boundless, all-white room devoid of walls, stretching out in every direction. It lacked a discernible beginning or end, as if defying the laws of space and time. The ceiling soared impossibly high, seemingly reaching towards infinity, while the gentle, comforting light enveloped us without an apparent source.
We stood there, two lost souls adrift in this enigmatic realm, wondering if our purpose was to unravel its mysteries or merely endure its enigmatic embrace.
But we were no longer just the two of us; we had become part of something larger. Men and women, children, young and old, all dressed uniformly, marching together in unison, oblivious to our destination or purpose. Not a single word was exchanged, no luggage burdened our hands, and no jewelry adorned our bodies. The women merged into an indistinguishable mass, as did the men. Amidst this sea of anonymous faces, I struggled to locate Andrea. However, I was certain she stood beside me, so I turned to her in astonishment and uttered:
- Do you see this too?
- Yes,I do!
she replied, her voice filled with bewilderment.
- What the hell is happening? Who are all these people?
- And where are we all going?
I interjected, scanning the surroundings in search of any clues.
Confusion engulfed me, leaving me unsure of what to believe anymore. This dream, if it was indeed a dream, manifested in the most peculiar manner. I attempted to convince myself to wake up, to escape this surreal reality. Yet, simultaneously, my curiosity urged me to witness what would unfold next, where this procession would lead us, and who these unfamiliar faces were.
In an instant, a luminous radiance, simultaneously forceful and gentle, descended upon us from the mysterious expanse above. I tilted my head upwards, attempting to discern the ceiling, but it eluded my gaze, shrouded in obscurity. Our collective movement ceased as we instinctively raised our heads, basking in the brilliance that enveloped us, infusing our beings with a profound serenity and an embrace of solace. No audible words or voices reached my ears, yet the message conveyed transcended language, imparted directly to our minds through a telepathic conduit. It was as if the ethereal transmission unfolded wordlessly, akin to the reassurance one finds in a snug blanket on a bitter winter’s eve. Struggling to articulate the amalgamation of emotions that surged within me during those fleeting moments, I grasped the true import of Andreea’s query. Each person present in that space had departed the realm of the living, embarking upon a journey towards the beyond. With a gentle smile etching my face, I shifted my gaze downward, surveying the countenances of my fellow companions. Without exception, they wore serene smiles, their countenance attired uniformly, emanating an inner tranquility and harmony.
In that ephemeral juncture, the ethereal voice that had enveloped us all resonated within my being, conveying the knowledge that I did not yet belong to that particular moment. It was not my destined place, for the intervention of the surgical procedure had a divine purpose. The grand design of the universe still held intricate plans for me, plans yet unfinished. Abruptly, the clamor of alarms, previously muffled in the distant hallway, surged with escalating intensity, accompanied by agitated voices, gradually intruding upon our ethereal realm. And then, as if triggered by some invisible force, a surge of electric current coursed through my entire being, from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes. A searing pain pierced my senses, while an exhilarating tingling sensation pervaded every fiber of my being.
Agonizing pain coursed through every fiber of my being, engulfing me in its relentless grip. The shrill alarm, now amplified to a deafening cacophony, melded with the rhythm of my pounding heartbeat. Gasping for air, I felt a suffocating surge of wind rush into my lungs, as though I were on the verge of drowning in the very atmosphere I struggled to inhale. Each breath was a desperate plea for survival, an urgent reminder of my primal need for oxygen. With strained eyes wide open, I discerned the ethereal outlines of figures within the room, their hurried movements resembling a choreographed symphony of nurses and doctors attending to me. Lifting my head ever so slightly, I began to survey the scene, my gaze traversing the space with a mix of apprehension and curiosity.
Amidst the chaos, a voice pierced through the disarray, uttering a succinct and reassuring phrase:
- It’s okay- it’s okay; okay!
Simultaneously, a tingling sensation coursed through my fingers and toes, an inexplicable ache emanated from my chest, and the constant symphony of beeping machines seemed to blend into a somber melody. The commotion around me gradually subsided as I caught sight of the clock hanging on the wall, positioned directly in front of the bed that cradled my vulnerable form. Its hands pointed meticulously to 1:41 AM, marking an indelible moment in time. Through the haze of dizziness, realization began to dawn upon me—I had experienced death’s cold touch, and my recent dream was no mere figment of imagination. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily upon my consciousness.
As swiftly as the revelation seized me, another wave of unconsciousness swept over, likely induced by the doctors administering further rounds of medication during the resuscitation process. Once more, I surrendered to the veil of oblivion, the narrative of my existence suspended in a state of uncertainty and fragility.
As consciousness slowly seeped back into my being, I found myself in a dimly lit hospital ward, flanked by two other patients. The absence of intrusive machines was a welcome relief, although my left hand bore the tether of an IV, its purpose a mystery. Glimpsing through the window, I saw a bleak, rain-soaked day unfolding outside, casting a somber ambiance within the room. A surge of urgency coursed through me, prompting me to call out my wife’s name, desperate to bridge the void and recount the events that had unfolded.
A compassionate nurse, sensing my restlessness, approached me and inquired about my well-being, offering any assistance I might require. My plea for my phone to reach out to my wife echoed through the air. After what felt like an eternity, the precious device was finally within my grasp, and with trembling fingers, I dialed my wife’s number, hopeful to hear her voice on the other end.
- Jeroen! Are you alive??!!?!
Her words reverberated with a mixture of shock and overwhelming joy, a testament to the depths of her worry and the magnitude of her relief.
- Yes-yes! I’m alive! Why wouldn’t I be?
I replied, my own voice quivering with a blend of bewilderment and reassurance.
- Weren’t you on the plane last night?
Her incredulity was palpable, her disbelief refusing to yield.
- No, no, I wasn’t -I missed it due to an emergency surgery; Appendicitis.
I explained, piecing together the fragments of the puzzle for her. The line crackled with silence, punctuated by the muffled sound of her tears falling—a bittersweet cascade of emotions.
- What happened? Why are you crying? Where are you?
My words tumbled out in rapid succession, my confusion heightening with every passing second. The composed and rational woman I knew seemed to have given way to a torrent of unexplained emotions.
Her words struck me like a thunderbolt. She revealed that she thanked the heavens for my missed flight, as it had tragically crashed, claiming the lives of all passengers and crew on board. As her words sank in, I felt a surge of powerful emotions overwhelm me, catching me completely off guard. My voice trembled uncontrollably, and I could feel my face flush with a mix of shock and disbelief. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead as I struggled to steady myself, but an involuntary trembling persisted—a cocktail of panic and agitation that consumed me.
The nurses standing beside me recognized my distress and quickly moved to calm me down, administering sedatives to help alleviate my overwhelming anxiety. As I gradually regained some semblance of composure, fragments of a dream began to resurface in my mind. Each detail materialized with heightened clarity, including the time displayed on the clock adorning the wall of the sterile intensive care room. In that moment, an insatiable curiosity compelled me to reach out to the nurse attending to me, desperately seeking any information about the ill-fated plane.
Regrettably, the nurse’s inability to access external news sources within the hospital walls left me no choice but to turn to my smartphone for answers. My trembling hands fumbled with the device as I sought to uncover the truth. It was through my digital exploration that I learned the devastating truth—the crash had occurred precisely at 1:41 AM. The revelation shook me to my core, as the realization dawned upon me, connecting the dots between the time of the crash and the time I had glimpsed on the intensive care room’s clock when I regained consciousness.
In that perplexing moment, a flood of questions surged through my mind. Was it possible that I had traversed the veil of death, encountering a genuine divine entity? The answer eluded me, shrouded in the enigmatic haze of uncertainty.
One thing, however, remained undeniably certain—I was the lone survivor of the ill-fated MH-17 flight, the flight that had been ruthlessly brought down by a Russian missile over the skies of Ukraine in 2014.