From Redditor /u/confuciousbundy:
When I was 23, I suffered from pneumonia and blood [contamination] - I [went to the hospital] and [was] hooked up to the machines, but since I decided to be a moron earlier it was nearly too late: For nearly a week, I was convinced I just had a case of the flu and didn't need medicine beyond aspirin, marrow broth, vodka, and a woolen blanket, so when I showed up at the doctor, the nice man with the white coat had me rushed to the emergency ward immediately. There I shot up to 44 degrees Celsius of fever. While my body was basically boiling my brain away, I drifted in and out of sleep before slipping away completely.
When I came to again, I found myself in a large room hewn from white marble - no doors or windows, only a nice fountain purling soothingly in the center. Loitering around this white room were maybe two dozen people, a few of which I recognized as [deceased] relatives of mine - all of them relatives having [passed] from [ending their own lives], through [force] or while young (lots of [these cases] in my family.) The others I could identify as related to me through facial features. Each was on his own, standing alone; they all looked exhausted and disappointed, like people having waited way too long for a train, starting to question whether the train was ever supposed to arrive at all in the first place.
I talked to some of them - hell if I remember anything of those conversations. After a while, my mother came up to me ([ended] herself when I was 14 after spending the years before lodging knives and glass shards in my flesh); she looked at me surprised, put her hand on my shoulder and addressed me with a smile: 'We didn't expect you yet, but that's okay. You can stay with us if you'd like to do so already.' (Our native language is/was German. For those interested, the words I remember in their original were 'Wir haben dich nicht jetzt schon erwartet, aber das macht nichts. Du kannst auch jetzt schon bei uns bleiben wenn du möchtest.').
At that point I freaked out - my mother literally tried to [end] me on several occasions when I was a kid, so an invitation from her did not sound trustworthy.
All I remember from there on is panic, animal panic and naked fear and white light until I jerked back into something akin to consciousness in a hospital bed. Really waking up took a lot of time, however - I was as weak as a newborn kitten, took me six months to get back to full strength.
After a while, I realized that 'My visit in the white room' took two weeks. Makes you scared, knowing you were out for two entire weeks. According to the head of station (the Chief doctor, don't know how you call them in the States), they were not expecting me to wake up anymore - apparently, I've went into respiratory arrest and organ failure (Sorry, don't recall all those Latin expressions) three times while I was out. The third time, cardiac arrest joined the party - at that point, they were expecting me to finally fade out and [pass], no energy left to fight on with, but apparently I soldiered onward. Not going back to the white room for as long as possible, no sir.
So, that's my story. I don't know if my 'visit to the white room' really was my first visit of my eternal home-to-be or just the neural fallout produced by a brain being super-heated by a body running a temperature of 44 degrees Celsius. All I know for certain is that just thinking back to the white room sends shivers through my bones.