At quite an early age I became convinced I would die at the age of 23. I cannot say why, though. I just believed that.
Curiously enough, at that age I picked up an infection of my right foot and it spread throughout my whole body as a poisoning of my lymphatic system. I was on vacation. In fact, I spent the whole day on train going to a spa in Western Bohemia to pick up my mom and accompany her home.
I did not find mom in the hotel, but I knew I could find her in her favorite cafe. There she was. People there were saying how good I was looking. I had just spent a week at a yoga camp and was well tanned (something very rare for me).
However, I had trouble walking from the cafe to the hotel. It was getting worse by the minute. My mom decided to take me to the nearest hospital. It was vacation time, so many of the staff were gone, but I lucked out: The chief of surgery was on duty that night. He performed minor surgery on my foot (which was swollen and filled with puss).
Along with the good luck, I also had some bad luck. The surgeon told a nurse to give me a shot of penicillin. Right then the power went out and stayed out for about an hour. The nurse never gave me my shot. They sent me back to the hotel in an ambulance, and told me to come back for a checkup in the morning.
That night my fever skyrocketed. I was shaking and shivering. Well, my body was. I, on the other hand, was watching my body from about three meters above. I felt sorry for the guy down there. I felt no connection to "him". I felt no emotions whatsoever. I was an objective observer. My mom and her sister (who also was there) were crying and lamenting. I was puzzled by that. I knew they were crying over me, but I felt very good, very peaceful.
Eventually, I reconnected with my body. I have no idea how long I was out because I had absolutely no concept of time.
The next morning I was hospitalized, and spent about two weeks in the hospital. They expected to amputate my leg but I fully recovered. I believe that was thanks to the fact I spent the week before practicing yoga full time.
So, I did not die at 23, but I did have a near death experience. Strangely enough, being "dead" was the most beautiful experience of my whole life. So beautiful indeed that when I later read Robert Monroe's Journeys Out of the Body, I was obsessed for several years trying to get out of my body (even tried his hemi-sync tapes). But I never succeeded, much to my dismay. Then I grew out of it. I have not tried it for a long long time, nor do I intend to. But I haven't feared death since.
By the way, just in case anyone wonders, I did not experience any kind of tunnel, often described by others with similar experience (I'm not saying they did not experience it, only that I did not). I was just floating 3 m above my body and felt perfectly at peace. I don't have any recollection of how I got out nor how I got back in.