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I am Andreas, 52 years old, documentary filmmaker, left-handed. I recently presumably survived a heart attack, thanks to my knowledge of the 5BN and the "strophanthin" emergency heart drops.

It all began in the summer of 2025, when I threw out my lodger because of drunkenness and other problems. I had patiently put up with him for 3 long years, and also financially supported him like a big, stubborn teenager. Following that, in the fall of 2025, first my right ankle swelled up, then, over the winter, my entire right lower leg. I was also out of breath at the smallest exertion. All of this dragged on for months, so at first I saw no connection. It had to be some kind of healing swelling. I was also able to walk normally the whole time and was pain-free, apart from the rapid exhaustion. The local clinic found no cause. Daniel Stoica immediately identified a resolved ball-and-chain conflict. And indeed, my lodger had been a ball and chain to me. But why specifically the right leg? For a left-hander, on the mother-child side? It's possible that I had experienced my lodger, in his defiant manner and his constant drunkenness, like an unruly child. The constant exhaustion together with the healing swelling could have been a resolved overload conflict (heart) occurring at the same time. I was in any case overwhelmed by the situation. What I hadn't considered, however, was the territorial conflict that I fought out with my lodger over those three years. Three years is too long to survive a territorial conflict in nature. Life only gives us 10 lunar months' grace for that.

And so it indeed happened, though I had no inkling of it at the time. In the months that followed, I only noticed a further increasing circulatory weakness (resolved overload, heart), and again a swollen lower leg, this time the left one. For a left-hander, that's a resolved ball-and-chain conflict on the partner side. In retrospect I suspect resolved conflicts in the family, occurring at the same time as plenty of overload, since there were many changes during that period. That's why I also didn't pay attention to the heart attack that would still be threatening me.

It was a quiet early-summer weekend. I was at a weekend seminar with my wife. The seminar participants sat in a circle, we discussed and laughed. Without warning I suddenly felt a knife-stab in my left chest that tore me to the ground. But there was no knife. No injury. My left side stabbed brutally, from the diaphragm all the way up to the left shoulder, most of all behind the heart. Breathing was barely possible, every movement was hellishly painful. I sat gasping on the floor next to my chair and couldn't make a sound. The fact that participants occasionally took a break, ate, or stood up was completely normal. So hardly anyone in the room took notice of me. After a quarter of an hour the whole thing was over again, as if nothing had ever happened. I did feel short of breath, but the pain was gone.
Just to be safe, that evening I drank plenty of strophanthin, which I had been carrying with me since winter on Daniel's advice. It tasted better than ever before, which surprised me a little.

The next day I was again almost completely pain-free, so I stayed until the end of the seminar. And for the drive back I put the little bottle of strophanthin within reach in the car, next to the seat. I also sat in the passenger seat, purely as a precaution.
We had almost arrived home already. Suddenly another invisible knife-stab, this time enormously wide and deep, which at once cut through my pit of the stomach, chest, and left shoulder.

Somehow, with trembling fingers, I managed to swallow the last remaining bit of strophanthin, while my wife raced across an intersection. I could no longer breathe. From here on my memory fails me. My wife knew we had to get home, as fast as possible. A second small bottle of strophanthin was there. Paramedics or doctors wouldn't have been able to help me now, since this proven heart remedy has long since disappeared from emergency medicine.

At some point I regained consciousness at home. Hours later? Days? I don't know anymore. I lay still on the couch. I was still there. For a week I lay there apathetically, almost motionless. Begged for water now and then, crawled to the toilet on all fours at night. And felt as weak and shaky as an 80-year-old grandpa. My lung stabbed and hurt. Or was it the heart? Or the diaphragm? Sitting up, I could breathe. During these days I emptied our second bottle of strophanthin, a tiny little bottle. That was all we still had of it. By the way, it tastes delicious, like cough syrup from childhood in the 1980s. Maybe it only tastes that good when the body needs it. What do I know about life.

The weeks after that were fairly unspectacular. I was pain-free and weak and unusually slow. Otherwise everything was fine.
Since then more weeks have passed. By now it's summer 2026. I'm still here. I can breathe, walk, and work again, and nobody notices anything. I literally owe my life to Daniel Stoica, thanks to his willingness to help and the strophanthin. And to Dr. Hamer and the Pilhar family I owe my modest knowledge about my body. That's how I stayed free of fear, even amid the greatest pain. There would of course be quite a bit more to report.

Big hugs to all of you!
Andreas Daniel, the documentary filmmaker from vollkommenfrei.at

Note from Björn Eybl
As late as the 1960s, strophanthin was THE remedy in hospitals for heart problems. After that it was displaced by synthetic and less effective remedies. Today strophanthin is experiencing a renaissance thanks to the internet - fortunately.