As soon as Peter began to get ill, we took all the necessary precautions masking and the whole bit.  We stayed home from work and stayed away from everyone just in case we had gotten COVID.  I had taken Peter to the hospital for the second time and they sent him home with double viral pneumonia, COVID and an antibiotic for a virus which didn’t make any sense.  We immediately got in contact with a trusted naturopathic doctor who prescribed steroids, inhalers, and Ivermectin.  However, before we could get that filled at the pharmacy, Peter’s oxygen began to tank so badly that we couldn’t get the medication started.  Thus, I took him to the hospital.  This was September 22, 2021.  We were not allowed to see him at all.  After he was admitted, I would call the hospital a number of times a day and during the night to find out his status.  I was verbally reprimanded by one of his doctors for not getting vaccinated, as well as they gave him one of the serious medications that shuts down organs even after I specifically asked them not to. They gave it to him twice, then I was coerced into finishing the full treatment.    

On October 7, 2021, the phone rings with the doctor telling me on speaker phone that Peter’s lungs were terminally damaged and that they wanted to intubate him with no hope of coming off the ventilator or put him into a comfortable coma to die.  Peter was also on this call with the doctor unable to talk.  I had not seen him, only had 1-2 phone calls with him of very short length, and a few texts.  He had been in ICU or Step-Down ICU the entire 16 days since I took him to the hospital.  I told them that I wouldn’t make any decisions to end his life until I got to see him.  They then called me back some 45 minutes later to tell me that I could look at him for 15 minutes through glass and make the decision.  Again, I told them that I needed to see him in person.  I also assured them that if he passed before I was able to see him, I had an attorney on retainer, which I had been put in contact with through miraculous means.  Finally, they let me in to see him for 15 minutes.  The doctor called, not realizing I had picked up the phone, as I heard him saying to the nurse that it would be good for me to see how bad off Peter was.  After hearing this, I said, “Hello.”   This stopped that line of conversation.  He wanted to know when I would be able to come in to see Peter.  He wondered if I could come the following day.  I assured him that I was already enroute and would be there within 30 minutes. With security everywhere, in a full body gown, mask, face shield, gloves, etc., after 16 days of isolation, I finally got to see Peter.

Here is what I found.  He was designated as a “non-vaxxer”.  (Please know, we have had our kids vaccinated for every childhood vaccination that is required for school.  I’ve been vaccinated for Hepatitis C and other concerning illnesses.  Peter has had more vaccinations than you can shake a stick at during his time in the military.  We are not “non-vaxxers”, but we’re non-experimental vaxxers.  Time is a good thing to have to watch how things roll out.  And again, we are only risking our own lives if we choose not to vaccinate, as science has shown for many years, by exposing us to the virus.  I didn’t realize refusing the experimental “vaccine” would open us up to neglectful medical care, involuntary medical overrides, and isolation well beyond normal/legal practice.)  

He had been in ICU for 16 days, been given the full treatment of the medication I specifically asked that he not be given (Remdesivir), not been given any fluids for 16 days, and had an IV port in each arm.  Peter had to order his own meals and had little help with eating in order to get nutrition during this entire time I had not seen him.  He had not even had his hands washed, in ICU mind you.  He was in solitary isolation the entire time.  He had blood from an open abrasion on his nose from the mask that was not covered or bandaged.  It was just left open.  He couldn’t wear his glasses due to the oxygen mask that he was required to wear in order to breathe and can’t see anything without his glasses.  He couldn’t even see the monitors to see how his oxygen was doing.  He would listen for the beeper to go off which is when he knew that his oxygen was dropping.  He would try to lay very still and breathe deeply enough to get the beeper to quit beeping.  Then he knew he was safe again.  This had gone on for 16 days.  He had two IVs and no fluids given.  He had to take off his own mask to drink water through a straw if he was going to be hydrated.  Again, no one came to help him, as the nurses were busy most of the time.  He saw a nurse for the medications and morning check.  He would also see a nurse for the afternoon check and one visit from the doctor a day.  This doctor would regularly tell him of his poor diagnosis.  Hope for recovery of any kind was not spoken about ever.  I guess that “non-vaxxer” designation played a role.  No?  

All to say, I finally got in to see him for my 15 minutes to decide if we should end his life.  They sent in a doctor to talk to us during our 15 minutes who again encouraged us to make a decision that day.  No other family was allowed in.  I was supposed to make that decision alone with Peter based solely on their advice when they didn’t put forth the effort to increase his health with even fluids.  They had also forced the medication on him which causes multi-organ failure as well.  

I left, security in tow, and went home to call every department in the hospital asking for permission to get in to see him at least some time each day.  I again had to share that I had an attorney on standby if needed.  The attorney who I had beside me has had to try and won, many, many COVID cases where patients were mistreated just like Peter, but he had never heard of anyone being isolated from family for 16 days.  That was well beyond legal limits.  (Because we were “non vaxxers”?  Not sure.)  

I got a call the next morning that Peter had tested free of the virus and would be moved to another room so that I could come and spend 12 hours a day.  (The very morning before, Peter had been told by his doctor that because he was coughing, he would need to go another five days without seeing anyone due to being contagious because he was demonstrating symptoms.)  How in the world did everything change? Could it have anything to do with an attorney being mentioned?  

I was in his hospital room before noon, but not before I was intercepted on my way by the doctor and the hospice team to schedule his end-of-life protocol.  Yes, I was intercepted everyday by a team of “specialists” to help me decide to end his life before I could even get to his room to see him on a daily basis. This went on for a number of days.  Really???  

Because I was allowed into his room (once I entered, I was not allowed to leave for the full 12 hours for any reason, and I was fully masked the entire time).  I was able to finally give him morning and night the medication that I had researched and had been proven to reduce COVID deaths almost completely.  I also required that the nurses gave him Zinc, Vitamin D, Vitamin C, and the other supplements that the Frontline Doctors recommended.  I did not alert them to the fact that I was giving him Ivermectin morning and night, according to the protocol of that medication and the doctor we trusted.  I simply held his hand, gave him water, ordered his meals and fed him.  

He began to improve almost immediately.  How would you do without water for 16 days?  Yes, you probably would have urine that looked like rootbeer, which can immediately stop the heart.  Yes, you’d have cracks and nose bleeds from all the oxygen and no hydration.  Yes, you’d probably have blood clots clogging your breathing, too.  Why in the world would one not get fluids?  In ICU???  “Non vaxxed”.  Interesting! 

When the doctor was insisting on intubating him with no hope of removing it and we refused, he asked if he would be able to intubate him if he went into cardiac arrest.  Really?  Apparently, when one is fighting for oxygen, it taxes the heart and can cause a possibility of a heart attack.  That’s what we were avoiding?  Put him into a medicated coma and remove the oxygen, intubate him until he died….or risk a heart attack?  Yep!  We were going to run the risk of a heart attack.  That had much better odds.  Why was the doctor so interested in intubating him?  I also researched everywhere, including the Mayo Clinic, and found that Remdesivir and intubation reduced one’s chance of life by more than 50%!  More like 70-80%.  I also found from Johns Hopkin’s that COVID damage to the lungs DID heal.  It just took time.  Really?  They assured me, many, many times that it was irreparable.  Who was doing the research?  Me or the doctor?  And I wasn’t allowed to refuse a medication (Remdesivir), and Ivermectin was “dangerous”, when in fact it has less side effects than Tylenol.  And to avoid a possible heart attack, let’s just end a patient’s life.  What in the world???  Oh, and I won’t mention the research that I found indicating that when a patient was admitted into the hospital with a positive COVID test, the hospital was given $10,000. If a patient was hospitalized, the incentive to the hospital was somewhere around $30,000.  And lastly, if a patient was intubated, the hospital was granted $50,000-100,000.  Yes, in Washington State!

Finally, after days of fighting the doctor for Peter’s life, he insisted on a “care team” meeting.  Care team???  This didn’t feel like care in any way shape or form.  When did Congress become the source of medical wisdom?  The doctor would come in and insist that Peter was malnourished.  (I was feeding him 3 full meals a day and he was drinking 4 liters of water a day.  They were also slowly beginning to reduce his oxygen requirements.)  I would tell the doctor how he was doing, and he would say, “Mrs. Weron, I am the doctor.”  Yes, I felt like I was going to a fire every single day when I took off for the hospital.  I was fighting for them to give Peter a chance to live EVERY SINGLE DAY.  I refused the Care Team meeting until I had my attorney with me.  Of course, as one might guess, they showed up to have the meeting with the social worker even though I had asked to wait until I had someone with me.  I went to the meeting.  As God would have it, my attorney called during that meeting.  Immediately, the tone changed.  I was very candid with them about what I had experienced and wept as I told them of how horrified I was thinking how many other patients under their care had had the same experience. I asked for another doctor which they assured me was not possible.  They did then limit the visits and time this doctor spent in Peter’s room. The day of this “Care Team” meeting, Peter’s orders were changed to “discharge to spouse only”.  I had to fight to get them to not end his life but, let him heal and live.

Then, on day 30 in the hospital (about 7 days after that “care team” meeting), I walked into Peter’s room, and he told me they were moving him to the 8th floor (Critical Care).  I gathered all the things from our temporary home and followed the nurses and Peter to the elevator, oxygen tank in tow.  We got off the elevator on the 8th floor, were moved to a room, and within the next two hours, the floor doctor came in.  He looked at Peter’s chart and said, “Now here’s what you need to do to be able to go home.”

HOME???????  We hadn’t heard that word for 30 days!!!!  All we needed to do was ride the elevator and they would begin to talk about going home?  Again, this was supposed to be terminal.  Why was he using less oxygen, eating, drinking, talking, moving and recovering???  I was able to see that.  Didn’t the doctor have to sign on the line for him to be moved and see that he was healing????  If nothing else, wouldn’t a true doctor called to medicine to truly help people, wouldn’t he come in and celebrate Peter’s improvements?  We never saw or heard anything more from him.  What has happened to our healthcare system?  

After being moved down to Critical Care, I used a nasal rinse each day to help flush out Peter’s respiratory system.  On the first or second day in the new room, we flushed out a plug (blood/mucus clot) in his nose that was a large as a pinky finger.  They were immediately able to drop his oxygen flow 10 litres. How much had the constant flow of oxygen without any fluids encouraged this to build up, blocking his breathing?  The nurse was so surprised, she took a picture of it.  I took one as well.

The nurses truly tried to help us.  They were completely under staffed and were following doctors order.  I have no complaints about the nursing staff.  In fact, most of the nurses that we had in ICU have now left the hospital, to my understanding.  They were under horrible pressure.  My heart breaks for them.

On day 41, Peter came home.  

This summer, he and the boys rode a 55 mile bike ride from Snoqualmie to Ellensburg.  He helped carry the loveseat to Ethan’s new apartment the distance of 100 yards at the end of August.  He rode his bike to Sunnyside and home already once this year.  COVID does heal.  Ivermectin does work.  I guess we beat the odds of being “non vaxxed”…  not because of the illness, but because of the doctor’s view of “non vaxxers”.

On March 8, 2022, Peter finally returned to school.  My Dad began his life-threatening struggle with his breathing on March 10th.  On March 9th, hospice would finally accept Dad for care, as they were finally accepting “community” referrals.  We had been trying to get him help for 6 months, due to his battle to breathe.  Nope!  They wouldn’t help him until we took him to the hospital and let him be isolated, which would allow him to qualify as a hospital referral.  Only then would Hospice enroll him and provide care during his last days…another COVID restriction.  No, he didn’t have COVID.  Yes, he had bad asthma and COPD which he had had for years.  Would we really take him to the hospital and leave him there, very hard of hearing, almost blind, 96 years of age and all alone? Not after our prior experience with Peter.  He asked to be kept at home.  So, we did with no medical support or medication to ease the distress of not being able to breath.  All this time, he was unable to get any support.  Finally, on Wednesday evening, Peter and I raced to Yakima Memorial to get the “comfort” medications that Hospice had prescribed that day.  They had determined at the evaluation meeting that his kidneys were already shutting down, which meant the time was short.  We got the medications home, to give them to him at 2 a.m. that night due to a huge stroke he had as he struggled to breathe.  He died then on Friday, March 11th.  He had the support of “end-of-life” care for all of 1 day thanks to COVID protocols in our medical system. I watched the medical field desert my father and leave him to suffocate without comfort medications the same week that my husband, who was diagnosed “terminal” went back to work full time.  

I had to fight against the ones that are supposed to fight for us.  A 54 year old with COVID was being nearly forced to take medication to end his life, and a 96 year old with COPD/severe asthma was not allowed any medication to ease his suffering.  This is criminal activity.