After leaving St. Marks Hospital, I went home with 5 liters of oxygen.  It wasn’t enough; I got progressively worse, and went to a University of Utah clinic near my home, unable to get a decent breath.

When I arrived into the emergency, they made my advocate leave.  I told these nurses I didn’t want remdesivir or the vent and it was entered [in the records].   After staying there for a few hours, they life-flighted me to the U of U hospital.

It was freezing cold and I was naked except for a few of those thin blankets that flew up in the wind that was blowing that night.  The helicopter was cold too, and I was freezing, shivering uncontrollable.  When we landed at the U, I was held outside for what seemed like an eternity while they searched for a helmet for me to wear into the hospital, so I wouldn’t spread covid to anyone.

I was put in the ICU in the smallest, poorly lit room I had ever been in.  I was denied water and food for several days, when that Dr came in and told me I was going to die.  I hadn’t slept since arriving as I feared they’d give me remdesivir or the vaccine.  In fact, the entire three weeks I was in the ICU I was afraid to fall asleep.  One nurse was so adamant to not give me water she accused me of eating the ice from the icebergs I needed to keep me cool.  I didn’t eat the ice.

I thought they knew best, but was soon realizing that they were trying to kill me with other methods.  They told my father I was going to die.  When my sister came up to see me I could see the dread in her face.   I took my own picture, and could see why they looked like that when they saw me.  My face was sunken from dehydration and black around my eyes.  I lost 45 pounds in those three weeks in the ICU.  I saw dozens of people wheeled out with sheets over their heads in which the hospital administration was making money hand-over-fist.

After a week and a half of begging for some medication, I showed the physician an article written by Dr. Peter McCullough about the success of budesonide, so I asked for it.  He said he would think about it.  At this point, the damage was done, but I figured if I could get any of the affordable effective medications, it would help somewhat. A day later he said he’d give it to me, but they didn’t give me the amount they had said. I had to beg for it because they would miss the times I was supposed to get it.

It was the worst three weeks of my life. Everyone in my family who had all been vaxxed had written me off.  When they were there in the hospital pitying, me I told them don’t worry because big brother is going to live long enough to bury all of you vaxxed “sheeple.”

I wasn’t able to add the doctors who wouldn’t help me earlier here.  it was stippled out. Kyle Daley who was the PA I had been visiting a little before I got sick, refused to give me ivermectin or hydroxychloroquine.  Before I could see him, I got another appointment to see a doctor at another clinic.  He showed me paperwork that said ivermectin was dangerous, I knew he wouldn’t help.  I tried to find out which doctor he was, so I contacted my insurance company to see who it was.  There was no record of me visiting a doctor other than the PA Daley.  He didn’t turn in my visit to my insurance company.  I wonder why?  No record of me visiting to say he wouldn’t help?

There so many times I thought I might not make it.  I even considered letting them vent me to rest my lungs. I even drafted a text to my dad to tell him I was going to do it, but I never sent it.  I decided to not do it.  I was desperate to get out of there.