It was hours before I heard from my husband, but when he finally texted me, he let me know that I was able to come in to get the antibodies, but that the doctor told him he couldn’t get them since he was already on oxygen. I didn’t know it at the time, but my friend was at the same hospital, ON OXYGEN, and received the antibodies. She’s still here today (thankfully!). My 40 year old husband, on the other hand, was admitted that day, on September 7, 2021, and would end up fighting for a total of 122 days before losing his battle with the hospitals on January 7, 2022.

Because I also had Covid, I was unable to be with him until I tested negative. Unbeknownst to me, they had completed 5 days of Remdesivir during this time, which ironically was completed the day I was finally able to see him. I hadn’t heard anything about Remdesivir until friends started writing to me telling me not to let the hospitals administer it under any circumstances. I asked him if he had been given the drug and he responded, “Yes, why?”. That’s when I knew they hadn’t disclosed any information about Remdesivir or the EUA status, and I knew I couldn’t say anything or he would’ve panicked, as it was already too late. There’s NO WAY my husband would’ve given his consent to receive a drug that is known to cause multi-system organ failure. He developed PTSD after serving two tours in Iraq and suffered from debilitating anxiety at times. The thought of his organs shutting down would’ve most definitely sent him into a panic.

On September 12, I was finally able to visit my husband for an hour/day. He was on high flow nasal canula with a non-rebreather mask. He was struggling to eat and I could tell he had lost a significant amount of weight. At this time, I was still ignorant to the truth of the deadly hospital protocol and I trusted that they were doing everything to help him. On September 20, I saw in his chart that they still had his pre-admitted weight, so I called the nurse and asked her to weigh him. My athletically built, muscular, police officer/Army veteran husband had lost 31 POUNDS in 13 days while being awake. Not only were they not addressing this extreme weight loss by giving my husband much needed nutrition, but they also still had him weighing 31lbs more than he did, and were therefore going by that weight for drug dosing. At this point, I was starting to wake up to what was going on- at least in the lack of basic care. I was still ignorant of the protocol and the use of respiratory suppressing drugs that were already being pumped into my husband.

On September 18, everything changed when a medical professional from the inside messaged me via my husband’s phone and told me I needed to look at FLCCC.net and get him Ivermectin ASAP. That’s the moment when my gut feelings were confirmed and I knew the hospitals/doctors/nurses weren’t fighting to save my husband’s life and I had to fight for him myself. I had a prescription for Ivermectin within a couple hours and he received his first dose that evening. Prior to receiving that dose, my husband was unable to sit up and was fighting to take every breath. When I walked into his room THE NEXT MORNING, my husband was sitting up in bed and he threw his hands up and said, “I’m coming home to you!”. I’ll never forget his words or the way he looked, but something in me couldn’t celebrate yet. Later that day, after my one hour visit was over and the doctors had made their rounds, my husband messaged me, “Well, that was weird. The male doctor came in and listened to me breathe for a second and was just like, alright, see you later.” I responded, “Uh, what? He didn’t say anything?”, to which he responded, “I’ve been between 95%-97% all morning. I mean, he talked to me briefly, but no status update or anything. I guess I just expected a different reaction from him.” All I could say was, “We have so much to talk about when you get out!”.

Unfortunately, the miraculous turnaround didn’t last long. I didn’t know it at the time, but the dose of Ivermectin that he had been prescribed should’ve been tripled. On top of that, I found out after it was too late, that they had started giving him Precedex, in addition to multiple anti-anxiety medications and narcotics that were further suppressing his breathing. His breathing continued to worsen, and after us both being aggressively questioned as to why we hadn’t been vaccinated, and after doctors and nurses threatening that he would be put on the ventilator, my husband finally succumbed to the ever mounting anxiety and asked…he actually requested…to be intubated. After 22 years together, 20 married, September 24, 2021 would be the last day that I would ever hear my husband’s voice.