Ragan had a positive test on August 12, and was scheduled for an infusion on August 15, 2021.  He went for the infusion since he had waited 3 days for that.  He had no symptoms but a mild cough and mild fever. He had great oxygen.  I checked.  It was 96 percent. His oxygen was always in the mid 90s years before covid.  Not a smoker.

Then he googled to get there, and we went to church.  He was going to pick up lunch after.  He got there.  They claimed his oxygen dropped to 80, so they wanted to stop [from getting the infusion] and put him in the ER.  He was going to drive himself but they gave him no choice even though it’s next door.  They called an ambulance.

At the hospital, his oxygen went back up, and he begged for food and drink.  I heard them telling him like a baby in the phone, “We told you why you can’t have it.”  Then they started remdesivir, but we didn’t know that until after he died.  He was big time against it.

They wouldn’t let us see or talk to him but that one time.  He was a big texter, and I never heard from him while he was awake.

My friend who worked there was able to get in his room and FaceTime me with him.  He was scared of dying since he was telling them, “no vent,” but they were going to do it anyway. We couldn’t see him; especially the kids.  I was finally able to see him through glass after he was vented, once a day, for a few minutes.  He looked blotted, uncovered, not taking care of his eczema or his hygiene. They said,  “He should have gotten the shot and he wouldn’t be here,” saying that over and over.

I asked for high vitamins, drugs and ivermectin according to the FLCCC MATH + treatment.  I even showed them the list, and they refused over and over.  I had others fight for it with no results.

Day 2, he was in there, they said, “the only things were going to save him was a miracle. He was going to die, but how long is unknown.”  I lost it!

A few days later, we met with palliative care.  They said, “No,” to every meds we wanted, and they planned his death.

End of Day 10, I was finally able to touch him but with a nurse the whole time in there running her mouth.

Early day 11, I woke up knew something was wrong.  His heart stopped multiple times, and they wanted to know if I wanted them to keep trying, and I said, “Yes.”  The next morning they called asking if they should keep bring him back since his heart stopped many times, and he was in pain. I told them to stop trying once I got there since I didn’t want him in pain.

When I got there, since my kids weren’t allowed to come, they said, “We need to stop after the next time because we are hurting him now.”  I agreed, since I didn’t want him in anymore pain.

It was the longest 3 hours to wait for his last breath but it seems so quick too.  I wasn’t allowed long in there to say goodbye.  I wanted a piece of his hair and fingerprint and I was told, “No.”

He died on the 11th day in that morning.

He was placed in a body bag in a casket. No viewing or proper funeral. The kids have a hard time since he told them he was coming home.