Chapter 2

I was free, and for the time being that was the only thing that mattered. My mind would be cloudy for weeks, as they were administering the psychotropic drugs on the day I left and even sent a prescription for (with a dozen or so others). Seroquel, the one that seemed have the most pronounced lobotomizing effect. All the prescriptions were filled but my sisters did not have me take the Seroquel. More food for the beast.

Even with the end of the psychotropic drugs I would remain mentally debilitated for some time. Seroquel is one of the more notorious causes, not that it is admitted by the industry. For days I was nearly as helpless as I had been as I walked, if you can call it that, the short distance from the doors of the hospital to the waiting car. Without assistance I could not get in or out of the car or to the door of the house. For days the short distance from my room to the living area of the house taxed my ability.

And my ordeal with the beast was by no means over. I was only outside the belly.

I had an appointment with the cardiologist a couple of weeks later. The cardiologist pronounced me healthy as fas as my heart was concerned. He was an older guy, and at this point the Plandemic was nearing is peak, in terms of the mass psychosis and masks were required at any medical industry facility. I wore my mask until called into the private examination at which point the doctor removed his and invited me to do the same, with an expression that suggested he was disgusted with the whole charade. Sadly, he was one of the old ones, and a few weeks later I received a letter advising his patients that he was retiring.

So that was that, Hospital B did succeed in saving my life, at a cost of several hundred thousand dollars (I saw one bill for over $260,000). Of course Hospital B was billing the insurance company over $200,000 for two weeks, and being paid half that (discounted to half, what does that say about the industry?) so I would guess that their share of the loot was well over a million.

There was still the matter of the feeding tube. As I observed it had not been used during the final two weeks or so, and should have been removed. The telemetry module was there as well, serving no purpose, but removing it was not a medical procedure. Removing the feeding tube would require a qualified nurse.

I made an appointment with a clinic, part of Hospital B, and repaired to the clinic at the appointed time. The nurse advised me that the site of the insertion was infected and removal could be painful, but an application of antibiotics for two weeks would mitigate the infection. I left with a prescription for the antibiotics and returned. Which is to say my caregivers drove the forty-something miles each way. The little scavengers took a few more bites.

Two weeks later we made the trip again, and the tube was removed. I should be thankful for small blessings. When the tube was replaced a balloon was used to hold it, instead of the mechanical device. And the infection abated, so it was quite painless.

I suspect that the tube had been left in as much for spite as anything else. The hospital (apparently) did not have a qualified person, but could as easily have sent me back to Hospital A, giving them another bite, along with the ambulance operator. But either way it was one final insult.

That would be the final bite. These days my only interaction with the Medical Industry is an annual checkup with a doctor known to my family, so there is little danger. If I ever find myself in a hospital again they will know not only to not let me be sent to that hellhole but to watch me closely wherever I am. One can not be too vigilant.

I was free and alive, but that was nowhere close to the end of the ordeal. I remained, if not ill, extremely weak and my mental condition had improved little. I was able to interact in a normal fashion with the few people I was in contact with, close family only. But I remained in a state that is best described as zombie-like.

I didn't know the reason, and wouldn't for quite a while. With the exception of exercise several times daily I was in bed, too physically weak to do much else and not mentally inclined to. Two or three times a day I walked around outside the house, using a walker and always accompanied by a caregiver, a distance of perhaps two to three hundred yards.

I had asked for a pair of dumbells and used them several times daily while lying in bed. They were the smallest available, 2.5 pounds. I could lift one with relative ease with my right arm, but was barely able to lift one slightly with the left arm.

My left arm remains weak two years later. I suspect it was injured during an incident at the hospital. I was incognizant at the time, a visitor told me she had entered my room to find me totally nude and uncovered, tied hand and foot to the bed as I have described. My left arm was twisted into an unnatural position and I was though unconscious vocalizing expression of severe pain. A likely suspect would the the large employee I mentioned. He certainly had the physical strength and mental attitude to have inflicted an injury. When my visitor demanded to know the reason the nurse replied "we can't keep a diaper on him" and was reluctant to reposition my arm.

I eventually recovered sufficient physical strength to assist my caregivers in managing my affairs. I was able to go to banks and other businesses and sign papers (scrawl something that passed for a signature - handwriting is another skill I have yet to recover) and oversee moving my property from the home I would have to sell as it was too far away for me to continue living there.

I still could not drive, and it would be some months before I could. My vehicles (one had been parked at the office for four months) were retrieved and brought to my new temporary home. The family member I was staying with lives on a large estate which contains large fenced lot of a dozen acres or so. I eventually began to drive one of my vehicles there, learning again how to drive. It would be several weeks before I felt confident of being able to venture onto public roads.

My physical condition was improving, with improved diet and exercise and most importantly the removal of the drugs. I continued to have bowel incontinence for quite some time, but it did eventually cease. During that time I had to wear adult incontinence underwear.

That condition eventually ended, a great relief to me as I feared it being a permanent condition. What caused it? No doubt the abuse at the hospital - bad diet, months of immobility, two dozen or more drugs (most of them unnecessary) simultaneously administered - was the cause.

What has not ended is the damage caused by the cocktail of psychotropic drugs. The lobotomizing effect makes it difficult to manage my affairs, as relatively uncomplicated as they are these days. Paying bills, maintaining my bank accounts, and other business required the use of checklists and schecules and the discipline to use them daily, which is the most difficult part. My brain doesn't do what I know it should do, is the best way I can describe it.

Eventually I had sufficient mental energy to look at the hospital records. One of my siblings (with a healthier mistrust of the Medical Industry than I) requested my records the day after I was discharged. The records consist largely of badly handwritten notes. But parts of them were printed from computer files and are quite legible. This is what they were putting into me, without my knowledge or consent or that of my guardians (beyond the obligatory consent form) and they did not know what drugs were being used:

insulin lispro 100 units/mL, multivits Ca, minerals/iron/fa, pantoprazle sodium, magnesium sulfate, quetapine fumarate 25mg, L Acidophil/B Lactis/B :ongum;, haloperidol lactate, olanzapine, tramadol HCI, clonazepam 0.5mg, aspirin, ipratropium/albuterol sulfate NEP, diltiazem HCI, atorvasttin calcium 20 mg, destrose gel 15g packet, dextrose 50% in water, glucagon, human recombinant, heparan Na 5000 unit/mL porcine, epoetin flfa-epbx, acetaminophen 650 mg/20.3 mL, magnesium hydroxide/AI, hydroxide-UD, simethiocone, lactulose, guaifenesin/DPM 100/10-5 mL, zinc oxide 60 gm, nystatin 15 gm PWD, ondansetron 4 mg oDT, oldansetron HCI/Pf 4mg/2mL, nitroglycerin, sennosides/docusate sodium, zinc sulfate-UD, ascorbic acid 500mg UD

I leave to the reader a judgment of the decision to administer thirty-five medications simultaneously, for months, every one of them unnecessary. Five of them are most relevant. The others, coupled with the environmental conditions (tied to a bed, physically abused, substandard sanitation and hygiene, emotional stress) certainly contributed to my near-invalid condition but the psychotropic drugs did the most damage.

Quetiapine is used to treat the symptoms of schizophrenia.

Haloperidol is used to treat certain mental disorders such as schizophrenia.

Olanzapine is an atypical antipsychotic primarily used to treat schizophrenia and bipolar disorder.

Clonazepam is a medication used to prevent and treat seizures, panic disorder, anxiety disorders.

Tramadol is an opioid pain medication used to treat moderate to moderately severe pain.

Tramadol may be the least harmful and even it has numerous deleterious side effects. The others - individually - are known to cause permanent neurological damage. And not one was prescribed by a qualified physician, and in no case was I ever in a state to have my condition assessed had such a doctor been consulted.

One thing is certain, the bill would have been considerable, and my insurance company was paying it, week after week. And that is after all the primary objective of the little scavengers. And no doubt the good doctor was earning his generous compensation, with whatever incentives were included a pretty good haul on just one patient. Excuse me, product.

My writing has been described as acerbic. I suppose that retaining what is left of my sense of humor is something to be thankful for.

As I observed, any one of those drugs would have caused permanent damage, and having several of them along with numerous others had left me literally near death. The mental handicap remains to this day, mostly in the form of memory loss, lethargy, insomnia and a few other annoyances.. Without the support of my family I most likely would have to live in an assisted living facility. That may yet be my fate.

I remember the old people I saw in the hospital, and wonder how many of them had no one to care about them. No one with family to notice the abuse and incompetence, or if they did they blindly trusted the doctors, or were afraid to question them. I wonder how how many died.

What more is there to tell? I could no longer work. I had worked for nearly twenty years earning well above average salary at a company where I was one of a handful of key personnel, due to their respect for my value to the company they kept me on the payroll (thereby providing insurance coverage) until it was clear that I would be returning. The beast made out pretty well, me not so much.

I would have continued working for at least another four or five years, another half million in salary, with the increase in my retirement account and Social Security benefits. I had to sell my home, now eighty miles away, at a considerable loss. Another recently acquired property had to be fire-aled. The expenses of moving, buying a new home, the loss of income, the beast may have cost me a million dollars.

I'm one of the lucky ones. I have more money than I am likely to ever need, or have enough time remaining to spend much or it. My physical health is excellent, except for the neurological damage. My life could end in the next twenty-four hours due to a fall or other misadventure caused by that injury. So the beast may still kill me. At least I will die free, not as the empty container of a used-up product .