This is the latest in our occasional series giving a voice to the Covid vaccine-injured, charting the terrible impact on their lives which the Government so cruelly still refuses to acknowledge. Here, Maureen, who wishes to remain anonymous, tells of the shattering effect the vaccine has had on her health and happiness and how her misery is heightened as Christmas draws near.
CHRISTMAS – a time of tradition and ritual, deck the halls, eat, drink and be merry. Whilst this may be true for the majority, spare a thought for those unfortunates like me, who used to be able to celebrate with carefree abandon, until that touted as our saviour and passport to normality irrevocably changed our lives for the worse.
Had anyone told me 22 months ago, when I ‘did the right thing’ by taking that shot in the arm, I’d be facing this Yuletide as a shadow of my former self, I’d have scarcely believed it.
I was a 62-year-old, physically and mentally fit, early retiree, who had not seen a doctor in over six years. Since that fateful day, I’m on first-name terms with my GP, running the gamut of creaking NHS services and those I’ve been forced to self-fund. I find myself a good £3,000 poorer this year for consultations, scans and expensive supplements.
February 18, 2021, will for ever be my blackest day. I’d been assured by the Government’s propaganda with its calls to ‘Save the NHS’ that severe side-effects were limited to an unlucky few in a million. Lies, damned lies and statistics, as it turned out, when I developed my first cardio symptoms within three weeks.
It was a time when patients were flooding back to surgeries and so, not wanting to burden mine, I held off, hoping this would time-resolve. Never once did I link it to Pfizer’s experimental mNRA vaccine because we’d never been told this was remotely a possibility, had we? Then came that invitation to the second jab, which earned me a trip to A&E with a vaccine-induced heart muscle reaction diagnosis.
I soon discovered that cardio problems were the least of my worries, as I tipped into a multi-symptom autoimmune reaction to the invader within, Mast Cell Activation Syndrome to be exact. I won’t list the total devastation this wreaks on one’s body, it’s there in Google if you care to look it up, for example here.
I’m now a seven-stone weakling, for gut malabsorption and the weight loss continues, despite eating for England. I’m falling between the cracks whilst the NHS argues among itself over gastroenterology referral, as well as several others in the pipeline.
This festive season won’t see me at any social gatherings. The Covid vaccine has sapped my natural immunity and physical strength to fight infection. There won’t be any presents under my tree, having acquired environmental and dietary intolerances.
My Christmas dinner will consist of bland, gluten-free, low-histamine fare and no alcohol. I will see out 2022 as a sadder, wiser and highly mistrustful of the Establishment individual, having had first-hand experience of vaccine injury censorship and denial.
For me, Pfizer will always be the Grinch who stole Christmas, along with my former happy, healthy life and, as I remarked to one consultant, it’s hard not to be bitter about that.