ALICE IN 2021 (Part 3)

She is 62 years old. As usual, I ask this patient, “When did you first notice that you were depressed?”

“In March. I have an auto-immune disease, so I was worried about Covid and wanted to get vaccinated right away.”

“So the onset of your depression was when the pandemic arrived last March. Was it after or before the lockdown?”

“No, no, March of this year, 2021. I’m an introvert. I have three dogs and was actually quite happy staying home with my dogs. I would FaceTime with my two sons, who live out of state. I actually got to visit with them more frequently than before the pandemic.” She pauses to chuckle and smile before continuing. “We would get together for Christmas and a family reunion in July every year. But we rarely even talked between visits; they are so busy with their careers. My older son is studying for his bar exam, and my younger son has just been hired by Goldman Sachs. I’m so proud of them both.”

“Did something difficult happen in March of this year?”

“Yes, I started having trouble breathing. I went to the ER, and they said that it was a heart attack. But I didn’t have any other symptoms, just trouble breathing.”

I find that odd also and check her medical records on my computer. The records confirm that she was referred to a cardiologist for a heart attack in late March. And the records show that she took her first Covid vaccine only a week before.

She continues sharing about her confusion regarding the medical diagnosis. “And now I am being sent back and forth between my pulmonologist and my cardiologist. I am so frustrated. That is why my PCP referred me to you for counseling. I struggle to breathe after walking up a flight of stairs!” She begins to cry. “Each specialist says that they can’t find anything wrong with me. So they just refer me back and forth from one specialist to the other for more tests. This has been going on for over six months now! But I don’t see how counseling can help; do you?”

“Your records say that you got the Pfizer vaccine only days before the breathing difficulty started. Is that right?”

“Yes, I mentioned that to my doctor because I wondered if it could be from the vaccine, and he said no.”

“Did your doctor file a VAERS report about possible adverse effects from the vaccine?”

“I doubt it. My doctor said that heart attacks could not be related. But I still don’t understand why they say that I had a heart attack. I had absolutely no symptoms other than shortness of breath, which I still have.”

“I will refer your case along; perhaps the staff psychiatrist can help us understand your medical questions.”

Later that week the staff psychiatrist found in the patient’s records a blood test taken in the ER confirming the diagnosis of a heart attack. The psychiatrist also confirmed that a heart attack would not be an adverse effect of the Pfizer vaccination.

Returning to my office, I remember two other patients this past week with acute heart conditions occurring just after they were vaccinated, plus a patient who reported a migraine starting the day of her vaccination. None of the medications prescribed for her migraines have given her any relief.

* * * * * *

She sits before me, a young woman of twelve sharing about her refusal to attend school; this is why she has been referred to me as a “school refusal.”

“Last month my teacher informed us that the school board is mandating vaccinations for all students to attend in-person classes. I raised my hand because I was mad. I am not getting vaccinated.” She continued with a proud tone now. “Then my teacher asked me why. I said, ‘I refuse to be a guinea pig for the pharmaceutical companies. Until this vaccine has been tested for 30 years, I won’t allow it in my body. Why would I trust Johnson & Johnson, who put asbestos in baby power, to put a vaccine into my body? Why would I trust the other vaccine manufacturers, whose motive is profit rather than my health? And they are exempt from any liability for negative health effects of their vaccines. I am not stupid, so of course I refuse to go to school. My father supports my decision, but my mother wants me to get vaccinated so that I can go back to school.’”

I breathe through this session, thinking of the irony of this intelligent youth being unwelcome in the public school system. As I leave my office for the staff lounge to refill my coffee mug, I find a co-worker–my friend–and sigh loudly. She smiles at me and asks, “Hey, how’s it going?”

I erupt with an emotional struggle of cognitive dissonance. “Why do the media talk only about how safe the vaccines are, and yet I have patients with concerns–valid health concerns?” I share with her my pride in this young patient’s ability to speak truth to her teacher and classmates.

“Oh, so she is just parroting her father’s beliefs. How sad.” My friend empathizes with my distress but for a different reason.

“Sad? What is sad? I am not sad. I share my patient’s anger.” I am thinking this but feel too uncomfortable to share it out loud with my friend. I know she, too, cares about our patients. I feel overwhelmed by my deep concern about a patient’s right to care for her health according to her needs, not the hospital’s preferences. I am also overwhelmed by my passion to offer patients something that looks like help, and not knowing where to turn to for support.

I, too, must speak my truth, but where? With whom can I share that I support this young woman’s right to have the freedom not to get vaccinated? I support patients who choose to get vaccinated as well as patients who are choosing alternative health care over the CDC’s advice. Isn’t this a free country? I descend into that familiar, lonely, and frightening rabbit hole. “Coffee!” my mind screams. “Coffee!”

I don’t resign that day. I increase my Zoloft dosage from 100 to 150 mg daily.

* * * * * *

For seventeen months now, the medical director of the hospital where I work provides staff updates using Zoom to cover new developments in and the safety of the Covid vaccinations available. I listen to his presentations of medical data, research studies, and “truth” quoting the CDC and WHO. Yet I can no longer reconcile it with the websites that I have begun to explore. Medical professionals, acclaimed virologists, and scientists specializing in vaccine development share presentations of medical data, research studies, and a different “truth,” saying that VAERS (Vaccine Adverse Effects Reporting System), the CDC’s own website, has collected an alarming number of reports of injuries from the Covid vaccines. Myocarditis among young males and other heart problems are frequently reported on this website. I reflect on my own experience, which confirms these so-called “conspiracy theories” of health-related reactions experienced by a number of my patients who are being treated for heart conditions shortly after being vaccinated.

Strolling through the woods with a personal friend and accomplished practitioner who I deeply respect, I mention my own recent health concerns. “Well, since getting my Covid vaccination, I have had health problems.”

“What sorts of health problems?” he asks with genuine concern.

“Blurred vision. I got computer glasses, but they don’t help. Extreme fatigue. Brain fog. It’s like I have the words in my head, but I can’t get them to come out of my mouth. I have body aches and pains most days and headaches every day.”

“You have had problems with your vision for a while now, right? And you have complained about body aches and pain before.”

“Yes, but my vision is really bad now. I have to magnify the computer screen to read it and even then, by the end of the day it’s too blurry to read. My aches and pains are much worse, and I never used to get headaches.”

Then I share that websites that report adverse effects of the Covid vaccinations are being censored by the mainstream media. My friend refers to my sources as “those conspiracy theories” and, with a cavalier attitude, he comments that he trusts CNN and The Seattle Times to report only those news items that are based in solid scientific research.

I respond by saying, “Last week when I visited my PCP to get treatment for these adverse effects, my doctor pulled up one of those alternative websites for information. I trust that my doctor isn’t prescribing based on ‘conspiracy theories.’” I offer to send my colleague this very website; he changes the subject.

After the staff update from the medical director, I find myself writing a letter to the editor of our local paper. I have to do something. What else can I do? There is no one here at work with whom I can share my concerns. Doctors aren’t reporting these adverse effects, and my supervisor just dismisses my concerns. I do make sure that in my chart notes I document my patients’ adverse effects. And I message the patient’s PCPs with the link to the VAERS reporting site, as health care providers are required by law to report possible adverse events there. But I feel that I need to do more. Quakers have a tradition and practice of speaking truth to power. But to whom do I speak this personal truth that I have? I should be pulling up the required online safety training that is due today, but instead I am writing a letter to the editor. I have to do something. Fix this — do something. Take action, speak truth, even if the letter doesn’t get published.

The next morning, I awaken from a dream. In my dream, Alice is dancing down the main street of town in her sky-blue pinafore, white apron, and white stockings. I am dancing behind her. I am laughing with her as she twirls multiple colorful ribbons above her head. It is a choreographed routine like the rhythmic gymnastics dance in the Olympics. I pick up a green ribbon from the ground and follow her graceful moves effortlessly. There is a website printed on my ribbon. I recognize the website: covid19criticalcare.com, a censored “conspiracy theory” site. Each of Alice’s ribbons also has a website printed on it. One is cdc.gov; another is cnn.com. I hold five different colored ribbons now; my purple ribbon is connected to a weaving–a beautiful Guatemalan tapestry. Alice’s bright yellow ribbon begins to weave itself into this tapestry and then pulls the tapestry towards her and covers her as an ankle-length cape. It is a hooded red cape now, no longer multicolored. She is carrying a basket covered with a white crocheted doily. “Will you come with me to my grandmother’s house?” Alice asks, speaking for the first time. Her voice is the voice of my supervisor at work. “My mother has asked me to take my grandmother this basket of food. My grandmother is sick in bed,” she continues. Then she skips off into the woods. I follow but struggle to keep up with her; my legs are not moving. Although I am attempting to run, they are stuck. I look down to see two huge calla lily flower stems (instead of legs) descending from my skirt, rooted in a lovely flower garden. Suddenly, Alice turns and laughs at my struggle. Her face resembles a wolf’s face. A strong wind lifts her by her cape into the sky, ribbons flowing gracefully behind her, as she cackles, “I’ll get you, my pretty.”

When I awake that morning, I again think of resigning. But instead, I put in for two weeks of vacation. Perhaps going camping again will revive me; maybe I just need some time off to de-stress. After decades of feeling that I have something that looks like help to offer my patients, I feel that I have nothing left to offer them. Yet I am not ready to retire.

END OF PART THREE

Sol Riou is a retired Clinical Social Worker who has spent most of her 35-year career working with individuals and families who have experienced trauma. She lives on the Olympic Peninsula and continues to be active in local organizations advocating for Health Freedom and listening to those who hold opinions that differ from our own.  Her work is grounded in her Buddhist practice and the Quaker value of “Speak Truth to Power”.