“Whose dog tags are these?” A young man visiting our home asked as he stood beside my front door, holding a set of dog tags. I keep them hanging on my key holder for quick snatching on the way out.
“John’s see, one has his name and that he is non-verbal the other has contact information so I can be contacted if he is lost. Came in handy once in a children’s museum, though I could see John, a man thought he was lost due to his lack of social interaction and called my phone, pretty cool hum.” I said with a smile.
The young man read off each dog tag, shrugged, hung them back up and said, “Yea cool, I thought they were a soldiers, but I didn’t think anyone in this house was a veteran.” He looked at me for a second before my older son yelled for him to join the rest of the young men outside heading for an afternoon of fun.
I froze in place, oh but son what you do not know I thought to myself. Years ago John had a bad reaction to a set of vaccines; one left him with late onset cerebral palsy and the other with late regressive autism. I didn’t even put the dots fully together, until that faithful day a doctor told me face to face, eye ball to eye ball that it was time to throw away this one, and go have a new baby, for this child was vaccine damaged and worthless. I remember how his words knocked the breath out of me, how I felt my body drop through the concrete floor and how I gasp for breath so I could ask him to help me save my son. He had no interest in saving John; he had no desire to report the damage or to help me file for compensation. To him, John had served his purpose in life and was now garbage to place in a state run home to live out the rest of his miserable little life.
The journey to save John began to take the right direction that day, alone without help, without compensation, without understanding from the outside world. I fought for John on every home front, medical, educational, therapy and finally the right to attend school without more vaccines.
I was blessed that our DAN! Doctor Dr. Jeff Bradstreet thought enough of us in this fight to take an hour out of his busy schedule and join us on a conference call with the final five people on the state board of health who would hear our argument for not further vaccinating John. We lost that fight, if John was to attend school, then he would be fully vaccinated. I remember Dr. Bradstreet calling me at the end of the meeting and telling me to move out of Mississippi, and how sorry he was that we had been shot down. I thanked him for trying. What I did not expect was a call the next morning from one of the five men who had voted as well, the one of two who had sided with us and had been bold enough to speak up on John’s behalf.
“It’s like this,” he said after telling me how sorry he was for our loss, both in our fight to keep John in school and for the physical and mental disability John had suffered due to vaccines. “See vaccines are a war on disease, and like all wars there are casualties. You take the typical troops at war. Most come back without any issues. Some come home and look normal but have residual issues, little quirks, things they would not have had if they had not gone to war. Then you have the guys with missing limbs, you can see that, you know they are hurt. But at least they are alive. Others come home in a box, dead. That’s what it is like, some die, some are wounded, some are internally or mentally effected but most go unscathed. It’s no different with vaccines, some die, we call it SIDS. Others are never the same but live, still others go on without any issues. John is a damaged child, but at least he lived. I am sorry, but there is nothing you can do now, just you know either vaccinate him and send him on to school or keep him home, but there is no going back, he is a causality of war, a different kind of veteran, one from the war on disease, you should be proud of his service.”
Once again I had the breath knocked out of me and couldn’t even speak. I wanted to scream, “but nobody told me the high cost of this battle and I don’t think my six week old son should have been drafted into your man made war!” All I could manage was a polite thank you for calling. As I hung the phone back into it’s holder I heard a scream that sounded like a wounded animal, it took me a minute to know I was the one screaming. I screamed for a long time, I screamed like a Mother who has just been told her son was killed in battle. I screamed for me, for John, for our family and for all the other children who were unwilling victims to become veterans from a different kind of war. Most of all I screamed because I knew like the veterans of Vietnam he would not be honored, but hated, talked about and ignored by our country.
Nobody is a veteran in my house you tell me. Think again. Look again. My son is a veteran, and for anyone who still buys and believes in herd immunity and thinks vaccines should be forced on children, it’s time now to start saying thank you to the veterans who died or where damaged in your war on disease. Start with us, tell John you thank him, you will be the first, because nobody nobody has ever thanked my son for giving up his normalcy so their child could be protected in that so called herd immunity drive. I highly suspect nobody ever will. That is okay with me now, my job is to educate before you vaccinate or to help others recover, yes I said it, recover from vaccine damage when possible. John is thanked by these families often. Seeing a child recover and go on to a normal life, makes Johns journey a little less painful. Angry, yes I always will be. Turning that anger into something positive, yes, I have done that. Proud of my throw away soldier son? More than you will ever begin to understand.
To read about and meet more soldiers from a different war check out this web site. http://www.nvic.org/Vaccine-Memorial.aspx. I urge you to read some of their stories and to think twice before you choose to go down the vaccination path.
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