California Conservative

Investigative journalist Liam Scheff examines ObamaCare and how it will negatively affect the healthcare of all Americans:

Soon every national medical emergency will be a personal emergency. Every government-produced mass vaccination plan will be pushed on you by your family’s government-approved physician. You’ll be getting the most up-to-date paranoia, right there in your doctor’s office, and you will be legally mandated to comply with her or his advice. Because it’s a matter of law. Because it’s science. And government science is never wrong.

In fact, you may discover that you now have a variety of diseases that you’d never been aware of. For example, Americans who have not yet taken the time to understand the criminal syndicate called the AIDS industry, are about to meet it face to face.

At present, it is only gay men and poor women who give birth in public hospitals who must turn over the intimate details of their sex lives and personal relationships to the state. But no longer. You are now an AIDS patient.

“But I’m not sick! I don’t have AIDS! I’m not HIV positive, and I never will be!” Practice saying it. It will help the officials diagnose you with “HIV dementia.” Soon, you will have AIDS, or SARS, or Bird Flu, or Swine Flu, or Screaming Monkey Virus – or whatever pandemic the WHO and CDC cook up to roil the American public and world markets into a panic so contagious, it will be solvable only by a massive influx of tax-payer-research-cash injected directly into experimental-but-mandatory-vaccines that will only cripple or kill a small-but-acceptable number of lucky recipients who are under the care of the ‘best medical system in the world.’

If this sounds far-fetched, check out how Sandi L. was affected:

Sandi, a 44 year-old mother of two young children (one pre-school and one pre-teen) in Southern California, was married to a man her junior by about a decade. Sandi had been told by her doctor at some point in the very early ’90s to take an HIV test as a matter of social responsibility. She did so and was thus informed that she was “HIV positive.” How could it have happened? She wasn’t promiscuous, she wasn’t a prostitute; it must have happened sometime in the mid-80s. Who could tell for sure?

Not being sick, and not wanting to start AZT, a “life-saving,” (said the advertisers) but nevertheless fatality-inducing “AIDS drug,” she decided to do nothing, except to take especially good care of herself. Her doctor agreed: ‘Take good care of diet, nutrition and health, and you may do better than these young men rushing into high-dose AZT, who are dying very quickly on this drug, and by the tens of thousands. We know so little about all of it, you’ll probably be better off going slowly and making decisions as they seem necessary.’ This is what she was told, and this is how she proceeded.

She met a man, told him all about it, got married, and had two children. She was a small woman – not much above 5 feet tall, and light, thin and wiry. She was funny, sweet, quite charming, and immensely trusting. When I met her, she was healthy and spry, and terribly interested in the controversy over HIV tests and the AIDS diagnosis.

She had discovered the hidden secret – the great open secret of medical science. Tests don’t work. They don’t test for what they’re advertised to show. To be fair, some tests are alright, some are pretty good. And some are criminally false.

Where do HIV tests fall? She had good reason to wonder. The medical literature pulls no punches. HIV tests have no standards. They do not diagnose infection with any particular virus. They react with proteins and genetic material produced by an innumerable and ever-growing list of medical conditions: Colds, flus, serious illness, endemic tropical diseases, drug and alcohol use, previous vaccination, and pregnancy. (Yes, pregnancy makes HIV tests “positive.”) So, how good are AIDS numbers?

They’re as good as HIV tests. They are HIV tests mathematically modeled into science fiction. Take a small group of pregnant women in any rural African clinic, and multiply your “positives” by a factor of a thousand. Not enough? Try ten thousand. Need more funding? 4,000 tests of young expecting mothers worried about syphilis can be multiplied into 5 million “HIV positives” with the flip of an algorithm at the World Health Organization’s Geneva headquarters, where these important figures are calculated.

Sandi thought this was fantastic, amazing, important; she told her young husband all about it. How else could she explain her situation? Twenty years of being “positive,” no drugs, and no wasting, degenerative illness. What were the odds?

Her husband listened carefully. His wife didn’t believe in AIDS theory. She was an “AIDS denialist.” It was just the information he needed. He shared it with a friend of his – a younger woman he was carrying on a serious affair with, who he intended to leave his older wife for. It was a perfect out. Sure, he had married her knowing her “HIV” status – whatever it meant, whatever that test had actually indicated. He had two children with her. The older child, a pre-teen girl, was strong and healthy. The younger, a boy about 7, had chronic allergies and some digestive issues. The husband didn’t seem to worry about his own health, though. But when he wanted to leave Sandi, “HIV” was good enough.

And so he did. He filed for divorce, and made Sandi’s “HIV denialism” the center of a four-year battle to keep her away from her two young children. Though she had given birth to them, and been a devoted housewife and mother, and never had a complaint made against her as to the quality of her maternal care or instinct, the husband decreed that she was a danger to herself and others. After all, she didn’t
“believe HIV tests.”

The court agreed. Pretty soon, she had to pay in order to see her children. A court-approved supervisor would watch her watch them, for the few hours a week she was permitted. She had to hire and then train attorneys to think critically about HIV testing. None could. The husband wanted to put one of the children on AIDS drugs. Sandi wanted to use dietary change, vitamins and other natural therapies. She allowed doses of pharmaceuticals to be used, but pushed for a more thorough examination of what looked like digestive problems and allergies, not like clinical, textbook “AIDS.”

And what is clinical, textbook AIDS, anyway? It’s a great question. The answer is – it’s anything the medical authorities want it to be. Eventually, Sandi would discover that too.

I began to lose touch with Sandi in mid-2008. She was sounding more and more distraught. She would talk for hours about what “they were doing to her.” I begged her to keep her distance from that fight. “But I’m their mother,” she said, as though such a statement mattered to government medical science. I beseeched her to not fight every slight and injury they paid her. To see her kids when she could. To strengthen her resolve to be there at the end, to get through the next five, or even ten years until the children were old enough to see her on their own. To support them from a distance, to make the time with them count. To pay her husband back with goodness where he was spiteful and petty. To trust in time, rather than justice.

Easy words to say. But she was their mother. She was torn apart by all of it. The doctor put in charge of her child’s case, an AIDS doctor in San Diego, whose name I will also reserve from exposure here, took an immense interest in Sandi.

He was certain that her distrust in the AIDS industry was a sign of her illness. An illness that had not manifested in some 20 years of HIV positivity, but an illness nonetheless. After all, medical science is never wrong.

He pressed her in endless private conferences with his petty bourgeois ‘diagnosis.’ Eventually, it seems he won. he convinced her that she was, perhaps, wrong. That perhaps she really did have a touch of…something. “HIV dementia,” said the professionals. She didn’t believe in her diagnosis. Therefore she was sick.

Sandi disappeared from my radar. Six months later, I received a note that she had gone on psychoactive drugs, as a means to get the doctor to give her time with her children. That soon she was pliable. Soon she was weak, soon she was falling all the way apart. That when the medical scientists next suggested her “HIV dementia” should be combated with stronger AIDS drugs, like AZT and its analogs, she relented. The note also informed me that she was dead.

She was small, light. Not a lot for a steady stream of “life-saving” fatality-inducing FDA Black-Box labeled drugs to work through. I’m still trying to get the details of her final days. (story here)

This entry was posted on Saturday, March 20th, 2010 at 12:41 pm and is filed under Author: Clark Baker, Corruption, Domestic Policies, Health Care. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.