the good doctor

The Doctor, Samuel Luke Fildes

For ten years I lived with the symptoms of Lyme. Lest you think that was a passive experience, allow me to share with you what we threw tens of thousands of dollars towards after the “healthcare system” totally and utterly failed me. Alright, let’s see, we sought out professionals and specialists both domestically and abroad. We travelled across borders to be seen by the saviours in the field. We consulted with holistic dentists, three in fact, and had my root canals removed and cavitations properly treated. We used light therapy, ozone therapy (including travelling across borders to have my blood removed, cycled with ozone, and then returned back into my veins). I did rounds and years of treatments including herbal protocols by the smartest minds in the field and antibiotics that almost killed me. I treated my gut and mould illness and my extreme sensitivity to EMFs. We ate what we had always eaten, organic, whole foods without grains from farms (including ours). Then I dwindled those foods and dwindled some more. We corrected minerals and trusted in the next remedy or supplement that we were promised held the answers.

So when someone asks, “Did you ever try…” the answer is yes. Yes, I’ve tried it.

There was so much more, but this isn’t what this story is about and a thorough accounting of such is sure to just put most of you to sleep.

What this story is about is the final physician I had. The last and the still. It’s a story about how I found myself in his office, many years ago, weeping with my husband at my side looking desperate and helpless. I’m going to call this doctor, Dr. Z. You will soon understand the need for anonymity. 

Dr. Z was known in our community for being a medical doctor with a different approach. When I saw him, he wasn’t taking new patients. His roster was completely full with autistic children, the group of kids most doctors don’t want in their practice, and other complicated cases. But he took them on and he, with a good word from a kind friend who was seeing him with her autistic son, agreed to see me, too. He was an older physician, one that had moved through the years of youthful ego and assuredness into the softening years of middle age and beyond. The years when we realise we will never have all the answers. He was a physician that moved from the allopathic model of medicine into a more functional medicine approach. But I had seen many “functional medicine” physicians when I was ill and there was something very different about Dr. Z He spent more time listening than he did talking. He asked questions and then dug even further into my answers. He understood that it would be a journey to wellness, pieces from here and there with no singular answer. I saw him every six weeks for years. 

And get better I did. We shared stories. He considered himself a collator of information, learning from other patients what was successful and what wasn’t. If I read something new and wanted to try it, he would make it happen. I never had to sit on my knowledge and be dutiful. Everything was a collaboration amongst his community of patients. He cared more to learn what was helpful than in protecting his good title and authority. 

An Anatomical Lesson to Six, William Cheselden

In Canada, we have socialised medicine. It’s folly to think of it as free. On the contrary, we pay huge personal income taxes (and a myriad of other taxes) to keep it afloat. If you don’t use it, no matter, you pay. And those tax dollars are funnelled into the style of medicine that has been deemed the right style of medicine - the one that profits big pharma. We raised our three children outside of the “healthcare” system, but we paid for it all the same. I also paid out of pocket for the herbalists, naturopaths, acupuncturists, homeopaths, and chiropractors that we did see. Whether you eat a case of Pringles and fast food all day and are a chronic user of the system or you never use it at all, it’s your income that determines the taxes your family pays into it. The “frequent flyers”, those going to emergency rooms for itchy toes and constipation pay nothing more than those that never grace those doors. That is the definition of socialist medicine.

When I go to a family medicine doctor, that doctor is paid a set fee as set forth by our provincial healthcare. That fee, in the case of a family medicine doctor, is based on time. One appointment pays for roughly ten minutes of a family medicine doctor’s time. I tell you this so you understand that when I went to see Dr. Z my appointments were typically 90 minutes long.

Over the years, my health improved dramatically. There was no one magical thing, just a steadfast, determined approach, following cookie crumbs whenever they came up, letting go of what wasn’t working, pivoting and pivoting again. Never did my doctor get frustrated when things didn’t turn out how we hoped. Never did he discount my ideas and decisions to try things he didn’t fully understand (like eating only animal products for a few years). Everything was an opportunity to learn and evolve.

A few weeks ago, my husband, who is a friend of Dr. Z’s got a call from him. They met up and had a visit after not seeing each other for close to a year. Dr. Z had lost weight even though he had little to lose. He told my husband that he was under investigation by the medical college for writing a vaccine exemption letter. A letter he wrote for one of his twelve year old autistic patients who was not allowed to register for hockey here in our province of Canada unless he was vaccinated for Covid. The child had previously documented vaccine damage and hockey was an important part of his life. Even though he knew the risks,  Dr. Z Wrote the waiver.

In Ontario, and in fact, in most of Canada, a covid vaccine exemption is close to impossible to receive. You pretty much had to get a vaccine and then be undeniably adversely affected by it and even then, if there was a possibility of getting another (hey you can use an epi pen if you’re anaphylactic, right?) You should go that route. The vaccine exemption was nigh impossible to receive. 

I personally know of someone close to me who has a genetic platelet disorder. In fact this dangerously low platelet count is the same one that the vaccines have been reported to cause in some people, resulting in death and serious illness. This fella’ also had a documented heart condition. He went to three physicians, none of whom had the balls to write him an exemption letter. Even a cardiologist told him, “If I write this for you, the college will just reject it anyway.” Another physician told him, “The benefits outweigh the risks”. When he spread out multiple printed off studies on the physician’s desk and said, “Here, these say otherwise.” The physician, pushed the studies away and repeated, “The benefits outweigh the risks.” Squawk goes the parrot.

Satire on False Perspective, William Hogarth

Over the last two years, the tension and punitive hammer of the college had all sorts of physicians refusing to do anything but tow the party line. So, for Dr. Z to have written the vaccine exemption he clearly understood what he could be getting himself into. Of course, he couldn’t have known that the registrar at the hockey club this young boy belonged to would take one look at the vaccine exemption, decide for herself that his autism and prior vaccine reactions weren’t on the “allowable reasons” for a vaccine exemption and then report our good doctor to his medical college. 

And that brings us to Dr. Z’s visit with my husband a few weeks ago. He’s been under investigation since. They are combing through his medical records. They have made him put a sign up on his clinic’s door declaring that he is under investigation and cannot write any vaccine exemption letters or prescribe certain drugs. Why the drugs bit? Well, they found out that he prescribed ivermectin to an 80 year old woman who was sick with covid and who, after a few days of treatment, was fit as a fiddle and back to her regularly physically active lifestyle. 

Now, when an appointment with Dr. Z begins with him reading aloud a script provided by the investigating college. He informs the patient that he is being investigated and he is limited in his capacity to practice medicine because of his transgressions.  A confession of sorts. A proclamation of his devious ways.

Shame. Shame. Shame.

This is what we are doing to the courageous. 

The college continues to poke and prod relentlessly. There are threats of losing his licence, they’ve done it to others. There are threats of fines and a permanent limited capacity to practice. They have done that, too. 

I have gone onto the college’s website and read the charges they have laid on physicians over the years. For doctors that prescribed opioids for profit or hid cameras in offices or touched women in ways they should not have been touched, fines and perhaps in the most egregious of cases, a temporary suspension. It takes a lot to have a medical licence revoked. Saved only for the most dastardly, the irredeemable, the repeat offenders, the rapists, the drug pushers, the ivermectin prescribers, the vile vaccine exemption writers.

Regardless of your position of what you put into your body, and yes, I hold dear to your right to determine that for yourself, seeing clearly what’s happening all around us is the only way for us to fully understand the truth of our time. It certainly won’t come to you through the mass media. It’s not being spoken by our government officials. And we can’t use the optics of a seemingly smooth today as comfort. The gears are in motion, fall is coming, there is much to keep your eyes open to.

We’re in a time where those willing to abide by the party line are held up as responsible and righteous and those that would ask questions or follow their conviction and duty are called names, deemed heretics. That should tell you all you need to know. Nobody should be subjected to witch-hunts in 2022 and yet, here we are.