My son was born almost two months premature, suffered liver dysfunction needing bilirubin lights for a week, and didn’t suckle requiring he be fed through a nose tube for 6 weeks. I was never asked if I wanted him to have a Vitamin K shot, antibiotics in his eyes, or a Hepatitis B shot. They were administered without my knowledge. Also, shortly after we brought him home from hospital, he screamed around the clock for the first 6 months of his life. No joke, 6 months around the clock. It was a scream that I will never forget. Imagine someone being murdered in their bed and you’ll perhaps conjure the force of his blood-curdling shrieks.
Although I knew it was not normal, I had no clue what to do about it. I was once at a baby and me drop in on a Friday at the local community centre. While I paced the halls trying to soothe my screeching baby, all the other moms had their wee infant lovelies on their laps singing, “The Wheels On The Bus Go Round and Round, Round and Round, Round and Round …” I so wanted to be on the bus, just alone, to bawl my eyes out all through the town.
My life was in shambles from several months of being woken hourly around the clock. When I did try to sleep, my autonomic nervous system had become so fried, that I’d lost the capacity to shut it down to effectively let go to sleep. By month 4, as soon as I drifted off, I would tunnel back up to the surface in gasping fits like a post-war Vietnam vet still living on the front lines. I was clearly suffering Colic-Post-Traumatic-Stress-Disorder (C-PTSD). In those first six months of hell on earth, we nicknamed our infant son, “Le Miserable.”
Also, he could keep little food down, seemingly hating my breast milk. He suffered spewing reflux coating the walls and myself in sour breast milk day after day, hour after hour. Every week, I was counselled by family and visiting nurses (Yes, they sent nurses over to ensure I’d not completely lost my mind) to go off yet another food so that my son would not be sensitive to my milk. If another person cited, “It must be the fruits you’re eating,” or “It must be the vegetables you’re eating.” By the end of month 4, I was eating nothing but bread, apple sauce and water. I felt like I was dying inside. I hated my life. There was nothing about being a new mother that I felt I could appreciate. Nothing!
With the delayed MMR shot, at 15 months, my son lost all speech, eye contact and started to rock back and forth for minutes or hours at a time. In my later research, I’d come to find out he was vaccine-damaged, however, I’d never equated the first 6 months of insufferable colic, off the charts of any state of normalcy, with anything other than his prematurity and my seemingly poisonous milk until I saw a fateful line in my twitter stream one day a few months ago, “There May Be A Link between The Hep. B shot and Colic In Infants!”
My head rolled around on its axis and a new kind of anger and resentment took a hold of my gut, roiled around a couple of gnarly turns in my loins and then switched on about twenty little 20 year old light bulbs in my mind. All that shame and guilt that I’d felt for resorting to gripe water started to be illuminated, gathered up and loaded onto a sea of bitterness and spite … Part 2; The Sequel!
Are you kidding me? The Hep. B shot could account for his liver issues when I couldn’t pick him up for almost 2 weeks while he was under the Bilirubin lights, his latch so weak that I pumped milk for him remotely for 8 weeks while he lived in the special care nursery in the hospital, all the reflux and inhuman screeching and sleepless nights could be at least partially anchored to the Thimerosal (mercury) laced vaccine for a sexually transmitted disease that my premature infant could never possibly come in contact with in the first place? Also, there is not a shred of science proving its efficacy in that the vaccine can wear off even before my son became sexually active anyway? Please excuse my language but WTF?!
I’ve sat on this for months, now. Frankly, I’ve just been too gobsmacked to face it. How might I react? How did I want to deal with this new plot twist in our history? For crying out loud (literally), I’d already written a book about my son’s vaccine damage and I’d not had this piece illuminated in time to even include this new piece of knowledge? How am I going to get up on the roof tops once more to decry the damage done to my babe and let other parents know? At 51, with my son fully grown and now healthy, due to Heilkunst Medicine, do I even have it in me to mount this fight for the truth to be illuminated. You bet I do!
Allyson’s complete story is told in her first book The Path To Cure : The Whole Art of Healing Autism, and now you can listen to the audiobook version for free at this website.