The timing of the blindness couldn’t have been worse. It was 5:30AM. I was driving in a new town, on a frozen highway, in the cold pre-dawn morning darkness, when it secretly crept up on me.
I had just left the all night pharmacy having picked up a few items on special my wife said we really needed, and I struggled to get the defroster on. For some reason, the windshield wouldn’t clear completely. But I motored on anyway.
I had been finished with Ampligen for almost a month now, and had moved to this city in the Rockies to live my post-Ampligen life in health and clean air. Amazingly, my very first day here, by divine providence, I had found one of the best doctors in the region, more than familiar with M.E. and more than ready to start me on a Detox program and Methylation Protocol. So I had been on both these new treatment plans for a couple weeks, with no noticeable side effects. That is, until that moment.
As I passed a big intersection lit up by Las Vegas style signage, it became obvious. The defroster wasn’t the problem. My right eye was! Just like a bathroom mirror fogged over with steam, the vision in my right eye was completely whited out. But surprisingly, I didn’t panic. After having dealt with this disease for over two decades, nothing surprises me anymore. Besides, it wasn’t my first experience with temporary blindness.
The last time one or both of my eyes stopped working was back in Charlotte, before or during the Ampligen trial. I was initially freaked out about it- but Dr. Lapp reassured me that when the drugs or our immune systems start defeating the bugs or viruses, their decaying corpses are often so toxic to our systems that side effects like temporary blindness are not uncommon.
So although driving with one eye is tricky, that morning I was neither worried nor concerned. After all, I’d been here before. The blindness passes, I told myself.
Besides, I thought, this is evidence that the Detox and Methylation are working! So I continued down the road, Foo Fighters music blaring through my car speakers, oblivious to the Trooper behind me – until, that is, the red and blue lights in my rearview mirror lit up my car and every car in front of me as far as Wyoming.
With 100,000 lumens radiating from that officer’s light bars, the remaining vision I had in my left eye was now also completely ruined. Knowing that police don’t normally let guys like Stevie Wonder or Ray Charles get behind the wheel, I forced my eyelids open in an effort to look “normal” to the officer.
The Sheriff’s Deputy who approached my window was very nice. He kindly explained the speed limit situation and offered that as I was new in town, he’d let me go with a warning – but he needed to see “my proof of insurance” first.
Now I don’t know about you, but even on a good day, with clear vision, finding registration paperwork in my glove compartment is a challenge. That morning I just used the sense of touch and felt for what I thought was my insurance paper. Blindly grabbing what felt like the right document, I cheerily handed it to him with an overly enthusiastic “there you go, officer!”
Minutes later he was walking back to my car, with my warning in hand. But wait!
Did I see him chuckling as he approached my drivers’ side window again? Sure seemed like it. When he spoke with a giggle in his voice, I knew something was up.
“Sir,” the Sheriff said, “here’s your paperwork back, and the warning for the speed. If you’ll just sign here we’ll get you safely back on your way.”
As I grabbed the paperwork back and signed the ticket, the Sheriff added:
“By the way sir, you may want to get that proof of insurance card in order, “ he said still grinning. “The next officer who stops you may not want what you’re offering.”
Looking down at the document in my hand revealed why the Sheriff was chuckling.
At the top of the paper I thought was my proof of insurance, in big, bold 14 point Arial type was the Walgreen’s Pharmacy coupon headline staring back at me:
“Save $5 When You Buy Four Fleet Enemas!”
With the Deputy still grinning and stopping traffic for me, like Mr. Magoo I slowly merged into traffic going about 1 mph, still incredulous that I given the officer a coupon for an enema. Yet the moment was not lost on this amazing officer. As I pulled away with my window still open, I heard him yell to me:
“Have a super regular day, sir!”
I got the joke, and chuckled out loud.
Then a thought hit me. I didn’t yell it back, but it was valid as I said it in my head nonetheless:
“No one with this disease EVER has a regular day, sir!”
Note to Readers and Dear Friends: Thanks to all who have been tenacious in hounding me to post some updates. I appreciate your patience. In the upcoming installments I will share about my emergency surgery last year, and why we should never ignore the “gut.” I’ll also be detailing many treatments and protocols I’ve tried since completing Ampligen. I took a real aggressive approach to this over the past 24 months, sometimes working in as many as five new meds or therapies in as many days. For those of you who are sick and tired of waiting weeks or months to get your Doctor to let you to try something, look for the upcoming posts.