I begged my husband to stay away from the vaccines. He had COPD and all he wanted to do was to stay alive. He bought the hype about the virus and that it would kill him. I didn't. It was the only thing we argued about in the last 15 months of his life.
Five weeks after his second jab, I'm not going to call it a vaccine, because it's not, I found him dead. I had gone to waken him because we were going away for the night, so I went from a total high to the bottom being pulled from my world in a nano second. This was three weeks ago today (19th May, 2021).
When I found him he had clearly been dead for a long time, the body was stiff, blue and ice cold, still I begged him to come back to me. 47 years of love, ripped from me.
The house became a bustle of police, one paramedic was the first to arrive, then the police, as is the case with a sudden death at home. They realised that he had an air rifle licence, more police arrived, then my family and within an hour of me finding him our family doctor was on the phone telling me that there would be no post mortem because it would be too "traumatic" for me. I was already traumatised and his words really meant nothing to me at that stage, all I wanted was to wake up and find this was a nightmare. The doctor said he was declaring it a heart attack.
I was told that he had hit his head, his face was in a pool of blood, the carpet is still stained. My first thought was that there has to be a murder investigation at least, surely, I was alone with him in the house, surely they had to investigate that? No.
In the days that followed we received the death certificate with "possible Myocardial Infraction". I was convinced that the vaccine had killed him. A neighbour, who is a doctor, agreed with me and said he thought that the lack of post mortem was a "cover up" My husband was only 65, sudden death at home, no covid outbreaks at this time, he had no symptoms of even a cold...
The MCCD was also full of fabrication. The doctor said he had been in attendance, he wasn't, it was a telephone call with a paramedic. He said my husband had diabetes for 33 years, he had it for 54 years. He said he was found at 9am, he was found at 11am.
The doctor called me six days later to "check up on me" by this time I was furious that they had killed the love of my life, I mean, how am I a supposed to carry on living when he is not? I asked the doctor what he was thinking about (my language may have been coloured by my inner Irish Navi), giving Astrazenica to a man who was on blood thinners. He said that "they had done their best given the information at the time".
In the end I called him a murdering whatsit and put the phone down.
I am still furious that they took my soul mate from me.
He cut himself a week after the second jag and pointed out that his blood was "separating". "Get it checked out" I said, but no, it was ok. A rash appeared on his leg after two weeks, again I asked him to get it checked out, again, it was nothing to worry about.
The last time I seen him was a couple of hours before he died. He appeared to be having a hypo (low blood sugar) and I helped to bring him right. He said "I'm sorry, I think I really fucked things up". I thought he meant because he would need to sleep late the following morning and assured him that we could go away if he felt up to it and if he didn't it was ok, his health comes first. Now I don't think that's what he meant. Now I believe he knows that they murdered him.