Richard D

Hospital2.jpg

9 August 2021: Astra Zeneca

Batch Number: 302359P

 

4 October 2021: Astra Zeneca

Batch Number: 31411P9

 

My name is Richard and I am a sixty-four-year-old Industry Advisor at the Woodford Prison on the Sunshine Coast. My role was to employ the prisoners into workshops as well as managing recruitment and disciplinary measures for a number of staff. Not everyone in jail is a bad person. Many just made a few bad decisions and my job really opened my eyes to that. I never liked the government much, but my job gave me purpose and I loved it. 

At the time of the injection roll out I was on leave from work after having been involved in a car collision. I was recovering well and upon my return to work I was looking to move into probation and parole. I felt my career was far from over, not to mention I still have a mortgage. My wife works in the medical field which meant I was required to have the COVID vaccinations so as not to impact her employment. Now, compliments of my jab injury, my heart surgeon has said I am not fit for work of any kind.

Within two weeks of my first AstraZeneca injection, which I received in my left arm, I started to get back pain on my right side just above my butt cheek. I went to Caloundra Outpatients who sent me straight to the University Hospital on the Sunshine Coast. After being at the hospital all day I was diagnosed with polycythemia vera and kidney stones, then sent off home. The next day the hospital gave me an urgent phone call saying they had found something else.  I returned to the hospital where I was immediately pumped full of drugs.

Being in the know as a medical professional, my wife contacted her partner who told her not to let the hospital do anything to me. A couple of days later I was able to get in to see a doctor who, via my pathology results could see something severe had taken place. However, as I had been administered so much intravenous antibiotic, any chance of identifying the source of the problem had been destroyed. All they knew was that whatever it was, was significant. They did however, discover an even bigger kidney stone on my left hand side, than the one originally found on my right. I was told to return to the University Hospital but then was made to wait. I was in so much pain I just lay on the hospital floor. They wanted to operate on me there and then, but my wife urged me not to let them touch me.

I improved over the next few weeks and turned up when I was due for my next injection. Incidentally, my wife flagged that I was provided a letter by our doctor advising I was to be given the Pfizer injection. However, I was again redirected towards the line for the AstraZeneca vaccine. I went into the post-injection fifteen minute waiting area and then just left, as everything seemed fine. It was later that day that I felt a bit crappy, which I thought was normal. But over the next few days I began to feel significantly worse. 

I went out on our boat with my wife and kids. The kids had brought prawns which are my weakness, I just love them! I had planned to wash them down with a beer for lunch, but I just couldn’t come at either of them. I really just felt like s**t all over.  That was a Friday afternoon. The next day I got up and really didn’t know if I felt worse or not. I just didn’t feel right and was suffering with cramps. I took some hot showers and baths and stuck it out. The next morning I knew I wasn’t right, so I asked my wife to take me to the hospital. We went to the Buderim Private Hospital and by this stage I couldn’t stand up, so my wife spoke for me. I was admitted immediately, and I just lay there on the bed running a high fever and feeling very unwell. The nurse did all her observations and I was then seen by a very good specialist physician who told me my presentation was very odd. They said they were going to keep me in and I was put in a ward. I was semi-delirious and had little idea of what was going on. My wife went home to get me some clothes and while she was gone it felt like a dream. I was in and out of consciousness and sweating so profusely the bed was saturated within five minutes and need changing. However, the bed sheets were not changed, so I lay there in a soaking wet bed. As a guy who has spent my career working in a prison, I am usually a cool and calm bloke, but throughout this ordeal I was incredibly anxious. A Samoan nurse asked if I was okay and told me she thought I was in atrial fibrillation. When the doctor came in, he sent me straight down to the ICU and told the nurse to ring my wife straight away. Things were not looking good. 

I spent the next few days hooked up to monitors in the ICU with the doctors having little idea of what was going on. During these days a man with a beard and long hair around his ears and dressed in a grey suit, came in asking me questions about the COVID injections I had received. I told the nurse about him but they said that no-one was authorised to be there asking such questions and told me the high temperatures had made me delirious. Then on the third or fourth day in the ICU, the same guy came back very late at night. I pointed him out to the nurses telling them that was the guy from before and this time they saw him too. They told me he must have been a replacement for the regular heart surgeon who wasn’t in until Monday. I also had a phone call from ATAGI or the TGA, and a Canadian woman asked me a lot of questions. However, my doctor confirmed that I would not have received direct correspondence from any of these agencies. I have continued to have these mysterious phone calls, but I doubt that they were who they said they were.

I was receiving injections every day and was eventually able to get up to shower while still hooked up to monitors and a drip. After six to seven days I was moved back up to the ward. I still felt very average and at this stage they were leaning towards a diagnosis of pyelonephritis, an infection of the kidneys. They treated me accordingly and after a couple of days they wanted to send me home as by now I was pushing two weeks in hospital. When I relayed this information to my wife she said, “NO! They don’t even know what is wrong with you.” My wife and daughter, who is also a medic, came to the hospital to advocate for me. They challenged the doctor, reiterating that I wasn’t fit to be discharged, to which he responded, “Well who is going to pay for the bed?” I did not want to go home either because I knew I wasn’t right. So, they moved me up to the end of the ward. 

As I’d been in hospital for two weeks I got to know all the cleaners and ward staff. On this particular morning I was showering with the door open and I joked with the breakfast lady as she delivered my tray. I remember getting out of the shower and admiring how nice the light looked. I lay on my bed and drank my tea. The hospital staff were always going crook on me for not calling them. So when I began to feel pain in my chest, I thought I’d better push my emergency button. All hell broke out then. There were people and trolleys everywhere. They shoved a needle in my guts and put heart monitors all over my chest. I was bundled back down to the ICU. All the while, a doctor who looked like American gangster, was holding my hand and keeping me calm. I was unable find out that doctor’s name, but he really did keep me from losing my s**t. 

When I came to, I was surrounded by bras. It was breast cancer week and I joked and laughed with the nurses that boobs are my favourite subject. The next thing the nurses were shaking me trying to wake me up. I had gone into total cardiac failure. It was an out-of-body experience. I was in the ICU for another week or so undergoing many tests. The lady in charge of the ICU approached me and told me this was all a result of the COVID injections. She wrote some stuff down on a Post-it note and instructed me to give it to my wife as she would know what it meant. She told me to keep tight hold of it, as things of this nature had a tendency to go missing. She was lovely. 

After another week I was back up in the ward, during which time I was under the care of a very dry Indian doctor. Although I tried, I never could get a laugh out of him. I did, however, note his lack of technical medical terms for things and thought it was a bit unprofessional when he kept telling me that I was ‘f***ed!’  “I think you are really f***ed, I think you are really f***ed,” he kept repeating. It wasn’t until just prior to my discharge I cottoned on that he was actually saying I had an ‘infarction’ of the kidneys. When I told the doctor about the misunderstanding, he absolutely exploded with laughter. 

Upon discharge I went to see my regular GP who told me I was throwing clots which had caused an infection. He straight away got me to complete an adverse reaction report. I received correspondence from the TGA saying the AstraZeneca vaccine was “more than likely the cause.” I have had no history of heart problems or blood pressure issues, not even in my family. To this day my heart surgeon won’t admit my clots are linked to the vaccine. Both my GP and the haematologist have told me it is absolutely linked.  

There is a big issue with getting specialists on board to substantiate your claim for compensation. You need to have spent three and a half thousand dollars from your own pocket and then need a GP to admit your injuries are related to the injection. I put in my claim mid-2022 and I am still waiting for the claim to go to the panel to be assessed. I am still waiting for support to pay for my weekly medications. Being unable to return to work has absolutely devastated me. I still dream about it every night. As a man who should be supporting my wife, I can’t tell you how that feels. The guilt — I just can’t put it into words. My wife and I have been together since we were sixteen. I have submitted my claim four times and each time Medicare has lost the paperwork and I have to go back through the entire process with my GP again. My GP is disgusted. I am hoping for some sort of response at the end of the year or early 2024, but it is apparent they don’t want to pay out. They just want to screw you around until you die. 

I remained really sick for three or four months after I came home from hospital. I have lost my spleen, and my kidneys are completely inactive. I’ve had stents in my heart, angioplasty in my veins and I’m on three different blood thinners, totaling six pills every morning and three pills every night.  I have to carry a glyceryl trinitrate spray with me everywhere and I am to spray in my mouth if I feel unwell as it will supposedly dilate my veins, letting the clot pass through. I get out of breath and can’t walk long distances, so have been issued with a disability sticker. I just want to go out on my boat or kayak like I used to. But I can’t. I’m worried I’ll drop dead out on the water. My wife and children are constantly worried that I’ve dropped dead. I have to write everything down as I’ve suffered minor brain damage (my wife jokes that I’ve always had that!). I can’t even leave the house without my phone, without putting everyone into a blind panic and this puts a lot of pressure on all of us. I don’t drive long distances as I don’t want to hurt anyone. And I’ve even forgotten to pick my grandkids up from school. 

It’s all the little things that you don’t think about. Like cooking dinner. I cooked salmon the other night and burnt the s**t out of it. All I can think is, “Why the f**k can’t I do this anymore?” I just can’t organise anything. It really gets me down so much. I would never consider suicide as the is a coward’s way out, but I just get so pissed off at myself for being unable to do all the things I used to. I often wonder what the future holds for me. I feel like hiding somewhere. Then my wife tells me, “Shut the f**k up and keep moving forward.” I’m lucky I have support. The government agencies don’t give a s**t.

Hospital2.jpg

9 August 2021: Astra Zeneca

Batch Number: 302359P

 

4 October 2021: Astra Zeneca

Batch Number: 31411P9

 

My name is Richard and I am a sixty-four-year-old Industry Advisor at the Woodford Prison on the Sunshine Coast. My role was to employ the prisoners into workshops as well as managing recruitment and disciplinary measures for a number of staff. Not everyone in jail is a bad person. Many just made a few bad decisions and my job really opened my eyes to that. I never liked the government much, but my job gave me purpose and I loved it. 

At the time of the injection roll out I was on leave from work after having been involved in a car collision. I was recovering well and upon my return to work I was looking to move into probation and parole. I felt my career was far from over, not to mention I still have a mortgage. My wife works in the medical field which meant I was required to have the COVID vaccinations so as not to impact her employment. Now, compliments of my jab injury, my heart surgeon has said I am not fit for work of any kind.

Within two weeks of my first AstraZeneca injection, which I received in my left arm, I started to get back pain on my right side just above my butt cheek. I went to Caloundra Outpatients who sent me straight to the University Hospital on the Sunshine Coast. After being at the hospital all day I was diagnosed with polycythemia vera and kidney stones, then sent off home. The next day the hospital gave me an urgent phone call saying they had found something else.  I returned to the hospital where I was immediately pumped full of drugs.

Being in the know as a medical professional, my wife contacted her partner who told her not to let the hospital do anything to me. A couple of days later I was able to get in to see a doctor who, via my pathology results could see something severe had taken place. However, as I had been administered so much intravenous antibiotic, any chance of identifying the source of the problem had been destroyed. All they knew was that whatever it was, was significant. They did however, discover an even bigger kidney stone on my left hand side, than the one originally found on my right. I was told to return to the University Hospital but then was made to wait. I was in so much pain I just lay on the hospital floor. They wanted to operate on me there and then, but my wife urged me not to let them touch me.

I improved over the next few weeks and turned up when I was due for my next injection. Incidentally, my wife flagged that I was provided a letter by our doctor advising I was to be given the Pfizer injection. However, I was again redirected towards the line for the AstraZeneca vaccine. I went into the post-injection fifteen minute waiting area and then just left, as everything seemed fine. It was later that day that I felt a bit crappy, which I thought was normal. But over the next few days I began to feel significantly worse. 

I went out on our boat with my wife and kids. The kids had brought prawns which are my weakness, I just love them! I had planned to wash them down with a beer for lunch, but I just couldn’t come at either of them. I really just felt like s**t all over.  That was a Friday afternoon. The next day I got up and really didn’t know if I felt worse or not. I just didn’t feel right and was suffering with cramps. I took some hot showers and baths and stuck it out. The next morning I knew I wasn’t right, so I asked my wife to take me to the hospital. We went to the Buderim Private Hospital and by this stage I couldn’t stand up, so my wife spoke for me. I was admitted immediately, and I just lay there on the bed running a high fever and feeling very unwell. The nurse did all her observations and I was then seen by a very good specialist physician who told me my presentation was very odd. They said they were going to keep me in and I was put in a ward. I was semi-delirious and had little idea of what was going on. My wife went home to get me some clothes and while she was gone it felt like a dream. I was in and out of consciousness and sweating so profusely the bed was saturated within five minutes and need changing. However, the bed sheets were not changed, so I lay there in a soaking wet bed. As a guy who has spent my career working in a prison, I am usually a cool and calm bloke, but throughout this ordeal I was incredibly anxious. A Samoan nurse asked if I was okay and told me she thought I was in atrial fibrillation. When the doctor came in, he sent me straight down to the ICU and told the nurse to ring my wife straight away. Things were not looking good. 

I spent the next few days hooked up to monitors in the ICU with the doctors having little idea of what was going on. During these days a man with a beard and long hair around his ears and dressed in a grey suit, came in asking me questions about the COVID injections I had received. I told the nurse about him but they said that no-one was authorised to be there asking such questions and told me the high temperatures had made me delirious. Then on the third or fourth day in the ICU, the same guy came back very late at night. I pointed him out to the nurses telling them that was the guy from before and this time they saw him too. They told me he must have been a replacement for the regular heart surgeon who wasn’t in until Monday. I also had a phone call from ATAGI or the TGA, and a Canadian woman asked me a lot of questions. However, my doctor confirmed that I would not have received direct correspondence from any of these agencies. I have continued to have these mysterious phone calls, but I doubt that they were who they said they were.

I was receiving injections every day and was eventually able to get up to shower while still hooked up to monitors and a drip. After six to seven days I was moved back up to the ward. I still felt very average and at this stage they were leaning towards a diagnosis of pyelonephritis, an infection of the kidneys. They treated me accordingly and after a couple of days they wanted to send me home as by now I was pushing two weeks in hospital. When I relayed this information to my wife she said, “NO! They don’t even know what is wrong with you.” My wife and daughter, who is also a medic, came to the hospital to advocate for me. They challenged the doctor, reiterating that I wasn’t fit to be discharged, to which he responded, “Well who is going to pay for the bed?” I did not want to go home either because I knew I wasn’t right. So, they moved me up to the end of the ward. 

As I’d been in hospital for two weeks I got to know all the cleaners and ward staff. On this particular morning I was showering with the door open and I joked with the breakfast lady as she delivered my tray. I remember getting out of the shower and admiring how nice the light looked. I lay on my bed and drank my tea. The hospital staff were always going crook on me for not calling them. So when I began to feel pain in my chest, I thought I’d better push my emergency button. All hell broke out then. There were people and trolleys everywhere. They shoved a needle in my guts and put heart monitors all over my chest. I was bundled back down to the ICU. All the while, a doctor who looked like American gangster, was holding my hand and keeping me calm. I was unable find out that doctor’s name, but he really did keep me from losing my s**t. 

When I came to, I was surrounded by bras. It was breast cancer week and I joked and laughed with the nurses that boobs are my favourite subject. The next thing the nurses were shaking me trying to wake me up. I had gone into total cardiac failure. It was an out-of-body experience. I was in the ICU for another week or so undergoing many tests. The lady in charge of the ICU approached me and told me this was all a result of the COVID injections. She wrote some stuff down on a Post-it note and instructed me to give it to my wife as she would know what it meant. She told me to keep tight hold of it, as things of this nature had a tendency to go missing. She was lovely. 

After another week I was back up in the ward, during which time I was under the care of a very dry Indian doctor. Although I tried, I never could get a laugh out of him. I did, however, note his lack of technical medical terms for things and thought it was a bit unprofessional when he kept telling me that I was ‘f***ed!’  “I think you are really f***ed, I think you are really f***ed,” he kept repeating. It wasn’t until just prior to my discharge I cottoned on that he was actually saying I had an ‘infarction’ of the kidneys. When I told the doctor about the misunderstanding, he absolutely exploded with laughter. 

Upon discharge I went to see my regular GP who told me I was throwing clots which had caused an infection. He straight away got me to complete an adverse reaction report. I received correspondence from the TGA saying the AstraZeneca vaccine was “more than likely the cause.” I have had no history of heart problems or blood pressure issues, not even in my family. To this day my heart surgeon won’t admit my clots are linked to the vaccine. Both my GP and the haematologist have told me it is absolutely linked.  

There is a big issue with getting specialists on board to substantiate your claim for compensation. You need to have spent three and a half thousand dollars from your own pocket and then need a GP to admit your injuries are related to the injection. I put in my claim mid-2022 and I am still waiting for the claim to go to the panel to be assessed. I am still waiting for support to pay for my weekly medications. Being unable to return to work has absolutely devastated me. I still dream about it every night. As a man who should be supporting my wife, I can’t tell you how that feels. The guilt — I just can’t put it into words. My wife and I have been together since we were sixteen. I have submitted my claim four times and each time Medicare has lost the paperwork and I have to go back through the entire process with my GP again. My GP is disgusted. I am hoping for some sort of response at the end of the year or early 2024, but it is apparent they don’t want to pay out. They just want to screw you around until you die. 

I remained really sick for three or four months after I came home from hospital. I have lost my spleen, and my kidneys are completely inactive. I’ve had stents in my heart, angioplasty in my veins and I’m on three different blood thinners, totaling six pills every morning and three pills every night.  I have to carry a glyceryl trinitrate spray with me everywhere and I am to spray in my mouth if I feel unwell as it will supposedly dilate my veins, letting the clot pass through. I get out of breath and can’t walk long distances, so have been issued with a disability sticker. I just want to go out on my boat or kayak like I used to. But I can’t. I’m worried I’ll drop dead out on the water. My wife and children are constantly worried that I’ve dropped dead. I have to write everything down as I’ve suffered minor brain damage (my wife jokes that I’ve always had that!). I can’t even leave the house without my phone, without putting everyone into a blind panic and this puts a lot of pressure on all of us. I don’t drive long distances as I don’t want to hurt anyone. And I’ve even forgotten to pick my grandkids up from school. 

It’s all the little things that you don’t think about. Like cooking dinner. I cooked salmon the other night and burnt the s**t out of it. All I can think is, “Why the f**k can’t I do this anymore?” I just can’t organise anything. It really gets me down so much. I would never consider suicide as the is a coward’s way out, but I just get so pissed off at myself for being unable to do all the things I used to. I often wonder what the future holds for me. I feel like hiding somewhere. Then my wife tells me, “Shut the f**k up and keep moving forward.” I’m lucky I have support. The government agencies don’t give a s**t.

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