Catharsis

Never again

There, the weight of silence grows unbearable; the moment when ignoring tyranny becomes more painful than the cancerous fear of retribution.

For me, that moment didn’t arrive in a courtroom, or on social media, or even in a medical journal. It came in my own exam room. A man I had never met, tears in his eyes, short of breath, scared out of his mind—not of the virus, but of the system. OUR system that had turned its back on him, and I was complicit.

That’s when it hit me: the practice of medicine is dead. It is an illusion: a corrupt system of control, disguised as care.

And I couldn’t pretend anymore.

Let me back up.

I am not a writer. I’ve spent most of my adult life wielding a scalpel, not a pen. However, my experience during the COVID-19 “plandemic” compels me to tell my story not for vindication or fame but rather for my patients and our children.

Before COVID-19, I was a Navy vet and a single Dad busy raising teens. Professionally, I was a successful plastic surgeon with over two decades of practice in Salt Lake City. My life was often chaotic but anchored in purpose. I had no grand desire to challenge the medical system. I trusted it and I believed that we, as physicians, were all rowing in the same direction.

Then came the winter of 2020.

Like everyone else, I watched the videos from Wuhan, China—the heat maps over crematoriums and people collapsing in the streets. It didn’t sit right with me, but I kept watching. Then came Italy, Spain, and Seattle; the daily COVID-19 status briefings; New York Governor Cuomo’s ventilator theatrics, and Drs. Fauci and Birx on every channel. We were told this was the modern-day Black Plague and that doing nothing was tantamount to murder.

So, like a good soldier, I shut down my clinic. Not out of fear for myself, but for my kids. Their mom had already passed. I wasn’t going to gamble with their only remaining parent.

But I’m not one to idle.

With my office closed, I had time. I read. I studied. I listened. I followed the data—what little there was. It didn’t take long to see the cracks, the fissures, even huge crevasses, in the narrative.

First, it was Dr. Zelenko. Then Drs. Fareed and Tyson. I saw what they were doing. I understood the mechanisms. I began prescribing the same protocols—Hydroxychloroquine, Zinc, Z-Pak, Vitamins C & D. People were getting better. Fast. Some of them severely immunocompromised. Not one ended up in the hospital. Not one died. I didn’t bill a single patient. I didn’t want to. Most were desperate, terrified, and out of options. They weren’t just sick—they were abandoned. Hospitals were refusing to treat them. Pharmacies were refusing to fill scripts. One even told me I had no authority to prescribe HCQ because I was “just a plastic surgeon.” That’s when I realized—I wasn’t fighting a virus. I was fighting an ideology.

Then came the monoclonal antibodies. The government was rationing them and applying race-based criteria for treatment. One of my own patients—a nurse’s husband—was denied therapy because he was “not sick enough” and didn’t meet “the demographic.” He was white. When he worsened, he went to the ER again. They finally offered treatment—without oxygen, because his sats were still above 85%. His wife gave him oxygen anyway, then called me. I met them at their home and started the FLCCC protocol—high-dose steroids, ivermectin, everything. Three days later, he was up and about, in the kitchen cleaning up after breakfast.

My efforts in aiding those in need became my renewed purpose. No one else would help them. I wasn’t chasing attention; instead, I was answering calls for help from friends, patients, and strangers. Once I saw the system fail—again and again, I couldn’t unsee it.

Then came the censorship.

First, YouTube took down videos by America’s Frontline Doctors, followed by Facebook’s “fact checks” and Twitter bans. I tried to repost the “Supreme Court Steps” video—but it was cancelled in minutes. This wasn’t just Big Tech overreach; this was coordinated suppression of truth, reason, and the destruction of hope.

I saw the same fascist strategy play out across the country: doctors silenced, licenses threatened, hospital protocols enforced like dogma, and the propellant: FEAR. Courageous physicians were performing as they should by saving lives. They refused to send patients home to just “monitor symptoms” until the virus progressed to the point where they received the “kill switch”: intubation and remdesivir.

Ah yes, remdesivir. The only hospital-sanctioned treatment. A drug pulled from Ebola studies for killing more people than it saved. And yet, here it was, touted as our savior. Thank you, Dr. Fauci! Hospitals were given a 20% bonus for using it. Why bribe providers to use a treatment if it works? Shouldn’t the outcomes speak for themselves?

But the powers-that-be didn’t want outcomes. They wanted obedience and profits.

That’s when I learned about Event 201. Then Clade X, Lockstep, and Bill Gates’ TED Talk. I went down every rabbit hole I could find. I double-checked sources. I read the papers. I pulled up archived articles, watched scrubbed videos, and found cached studies that had vanished from search engines. It wasn’t paranoia, it was passionate purpose.

By the time the vaccines hit the market in December 2020, I was already wide awake. A “95% effective” injection developed in under a year, authorized in less than 24 hours, and distributed by the billions? The virus hadn’t even been isolated yet! The PCR test that drove the entire pandemic was built on computer-generated models from older SARS sequences, and yet, it was peer-reviewed in 48 hours and published without actual virus isolates. I couldn’t believe what I was reading. But there it was—in black and white.

I watched the propaganda grow louder. “Get vaccinated and you’ll save lives.” “Get vaccinated and you’ll keep your job.” “Get vaccinated or you’re a danger to society.” It was emotional blackmail, dressed up as public health. It was pure fear-driven propaganda.

And all the while, the clinical trial data was shaky at best. Two-month endpoints. Unblinded participants. No long-term safety data. Package inserts that literally said “intentionally left blank.” Brook Jackson blew the whistle on Pfizer’s data collection process—and they fired her. No investigation. Just deletion.

I couldn’t look my patients in the eye and pretend the vaccine was safe.

We’re told to trust the science. But science isn’t a decree. It’s a process. A living, breathing debate. It requires disagreement. It requires curiosity. And above all, it requires transparency. What we got instead was a cult—a blind faith system with no room for questions. And in medicine, that’s not just dangerous—it’s deadly.

I’ve always believed in informed consent. Always. I’ve spent my career counseling patients about implants, scars, anesthesia risks—things far less impactful than an experimental biologic that had never before been used on humans and had killed all the animals in all studies to date. And yet suddenly, people were being coerced into taking something with no long-term studies, no clear benefit for the young and healthy, and no liability for the manufacturer. What could go wrong?

And if you didn’t comply? You were vilified. Ostracized. Labeled anti-science. Even if you had antibodies. Even if you had valid concerns. Even if you were, say, the most published cardiologist in the world—like Dr. McCullough, or a leading ICU expert like Dr. Marik. These weren’t fringe physicians. They were giants. And they were crushed.

I was warned to keep my mouth shut, that I had too much to lose. That my career, my reputation, even my freedom was at stake. And maybe they were right. But I had already seen too much. I had seen mothers hold their children’s hands as they wept with gratitude because someone—anyone—had finally listened. I had seen patients survive when the hospitals told them they wouldn’t. I had seen hope return to eyes that had only known fear.

I have no regrets. Not because this hasn’t cost me dearly, because it has. However, I gained conviction, clarity, and peace in the process, and it has been worth it.

Catharsis. Not comfort, nor vindication. Simply the soul-cleansing release of truth. The exhale after holding your breath for too long.

It’s not over. They may take my license and drag my name through the mud, but the lives I saved will never be silent. They will carry the flame farther and more effectively than I can, and their stories can never be cancelled. This was never about politics. It was about humanity. Yes, I would do it all again, because now I know exactly what I was fighting against.

I sat in a courtroom and listened as a CDC official, Chris Duggar, under oath, described the American people as “the enemy.” His exact words were: “No plan survives contact with the enemy.”

He meant us—those who wouldn’t roll up their sleeves for a first, fourth, or tenth shot.
He meant me, a doctor who refused to violate his conscience.
He meant you—parents, workers, truth-seekers who said “enough.”

They thought they could mandate, threaten, and coerce their way to obedience.
But they forgot that real Americans don’t break easily.

They had a plan.
We didn’t comply.
Their plan failed.

I didn’t flinch. I didn’t fold. If that makes me the enemy—I’ll fly that flag.

If standing for truth, freedom, and the right to choose makes me the enemy of this government, then it’s a badge of honor I wear proudly.

To every American watching this unfold: now more than ever:

Be that enemy,
Be loud,

Be brave,

Be unmovable,

The only thing standing between tyranny and liberty is you!