01/21/2026
Meningococcus is such a scary, fast infection! That’s why we continue to recommend this vaccine
“I KNOW THE SUFFERING THAT RFK JR.’S VACCINE CHANGES will cause, because I’ve lived it.
In May 2004, I slowly woke up from a drug-induced coma to find myself in an intensive care unit at what was then called the University of Kansas Hospital. There was a feeding tube snaking down one of my nostrils, there were IV’s in both my arms, and a catheter was running from the lower part of my body. The breathing tube that had painfully gagged me during fleeting moments of half-consciousness was mercifully gone. But I couldn’t move my hands and feet, which was disturbing. They were covered in bandages so I just assumed the hospital staff had wrapped the bandages way too tight. Not so.
A doctor came and told me I had contracted meningococcal disease, a form of bacterial meningitis that transformed me overnight from a perfectly healthy 22-year-old college student, working at the school newspaper and playing just about every intramural sport, to a comatose ICU patient, fighting for my life on a ventilator. The infection, which I may have gotten just from sharing a drink with someone, had ravaged my bloodstream. Heavy doses of antibiotics eventually killed the bacteria and after three weeks the hospital staff had been able to stabilize my internal organs. But the blood flow to my extremities had not fully returned, and never would.
“You have tissue damage equal to third-degree burns over 30 percent of your body,” the doctor said.
When the staff removed the bandages I saw what that meant: My arms and legs had turned pitch black, and my fingers and toes were dried up, lifeless claws. My limbs were rotting while still attached to me. My initial response to this was just straight-up denial. I couldn’t process what I was seeing or deal with it emotionally, so at first I just didn’t even try. Those weren’t my arms and legs. And even if they were, they were going to come back and be fine, no matter what those doctors said.
But during the following three months in the hospital’s burn and wound unit, things became too real to deny. First there was “debridement,” a process wherein doctors, nurses, and wound techs sliced off layer after layer of dead tissue, searching for something that would bleed, in an effort to save as much of my limbs as possible. I was awake for that, and had nightmares about it for years afterwards. Then multiple skin-grafting procedures, in which a plastic surgeon took the top layer of skin from my thighs and stapled it over debrided areas that were so big they wouldn’t scar over on their own. Then surgeries to amputate my fingers and toes because hospital staff had debrided down to the bones and tendons and nothing was left alive; only my right thumb was spared. [Editor’s note: Some photos of what’s described here—graphic patient images—appear below.]”
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