Vaccine Tragedy Stories

Rebecca

Vaccine Tragedy Stories

Rebecca

“Besides deluding parents, threaten them unmercifully if they dare to disclose vaccination errors, and they remain silent under their sorrows. Others, through respect to their medical practitioners, will neither admit their own nor doctor’s names to be published, for fear of giving offence. Others are cajoled and forced to say or do anything vaccination fallacy chooses to dictate.”[1] —William Rowley, MD, 1805

This is the first story in a series exploring the largely overlooked tragedies associated with vaccines since their introduction over 225 years ago. Told through Rebecca’s father’s own words, it reveals a series of heartbreaking and horrific events driven by the coercive efforts to force Rebecca's parents into vaccinating their young child.

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Roman Bystrianyk's research and writing are made possible by reader support. To stay informed and help sustain my work, consider subscribing—either for free or with a paid membership. Thank you!

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Rebecca was born a healthy and beautiful baby girl in 2006.  Her mom nursed her from the moment she was born until she was a year old.  Rebecca was not only developing normally, meeting all of the usual milestones, but she was also quite advanced for her age.  At the time, my wife and I were already skeptical of and concerned about "vaccines."  We had a friend whose child was severely injured by a vaccine, and we had known of others, too.  As such, and not understanding our rights, we attempted to delay, if not outright avoid, the government's scheduled injections. 

On the day of her birth, Rebecca was taken from her mother's arms by hospital staff and brought to the nursery to be bathed, swaddled, and returned the next day to my wife.  Unbeknownst to us at the time, Rebecca—like all newborns delivered in U.S. hospitals—was immediately injected with the "hepatitis B vaccine" despite the injection being one of only two possible ways a newborn can acquire said "disease."  The other is passed from the mother's blood.  Mom was not "tested" for hepatitis, nor did she have hepatitis. 

Still, Rebecca remained healthy, strong, alert, and developing well for the next year.  By age one, I had taught her to recite and sound out the alphabet, fully read children's "board" books on her own, count forward to one hundred and backward from ten, and identify eleven shapes.  She was taking after her oldest sister, who earned her bachelor's degree at a Florida University dual enrollment program at seventeen, exactly one week before she graduated high school.  Also, during her first year, Rebecca began to walk.  She was a happy and healthy baby girl in every respect. 

Then, her pediatrician began calling and questioning why we were not bringing Rebecca for her [oxymoronic] "well visit" to be given her vaccines.  Although my wife and I attempted to stall, the pediatrician began to issue threats that really frightened us as young, unaware parents.  She told us that Rebecca was three "vaccines" behind schedule, and if we did not make an appointment to catch up immediately, she would report us and Rebecca would not be allowed to attend school in the future. 

Despite the school denial threat being an outright lie and despite keeping Rebecca from school being the best thing we could do for her education, maturation, and spiritual development, we were no less frightened and agreed to make an appointment—with conditions.  We explained our concerns to the pediatrician and said we'd only allow one "vaccine" and give Rebecca time to process it before administering any more.  The doctor agreed. 

Upon arrival at Rebecca's "well visit," she was examined and found to be healthy and developing on schedule.  She was in the ninetieth percentile in height and fiftieth percentile in all other categories.  At the end of the examination, I reminded the pediatrician of our agreement to administer only one "vaccine."  Again, the doctor acknowledged and agreed to it.  The pediatrician left the examination room, and her nurse soon entered with three syringes on a tray. 

Though we now understand that "vaccines" are nothing more or less than poisonous concoctions, we were not afforded the right to observe the preparation of the syringes.  Did the nurse shake the vials before filling the syringes?  Did she turn the vials upside down before drawing from them to allow heavy metals to sink below the tip of the needles?  Did she properly aspirate the needles?  These are questions that will never be answered, though we have read confessions from nurses who were criminally charged for intentionally and insanely violating these safety protocols.  I immediately stopped the nurse and told her that the doctor and I agreed Rebecca would only be given one injection that day.  The nurse replied, "That's not what Dr. L**** said."  I instructed the nurse to call the pediatrician back to speak to me.  After a lengthy wait, while the doctor finished attending to another unsuspecting family, she stormed into our examination room with the ugliest of attitudes. She began repeating her threats to report us and deny Rebecca's future school attendance.  Shamedly, my wife and I acquiesced and conceded.  Rebecca then received *three injections. My wife is 100% certain that MMR was NOT one of them.  I believe two were DPT and chickenpox, but I am not sure. 

That evening, Rebecca's body temperature spiked, and she became somewhat lethargic and unwell.  We managed the fever, and in a few days, her fever broke.  Over the few weeks, Rebecca's whole being began changing, though she had gotten over her fever.  From our familial perspective, the change was slow and difficult for us to detect.  A couple of weeks later, we had visited a friend.  Later that evening, after speaking with her son privately, our friend, seemingly nervous, began acting strangely toward us.  I asked what was wrong.  She said to us that she was afraid it would affect our friendship, but nonetheless had to confess.  She said her teenage son was very attuned to babies and young children.  I didn't quite understand her meaning and asked her to explain.  She, point blank, told me, "Something is wrong with Rebecca."  She went on to say that her son noticed that Rebecca was not the same child he played with during previous visits, and something was terribly wrong. 

I was not angered.  Deep inside, I felt it.  I noticed it, too, but perhaps I had been suppressing it.  Over the coming days, Rebecca's behavior worsened.  She became listless and catatonic.  She stopped speaking.  She stopped interacting and playing with toys.  She stopped walking and crawling. She just laid on the floor and stared into space, though she did seem fixated on the spinning ceiling fan.  She no longer responded to any external stimuli.  When we lifted her from the floor, she could not assist in holding her own weight, and lifting her was suddenly like lifting a twenty-pound blob of gelatin.

It was then that we brought Rebecca to a public school system psychiatrist who examined her and reported to us that Rebecca had "Autism," a term that I reject to this very day.  I do not accept labels of any kind as they are intended to deflect from causation and solutions that could adversely affect a very corrupt and profitable allopathic business model.  What Rebecca had then and has today is severe—and most likely permanent—neurological damage, though we never give up hope.  This is true of all cases of so-called Autism, Aspergers, attention deficit, and other developmental delays, which vary in degree—same poisoning, same illness, differing degrees, and effects.

Due to Rebecca's condition, my wife and I struggled beyond all reason to toilet-train Rebecca.  At approximately three years old, we brought Rebecca to a doctor who we found through a program called "Defeat Autism Now," or "DAN."  The DAN doctor prescribed a protocol that included a gluten and casein-free diet, vitamin B injections that I struggled to administer at home, and a glutathione supplement.  After about a year of administering this protocol and occupational therapy, Rebecca regained some awareness and strength and began walking again.  She became somewhat verbal. However, her vocalization was now limited to ululation and, eventually, echolalia. 

At around the age of four or five, Rebecca began obsessing with her stool, smearing it all over herself, our furniture, our walls, and the carpeted floor.  One cannot imagine the difficulty of cleaning such a mess.  Even after sanitizing the room, bathing her, and scrubbing the excrement from beneath her fingernails, the hideous, nauseating odor remained for days after repeated cleanings.  By the age of six, the smearing worsened.  It was impossible to control as she would wait until our backs were turned and surprise us with horrifying daily smearing episodes. 

When we couldn't imagine anything worse, her problem, in fact, worsened to the point of literally eating her own excrement, a new problem we seemingly would never resolve since she refused to toilet train.  Now, in addition to cleaning the excrement from her body, we had to literally scrub the inside of her mouth.  Considering she could not understand instructions to rinse and spit mouthwash, the horrific breath was impossible to resolve.  It was not only frustrating but frightening. By the age of seven, we finally succeeded at toilet training. However, the smearing episodes continued periodically for the next few years. 

Due to her overly excited nervous system, Rebecca rarely slept.  She remained awake nearly all day and all night, "bouncing off walls," as the saying goes.  Once, she literally endured seven straight days and nights without sleeping a single minute.  Since she posed a danger to herself and our home, her mother, two sisters, and I literally set alarms to rotate shifts, maintaining 24/7 supervision, each of us getting only a couple of hours of rest per day.  It was uncanny and seemed physically impossible.  We began to think it would never end until the seventh day when she finally crashed and slept for about ten hours.  To this day, Rebecca remains awake through most nights, playing and vocalizing. 

We did enroll her in schools for children with "special needs."  Then, in 2021, the schools began implementing government-mandated "COVID" protocols, which included student isolation, toxic chemical sanitizing of desks, pencils, and hands, and pointing a thermometer "gun" at children's foreheads (psychological conditioning) before entering the school in single file lines, and of course, wearing masks.  When I received notice from the school that these procedures would be initiated when the schools reopened, I wrote a letter to the school explaining that these measures are unhealthy and dangerous, physically, spiritually, and emotionally, and therefore, I am forced to remove Rebecca from school. 

Thus, we educated her from that day forward to the best of our ability at home, where children are best reared anyway.  Though we home-educated our other two daughters through high school, Rebecca obviously presented extreme challenges.  Given no other choice, we persevered.  Today, Rebecca is seventeen years old.  Her behavior remains severely challenging and stressful to all in our immediate family.  She has learned to verbalize a few needs, such as, "I'm hungry," "I need to go potty," as well as salutations and greetings to family members coming and going.  Mostly, she makes deep grunting and extremely loud squealing noises all day and night, rocks back and forth violently and incessantly on our furniture, runs across the room feverishly, and cries spontaneously and sorrowfully almost every day.  She is unable to communicate what is making her sad and often angry (though it is obvious), and we have no way of knowing what ails her when she is sick or hurt. 

Neither my wife nor I ever had any extended family living in Florida with us, so I never had any help.  My wife continues to work and provide financially for our family.  I cannot work due to the necessity of full-time care for Rebecca.  For the most part, family and friends distanced themselves so as not to have their own lives burdened in any way. In all fairness to them, we are unable to host anyone in our home as Rebecca has broken most of our furniture, including a sofa (and the wall directly behind it), two reclining chairs, and two bed frames.  We replaced the furniture once, and she quickly broke the replacements, so we resigned ourselves to sit and sleep on the broken, uncomfortable, and unsightly furniture.  Our home is always chaotic, so we scarcely allow anyone to visit.  The stress on our family is beyond what most people and marriages can withstand.  We have lost and suffered so much, but we realize that Rebecca has lost and suffered the most through no fault of her own, and so we remain together for her sake.  So, after all, you can now see why I wrote on your Substack blog, "I'd give my life to regain hers."  May God have mercy on my precious Rebecca, and may my family find peace one day.

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Roman Bystrianyk's research and writing are made possible by reader support. To stay informed and help sustain my work, consider subscribing—either for free or with a paid membership. Thank you!

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[1] William Job Collins, MD, Have You Been Vaccinated, and what Protection is it Against the Small Pox? 1869, pp. 51–52.