What was the point?
So, what would be the point of not approaching Lindsey about her HIV status?
After immersing myself in this extensive investigation over the past four years, it's clear that a complex web of factors played a role in shaping Rico's life and ultimately leading to both his and Lindsey's tragic ends. While certain aspects of this narrative became apparent relatively quickly, understanding the intricate network of underlying factors has proven to be a significant challenge. I don't anticipate the professionals portrayed in this narrative will willingly shed light on their mindset regarding the numerous unanswered questions. This leaves me to reconstruct the story by arranging the self-evident and known facts in reverse order.
Lindsey and Rico experienced marginalization within both the medical community and society, which sheds light on the decisions and actions taken by doctors and researchers. When fundamental principles of human welfare and dignity are disregarded, and the responsibilities of professional healthcare are overlooked, the unresolved aspects of Lindsey and Rico's lives start to make sense. It's evident that many events were orchestrated to unfold in a predetermined sequence, paving the way for a premeditated outcome. According to the accounts provided by the involved elites, Lindsey's interactions, both as a child and later as a pregnant mother, revolve around the treatment she and Rico both received and refused.
If we entertain the idea, as I do, that Mayo Clinic's staff were indeed aware of Lindsey's HIV status during her pregnancy, the focus shifts to why they chose not to address the issue with her or discuss potential treatment options. While this crucial aspect of Lindsey and Rico's fate remains unexplored in the numerous documents, these same individuals were swift in highlighting how the absence of treatment purportedly contributed to Rico's presumed fate. They not only emphasized the missed treatment to Mower County officials but also informed them about the concept of the functional cure, the Mississippi baby, and emphasized how Lindsey had outlived others due to her purported "two years" of treatment as an infant.
The resident, being aware of Lindsey's HIV status coinciding with Rico's birth and engaging Cheryl and Lindsey in a detailed discussion about Lindsey's media appearances and her childhood experiences, can only imply a pre-existing knowledge of Lindsey's HIV status. Additionally, the resident was aware of Lindsey's prior encounter with the drug AZT. The awareness of these facts by a resident who had not encountered Lindsey prior to the birth could only have come from someone with comprehensive knowledge.
The question of what would be gained by doctors not acknowledging Lindsey's known HIV status is the next line of thought. Doctors viewing Lindsey's file and the information available would have revealed Lindsey and the family's view of the drug AZT. So, it is reasonable to assume that doctors and researchers would have been inclined to believe that Lindsey, now facing her own pregnancy, would likely refuse treatment if approached during her pregnancy. Also, by approaching the topic, it would have been incumbent upon doctors to inform Lindsey that they would require that Rico receive AZT immediately upon birth, whether he was HIV positive or not, and this would continue for several days or weeks. Taking this point of view, it would be reasonable to believe researchers might have speculated that if they were to approach Lindsey regarding the mandated use of AZT, she could react by changing hospitals while still refusing the treatment. This scenario could have been viewed as leaving Rico's circumstances unchanged, but with the added consequence of him being beyond Mayo Clinic's reach, resulting in the loss of not one but two valuable research subjects.
Critics may rush to defend doctors, arguing against the idea that they would withhold crucial information from a mother to manipulate a child's eligibility for a study and its funding. But what if there's a loophole in this story? Despite the numerous documents discussing Rico's case, there's a noticeable lack of information about who Lindsey refused treatment from and whether her medical files were or were not reviewed during her pregnancy. This might be a bit tricky to grasp, so let's break it down.
Let's consider who didn't claim responsibility for informing Lindsey about treatment. Here's where things get interesting. None of the influential figures in this story admit to offering Lindsey treatment. It's also worth noting that nobody explicitly states whether they did or didn't check Lindsey's medical files at the Mayo Clinic. It seems like everyone is quick to criticize Lindsey for refusing treatment but conveniently overlooks their own involvement or lack thereof.
Now, think about this: What if it was advantageous for someone not to tell Lindsey about the treatment? How many of these influential figures would admit to being that person? It's a thought-provoking question that challenges the assumptions we've been led to believe.
Certainly, there would have been no advantage to not having accessed Lindsey's files, as this would rightfully raise significant questions about the hospital's procedures and protocols. It would lead to speculation about why Lindsey's files were not accessed—was it due to oversight, negligence, or intentional avoidance? This leads us back to the original question: Did Lindsey's refusal to test during her first O.B. visit create an assumed loophole for aspiring researchers to convince themselves that Lindsey's actions diminished their responsibilities toward Rico? They could rationalize this by accommodating Lindsey's wish to keep this information from her file. Yet, life doesn't, and shouldn't, operate in this manner.
Regardless of where the truth may lie in this complex situation, it cannot absolve Mayo Clinic of its responsibility to review Lindsey's records, which, in turn, would have imposed a moral, ethical, and legal obligation on them to inform Lindsey about a treatment that, by their own admission, could have reduced Rico's chances of being born HIV-positive from 40% to less than 2%.
At the trial, Lindsey addresses the above scenario with testimony that unequivocally illustrates her state of mind throughout her pregnancy. She declared, "I already knew I was HIV positive... I assumed [Rico] probably would be." When queried about her hypothetical response, had any medication specific to her HIV status been offered during her pregnancy, she affirmed, "if it was offered, we would have strongly considered it and most likely accepted." Lindsey's innocence in this matter is beyond reproach.
So, what is the case for Lindsey and Rico, which is an ongoing study?
If we had the information in 2012 that we now have in 2024, we would have realized the combination of Lindsey's remarkable survival and Rico's status as a rare perinatal HIV infection case was undoubtedly a compelling allure for researchers. I also realize now that Lindsey was born into an era characterized by undisclosed experiments. This has spurred me to delve deeper into the events surrounding her childhood and the continuation of these experiments up to and including Rico's birth.
At the time of Lindsey's birth in 1990 and throughout her childhood, researchers were primarily focused on studying infants born to HIV-positive mothers and assessing their tolerance to chemicals like AZT. By the time Rico was born, Dr. Fauci had narrowed this focus, targeting not only infants born to HIV-positive mothers but specifically those born to mothers who were untreated during pregnancy. Lindsey's pregnancy occurred amidst the Mississippi experiment, a period when the nation's chief medical advisor publicly acknowledged the perceived importance of risky research and experiments despite the potential for serious accidents or fatalities. However, this acknowledgment was not grounded in the tragic loss of innocent lives but rather in the belief that "the benefits of such experiments and the resulting knowledge outweigh the risks."
Amidst the evident marginalization of HIV-positive mothers and their infants, the notion of determining what "outweighs the risks" reveals a disturbing willingness to gamble with the lives of others, a recurring theme in Lindsey's life. During the Day One interview discussing Lindsey's case, Dr. Kessler admitted to knowing that the approval of AZT was flawed and lacked concrete evidence of its efficacy. Nevertheless, he echoed Fauci's sentiment that "the riskiest thing...is to be unwilling to take any risks." This begs the question: who truly bore the "risk" – Fauci, Kessler, or the unwitting infants subjected to these experiments?
Reflecting on the journey of writing this narrative, it is necessary to clarify its original intent. Initially, the goal wasn't to delve into the intricacies of experiments, the roles of figures like Fauci and Kessler, or Lindsey's childhood experiences. It was simply to shed light on the injustices that contributed to the tragic deaths of Lindsey, Rico, and Cheryl. However, as one aspect of the story led to another, the narrative veered into discussions about vulnerable populations and introduced the Mississippi story, drawing parallels to a time when experimentation wasn't as overt.
During Lindsey's childhood, a subtle element of persuasion and uncertainty existed in convincing Cheryl and me to adhere to specific medical recommendations. It felt more like being persuaded to follow suggested courses of action rather than facing outright coercion. However, with Rico, the medical establishment, led by figures like Dr. Huskins, seemed determined to exert absolute control over the situation. They advocated for specific medical interventions and appeared to dictate the narrative and selectively reveal or conceal information to further their objectives.
The idea of being coerced into taking "risks" or participating in experiments would have been unimaginable to us back in 1990. If someone had suggested that a mere signature or undisclosed financial transactions with foreign entities could lead to the creation of dangerous lab-enhanced viruses or that reputable organizations like Fauci's NIH would fund individual doctors to push the boundaries of black-label drugs in experiments involving unsuspecting infants, it would have been dismissed as a far-fetched conspiracy theory.
In the study of the Long Beach and Mississippi babies, "funding" was a recurring word that caught my attention, raising the question of what would have required funding in these two cases. The welfare system would cover any medical needs, especially since both cases involved mothers who had not received any treatment during pregnancy. This is where the involvement of the NIH takes a darker and more ambiguous turn, and the word "funding" takes on an ambiguous tint.
When a doctor decides to prescribe a drug off-label based on a plausible but unverified theory, such as what was done to Lindsey as an infant, the decision can potentially lead to legal issues if done independently. This is where associates of Deeks and institutions like the NIH come into play by appointing the doctor as a "principal investigator" (PI), essentially elevating what was once an "off-label" use to a formal "drug research" project. The only remaining task is to secure the necessary access, a role often fulfilled by legal authorities such as Mower County CPS. Adding the title of researcher and principal investigator to a doctor's resume sheds new light on how what is essentially one-rat experiments can be run through the system, which takes the narrative back to Lindsey's files starting in 1990, which once again Cheryl had meticulously kept in a box and filed in order.
In 1991, Lindsey was under the care of Dr. Hostetter at the University of Minnesota, which was also affiliated with the National Network of the AIDS Clinical Trial Group (ACTU). At that time, Cheryl and I were overwhelmed with the urgency of ensuring Lindsey's best possible life. As with Rico, we did not have the luxury of dissecting and scrutinizing the limited information provided by Dr. Hostetter in her descriptions of the situation. Our primary concern was to secure the most suitable care for Lindsey as it was for Rico.
When Dr. Hostetter expressed her desire for Lindsey "to be evaluated for experimental drug protocols" and emphasized it was "very important that Lindsey have an entrée to experimental therapy," I can tell you that as a parent who is told that their child has only six months to 2 years to live your first thought is not to do a deep dive on medical notes written by an -unquestionable- doctor. Delving deeply into medical notes or researching acronyms like "ACTU," which stands for AIDS Clinical Trial Unit "supported by the NIH," was not our priority during that challenging period. It took 32 years and the loss of three lives to apply meaning to these details.
One thing that Cheryl and I did discuss amongst ourselves at the time were some glaring inconsistencies in the treatments administered to Lindsey and another child whom Dr. Hostetter had introduced us to through the child's foster parents in Red Wing, Minnesota. Dr. Hostetter believed that connecting with other families dealing with the stress of caring for an HIV-positive child might be beneficial, so she facilitated the meeting.
The second child of interest, Nathan, was of the same age as Lindsey but faced additional hurdles as he was born to a mother struggling with cocaine addiction. Given that both Nathan's mother in Red Wing and the Long Beach mother were grappling with addiction issues at the time of their children's births, it's reasonable to assume that much like the Long Beach case, the court deemed Nathan's mother unfit to provide care for her child, resulting in the child being placed in foster care. This was similar to Lindsey's case, where the Mayo Clinic conducted an unauthorized drug screen, and a Mower County Judge mandated a psychological evaluation for her due to what doctors seemed to have anticipated would be Lindsey's objection to a black-label drug.
When we met Nathan and his foster parents, we found that Nathan, the same age as Lindsey, was not on AZT. Cheryl and I were taken aback and deeply concerned, especially since Nathan's bloodwork was compromised according to the standards of the time, and he had also been born compromised by this addiction, seemingly putting him in a greater need for AZT. Nathan was under the care of Dr. Richard Andersen at Children's Hospital in St. Paul, Minnesota. An interview between Dr. Andersen and American journalist Tom Bethell, who primarily covered economic and scientific topics, occurred on June 26, 1993, approximately six months after we had discontinued Lindsey's AZT treatment. During the interview, Dr. Andersen made it evident that he and the other medical professionals involved in Lindsey's case had maintained communication.
Concerning our situation, Dr. Andersen described it as a "hot potato of guilt to be passed around." He referred to a medical complaint we had filed, which he characterized as a "manifesto," and mentioned "there are major misunderstandings" surrounding it. Like the other doctors, Dr. Andersen expressed skepticism about Lindsey's chances of surviving her childhood.
Regarding Nathan, Dr. Andersen hinted at the existence of "valid reasons" for Nathan not being prescribed AZT but refrained from providing specific details. The situation becomes rather perplexing when one considers that another doctor whom Dr. Anderson was in communication with, located just a few miles away, viewed AZT as a life-or-death necessity for Lindsey. Some might argue that Nathan had an allergy to AZT, but Dr. Andersen clarified this by indicating that Nathan could potentially be placed on AZT "in the next year or two." This conflicting scenario was taking place at the same time Hostetter was warning Cheryl and me that removing Lindsey, who did not have compromised bloodwork, from AZT would hasten her decline and death. Hostetter would even later hint to Lindsey's new doctor that she might take steps to have Lindsey removed from our care for not administering the very drug that Nathan, the child in Red Wing, was being denied.
Fast forward two decades, and phrases like "the more she can take, the longer she will live" and the administration of AZT at levels "as close to a total dose…as can be tolerated" take on a whole new significance, particularly when viewed in the context of Nathan not receiving either of these treatments. In essence, this aligns with the definition of a phase one trial.
During the time when Lindsey was under Dr. Hostetter's care, Cheryl and I didn't think to inquire about her direct involvement in research pertaining to infants with HIV. However, upon delving deeper into the matter, we discovered that Hostetter held a "leadership position" as an "Elected Member of the American Society for Clinical Investigation." Her online professional history reveals a continuous track record of receiving NIH-funded grants and occupying leadership positions spanning from 1986 to 2020, a period that includes her tenure as Lindsey's physician.
This newfound understanding of Hostetter's qualifications casts fresh light on various aspects of Lindsey's infant records, ranging from the phrasing of clinical notes to the timing of different interventions. It also raises questions about the interventions that Nathan was conspicuously not receiving at the time. Considering this backdrop, it would become increasingly challenging, even two decades later, for doctors to convincingly argue that Lindsey and Nathan were not part of a research study and a deadly one if we are to take Lindsey's doctor at face value. This prompts the question of what role Nathan played in any determining factors. As was our experience with Rico, once in foster care, doctors may have been given significant latitude to conduct research and provide recommendations for Nathans's care, thus designating him as the "control subject" due to the fact he was not given AZT.
It's now essential to examine which child was, in fact, the infant at risk of the experiment; I suggest both. It is reasonable to assume that, at the time, doctors believed that treatment with AZT was the best course of action. In this context, Nathan, in their eyes, would be the subject most likely to succumb, as he was the one not receiving treatment, and his lack of parental involvement made him appear the most expendable. Placing Lindsey and Nathan at opposing ends of the spectrum might bias the results in favor of the drug being studied, with the possibility that this bias may have been by design.
Viewing Lindsey and Nathan as participants in a race, Lindsey had a distinct advantage with her excellent health and absence of addiction, which researchers might have seen as an added benefit when assessing the impact of AZT. Even if there were no inherent advantages or, as demonstrated by ongoing studies at the time, Concord and V.A. studies, potential disadvantages to AZT, Nathan's compromised starting point still put him at a significant disadvantage. This leads us to a perplexing question: Why would researchers seemingly stack the odds against Nathan?
When AZT dosages were at their highest, with very few individuals surviving four years of AZT treatment, it becomes conceivable that Nathan served a dual role—not just as a control subject but potentially as an insurance policy. If Lindsey outlived Nathan by even a single day, her survival could be attributed to the efficacy of AZT. Conversely, if the control subject (Nathan) lived as long as or longer than the infant on AZT, it might be construed as AZT causing the infant's death. By 1993, when fatalities were the primary outcome researchers encountered, this design would have necessitated Nathan's role as the control subject.
In this distressing context, much like the experiences of Lindsey and Rico, the individuals embroiled in these situations, be they the children themselves or their caregivers, found themselves bereft of their voices and agency. Their lives were relegated to the sidelines, overshadowed by the overarching goals of the researchers. These circumstances expose a deeply troubling pattern that placed research objectives above the well-being and fundamental rights of these vulnerable individuals, highlighting the unsettling disparity in how some infants were perceived as more expendable than others.
As for Nathan, it could be presumed that had the foster parents come to realize the gravity of the situation, they would have likely felt trapped in a difficult position. The power dynamics at play would have left them with a sense of powerlessness, as if they were being told, "If you don't concur with the care Nathan is or is not receiving, we'll simply find new foster parents who will" effectively coercing them into becoming unwitting participants in the research despite any reservations they might have harbored. Despite the two decades of separation, there is now a pattern taking on its own distinct form, with all the infants involved in these experiments either facing the threat of removal or actually being taken from their biological parents, thus reinforcing the pattern.
Now presents an ideal moment to ponder the recurring motifs in this narrative. It's almost inevitable that in the early '90s, Lindsey and Nathan's paths intersected with Dr. Hoyt, who likely collaborated with Dr. Hostetter. As previously mentioned, Dr. Hoyt has emerged two decades later, potentially stepping in to assume Rico's care from Dr. Huskins, assuming Lindsey's relocation to Minneapolis. This could be interpreted as an extension of gleaned information, connecting the trajectories of Lindsey and Nathan's lives to encompass Rico's journey, completing a full circle of experimentation. This process also lends coherence to what initially seemed like disparate coincidences.
The significance of Lindsey's initial value as well as Nathan is further encapsulated in a brief summary of the initial consultation with Dr. Hostetter at the University of Minnesota, which included a seemingly casual statement: "I will be contacting Dr. Ram Yogev, Head of the ACTU at Memorial Hospital in Chicago, to arrange for Lindsey and her parents to be seen there 2-3 times per year." Little did we realize that Dr. Yogev was a pivotal figure in clinical research, hailed as the "champion of clinical research" and appointed as the director of the Experimental Therapeutics Program at Children's Memorial Research Center. Yogev's involvement extended beyond general HIV research; he also held the "Director of the Section on Pediatrics" role and actively served as an investigator for the Pediatric Trials Network (PTN), conducting trials related to dosing medications in children.
Fitting with Lindsey's situation, Dr. Yogev was conducting an experiment titled "Randomized Study of the Tolerance and Efficacy of High-versus Low-Dose [AZT] in [HIV] infected children." In this study, children were "randomly assigned to receive either high-dose [180 mg] or low-dose [90 mg AZT] (double-blind)." Interestingly, this setup bears a striking resemblance to a statement found in Lindsey's medical records, where Dr. Hostetter wrote, "Our goal is to take Lindsey as close to a total dose of [180 mg of AZT] as can be tolerated." This similarity raises questions about whether there was a greater interest in determining the maximum amount of AZT that Lindsey could tolerate while still surviving rather than prioritizing her comfort, overall health, and quality of life. It appears increasingly likely that Nathan was, in fact, the control participant in what may have been many experiments, including other infants whose "quality of life" was also taken out of the equation.
The extent of experimentation at this time can be found in a story reported in the Minnesota Daily that shed light on the numerous experiments conducted in Minnesota research hospitals funded by Dr. Fauci himself. The article revealed that Minnesota scientists had actively participated in 48 regional and national investigations on AIDS and HIV treatments over the past decade through the Center and the AIDS Clinical Trial Unit, both of which received funding from the NIH.
Dr. Yogev and Children's Memorial Hospital were among the recipients of the 23 grants personally awarded by Dr. Fauci, intended to "sustain the efforts of the Pediatric AIDS Clinical Trials Group (ACTG)." This clinical trials network was established on a national scale, specifically aimed at addressing the unique challenges surrounding the treatment of children afflicted with HIV. Dr. Fauci, recognizing the investigators' expertise, remarked, "The Pediatric ACTG brings together a superbly qualified group of investigators focused on the special problems of preventing and treating AIDS…We are confident that the Pediatric ACTG will continue to make significant contributions to improving the lives of all young people infected with HIV." Dr. Fauci's direct involvement again underscores the likelihood that he and the NIH would have been well-informed about Lindsey's existence and her remarkable survival. This, in turn, highlights the crucial role played by "young people" like Lindsey in making "significant contributions," as opposed to the researchers themselves, especially when considering the decision to discontinue AZT treatment.
Dr. Yogev was not limited to conducting research solely within the United States. He received NIH funding to establish clinical research sub-units in countries like Thailand and South Africa. By the end of his career, he claimed to have contributed over 44,500 patient records to the PDN Data Repository, a vast database used to shape the design of future Pediatric Trials Network (PTN) studies.
Given the extensive collection of patient records managed by a single physician, it's difficult to imagine a scenario where Lindsey's medical data was excluded from Dr. Yogev's Data Repository. This scenario suggests that Lindsey's information was systematically archived within electronic health records (EHRs), allowing healthcare professionals who hadn't directly overseen her care to access a comprehensive overview of her medical background. Given Lindsey's unique status in the context of HIV, it's reasonable to assume that she would have been classified as a high-priority case, leading to the inclusion of her file being flagged within the national-level electronic health records (EHRs) system. This underscores Mayo Clinic's implication that they were unaware of Lindsey's diagnosis from her time as their patient during childhood.
At the same time, Dr. Huskins claims to be unaware of the Mississippi baby; he is able to connect Lindsey's survival into adulthood to a yet-to-be-announced functional cure. Rather than presenting this concept to Rico's parents, he enthusiastically presents it to a judge and guardian. The belief that Lindsey's survival could be attributed to 18 months of treatment as an infant is not information that would be found in any of the files Cheryl and I had ever seen. So, once again, I am drawn back to earlier events in Lindsey's childhood.
2005 finds Lindsey a beacon of good health. She hasn't been on any medication for over 12 years, and at 15 years old, she is now a remarkable case. According to CNN, she is the only child worldwide to have survived HIV for such an extended period. We can deduce this because CNN made this claim and provided information about the backgrounds of the three "known cases globally." While Lindsey wasn't among the three cases mentioned by CNN, their numbers clearly show that none of those three individuals had lived as long as Lindsey had. The longest to have survived among the three would have had to live until 2023 to surpass Lindsey's remarkable 23-year milestone, a fact that seems elusive.
In 2005, a relatively unpublished experiment known as the CHER trial was initiated by Dr. Fauci, which again coincides with the recurring number in this narrative, the age of two. The trial, officially titled "Children with HIV Early Antiretroviral Therapy" (CHER), was designed to "allow the child to stop treatment" after "antiretroviral therapy [had been] given over a limited period of time." The infants in this trial were divided into two groups for testing purposes. One group would discontinue the drugs at ten months, while the other group mirrored Lindsey's case, ceasing treatment after two years.
It's striking to note that throughout our three decades of involvement with HIV, Cheryl and I had never encountered a situation where medical experts recommended discontinuing AZT. According to Huskins, even a slight deviation from the prescribed AZT dosage, as minimal as 5%, was deemed potentially life-threatening for Rico. Another notable inconsistency, akin to the circumstances in the Mississippi story, revolves around the inherent variability of HIV. When antiretroviral drug treatment is interrupted, the virus becomes more prone to mutations, potentially leading to the emergence of drug-resistant strains. This underscores the crucial importance, as stressed by the proponents of the CHER experiment, of adhering strictly to prescribed ART regimens to prevent the development of drug resistance. Expanding on this, the CHER experiment, which does not assert any success, exposed the numerous infants in the trial to drug-resistant strains, a situation that, according to the same researchers, would have heightened the risk or, as Dr. Huskins was quick to inform Mower County, it would almost assuredly lead to death.
Conspicuously absent from the available information are crucial factors that would have directly impacted the well-being of the infants involved in the 2005 trial, such as their quality of life and the broader health-related implications for hundreds of African children. This trial's foundation and guiding principles remain shrouded in mystery, leaving significant questions unanswered.
Given the significant negative implications associated with even one infant discontinuing medication, it raises ethical concerns to think that researchers actively sought out pregnant mothers in African villages for an experiment unless this experiment was rooted in a well-founded rationale. I am sure that these same researchers behind the CHER trial would not want anyone to think that their endeavor lacked compelling evidence supporting the potential benefits of treatment discontinuation, as this would raise the unsettling prospect that these infants living with HIV were not regarded as fully embodying the breadth of human potential. And for now, I am willing to entertain the notion that Dr. Fauci, who likely prefers not to be associated with indiscriminate experiments on infant humans, took a more thoughtful approach. So, in light of the conspicuous absence of published evidence substantiating the rationale behind the CHER trial, I find myself compelled to examine the fragments of available data. I aim to reconstruct a plausible narrative that leads to unreadily available answers. In this vein of consideration, I am open to the idea that Mr. Fauci grounded his CHER experiment on a theory derived from firsthand accounts or witness-based evidence.
To lend credence to this assumption, we only have CNN's assertion, which attested that only three children globally had managed to survive HIV from childhood. It stands to reason that CNN, as a reputable news source, would have obtained this information from a reliable and credible source, presumably linked to Dr. Fauci, at least until this claim is challenged or refuted. This analysis method allows us to construct a plausible foundation upon which the CHER trial might have been conceived, all while recognizing the limitations of our access to the trial's primary documentation or published scientific rationale.
Nevertheless, it's important to address two key issues when considering CNN's reported number. Firstly, it's noteworthy that Lindsey is not included in that count, even though by 2023, mathematically, she would still hold the record as the longest-surviving infant since her birth in 1990, which itself may have been hard for researchers to explain. Secondly, there is no information available to suggest that the three cases highlighted by CNN were born to mothers who had not received treatment during pregnancy, were promptly treated, and then had their child's treatment halted after ten months or two years, as in the CHER trial.
The specific requirements of the CHER trial necessitated that the newborns be born to mothers who, like Lindsey, the Mississippi, and Long Beach babies, had not received treatment during pregnancy. This distinctive criterion leaves Lindsey as the sole plausible theory-based evidence upon which the CHER trial of 2005 could have been founded. Even if the three cases highlighted by CNN had met these specific criteria, their limited lifespan by 2005 would have precluded their participation in the theoretical foundation of the CHER trial. In this context, Lindsey emerges as the singular child upon whom Dr. Fauci and the NIH could reasonably have based the CHER trial.
For those who may criticize this line of reasoning as a series of improbable assumptions, it would be a more extraordinary coincidence if the CHER trial were not grounded in Lindsey's life. Such an absence of connection would imply that Dr. Fauci relied on even more extensive and undisclosed "unpublished" experiments as the basis for the trial; in other words, additional infants put at risk for scientific adventure. A critic may find it implausible that Dr. Fauci would conduct a national experiment based on one person's story; however, that is exactly what he did in the case of the Mississippi baby.
It becomes evident that researchers, driven by an unquenchable thirst for accomplishment, dared to entertain the notion that reviving the ill-fated 2005 CHER study in 2014 might yield disparate results. However, as this narrative has illuminated, there is seemingly no threshold for satisfaction in this pursuit; for Fauci, there is no such thing as enough. Fauci fanaticized that he "was training for the AIDS epidemic before it even happened. My being involved with it has been my passion and my life's work". Maybe combining this vision and the sudden appearance of the Long Beach and Mississippi baby renewed the hope and desire for more experimentation. In Fauci's mind, the existence of these infants left "little doubt that the treatment works" and "it is a huge proof of concept that you can cure someone if you can treat them early enough." Yet, as history would demonstrate, even this fervent hope ultimately met with disappointment.
In the wake of Fauci's relentless pursuit of experimental interventions, my research for this narrative uncovered yet another alarming development in 2023. Despite the resounding failure of the 2005 CHER experiment and then the failed Mississippi baby research in 2013, Fauci, Inc. persists in its audacious endeavors, embarking on yet another "proof-of-concept study" known as P1115. This study, described as a Phase I/II multi-center effort, aims to explore the effects of early intensive antiretroviral therapy on achieving HIV remission in neonates, ostensibly seeking an "ART-free remission."
The recurrence of certain elements within this narrative underscores the complexity and interconnectedness of the story's threads, weaving a tapestry of systemic exploitation and ethical neglect. While Rico's medical and legal documents abound with terms like "treatment," "refusal," and "denial," conspicuously absent are words like "research," "experiment," or "risks" – terms that more accurately describe the extent of Lindsey's and Rico's life and the infants subjected to Fauci's experiments.
As I've delineated, Fauci's involvement in multiple attempts at "ART-free remission" for newborns, all at the expense of impoverished infants, predominantly of black ethnicity, is deeply concerning. The P1115 study alone involves over 440 infants, each potentially subjected to the "intensive" whims of Fauci's experimental fervor. Moreover, recurring terms such as "evaluating," "uncovering," "potential," and "intensive" underscore the persistent pursuit of dubious outcomes on a drug developed over half a century ago. Despite the staggering loss of hundreds of thousands of children, primarily from black communities, Fauci, Inc. has yet to save a single life through these experimental ventures.
The terminology Fauci employs to describe his audacious initiatives, particularly at the expense of innocent infants, brings back vivid recollections from the trial, which now transpired twelve years ago. During Huskins' testimony, there's a stark absence of terms like "potentials" or "evaluations," or acknowledgment of the evolving landscape of AZT, a drug once deemed too toxic for cancer patients but now said to be integral to AIDS treatment for over five decades. Instead, Huskins adamantly asserts that his administration of AZT to Rico is "evidence-based." Furthermore, he emphasizes that his evidence is not solely derived from individuals associated with NIH but a "committee of people that put this together…you know, people, in the academic medical centers."
Huskins' evidence-based argument regarding the efficacy and safety of AZT prompts a reflection on its product label, which underscores the lingering uncertainty surrounding its long-term safety and effectiveness, especially in pediatric populations after over fifty years of use. This contemplation leads me back to a pivotal moment encapsulated in the Day One interview, where Lindsey's situation was featured in 1993.
While the interview primarily focused on our decision to halt Lindsey's AZT treatment, it also unveiled a significant revelation regarding a flawed study highlighted during the program. This flawed study, sponsored by the manufacturer of AZT, WelcomeSmithCline, served as a cornerstone for the widespread administration of AZT to individuals testing positive for HIV or fearing HIV infection.
In the Day One broadcast, Dr. John Hamilton, the chief of infectious disease at the Durham North Carolina Veterans Administration Hospital Center, provided crucial insights. Dr. Hamilton conducted his own study on AZT usage in HIV-positive individuals, which contradicted the findings of the AZT producer's study. When asked about the purported benefits of early AZT treatment as indicated by the sponsored study, Hamilton unequivocally asserted, "they just didn't have any evidence." His V.A. study revealed that early administration of AZT did not confer survival benefits; in fact, those receiving AZT preemptively progressed more rapidly to death upon developing AIDS compared to those commencing AZT treatment later. This revelation underscores the critical importance of scrutinizing the purported evidence behind medical interventions, especially in light of potentially flawed studies with far-reaching implications.
By the time Day One aired, another study known as the Concord Study had been completed. The Concord Study also concluded that early AZT treatment "did not prolong life," which contradicted the findings of the initial study sponsored by the drugmaker. The drug producer, Burroughs Wellcome, was not concerned about the long-term effects on individuals like Lindsey but rather the potential damage the V.A. Study could inflict on AZT sales if it weren't the first drug to market. Burroughs Welcome even contacted Dr. Hamilton and suggested that he halt his study. Furthermore, Burroughs Welcome misrepresented the results of the V.A. trial.
Burroughs Welcome also sent letters to nearly every clinician who prescribed AZT, warning them about the V.A. study. Burroughs Welcome deliberately omitted the findings of both the V.A. study and the Concord study from their product insert. Burroughs Welcome's vice president, Dr. Dave Barry, explained that they excluded these results because they "disagreed with the statistical analysis." Not including these results in the product insert ensured that the V.A. study's findings would never be reported in a place where parents like us would be looking for information—the product label.
The glaring question is, where was the supposed oversight that should have been in place for an infant like Lindsey, and where was the FDA in all of this? In fact, Dr. David Kessler, the head of the FDA at the time, appeared on the Day One broadcast and admitted that the approval of AZT was flawed. He acknowledged that they still didn't have all the answers about AZT but justified their actions by saying, "the riskiest thing...is to be unwilling to take any risks."
Dr. Yesat Brooks, who headed the FDA's eleven-person AZT advisory committee that approved AZT, also appeared on the same broadcast. He admitted, "We had no way of scrutinizing the data...[and] learning about the side effects...I felt we compromised science and safety when we approved the drug [AZT] when we did." "We don't know what will happen a year from now." "The data is just too premature, and the statistics are not really well done. The drug [AZT] could actually be detrimental." Dr. Brooks was the only person to vote against the approval.
Does this resonate with anyone's conception of robust scientific practice? Would Dr. Kessler perceive science through the same lens if it were his own healthy infant child, akin to Lindsey, with blood counts well within the normal range? Could he justify subjecting his child to a drug labeled "too toxic for cancer patients" at a dosage considered "as close to a total dose... as can be tolerated"? This poignant inquiry underscores the glaring disparity between scientific integrity and potentially ulterior motives. We confront a scenario where AZT, discredited by not one but two conflicting studies in 1993, is now being resurrected by Dr. Huskins in 2012 as an evidence-based panacea for Rico.
The early years of Lindsey's life and how Cheryl and I navigated her presumed condition became a focal point for scrutiny from the elites, starting from Rico's birth through the trial and beyond. The prosecution argued that our decisions regarding Lindsey's care posed a threat to Rico's life, citing our choice to discontinue AZT, which resulted in Lindsey being the sole survivor from that era. Lindsey's status as the only survivor from the 1990s raised questions within the medical community that remained unanswered, prompting the transition of this issue from the medical realm to the legal domain.
I am not compelled to justify our decisions regarding Lindsey to either the medical establishment or the local legal system in Mower County. However, insights into our decision-making process at the time can be gleaned from one of the many recorded phone calls I had with the NIH in 1993. During one such call, I inquired about the NIH's guidelines for prescribing AZT, coinciding with the V.A. study's conclusion that AZT should not be administered to asymptomatic patients. The NIH representative I spoke with seemed puzzled when I mentioned Lindsey's age and CD4 cell count, responding, "Do you know what her CD4 cell count was then?" I said, "yes, it was 3700." "Oh… Hmm…”
This confusion prompted her to state, we (recommend) start(ing) therapy when the CD4 count is 500 or less." I then said, "I don't understand why (Lindsey) was started on AZT when it wasn't called for." The woman said, "I can't answer that; well, the guidelines we use here for starting antiviral therapy are based on CDC recommendations."
Following this conversation, we filed a complaint with the FDA. Several months later, we received a response from Jerold Mande, who informed us that he had forwarded our letter to the Center for Drug Evaluation and Research experts. Subsequently, David Feigal, Director of the Division of Antiviral Drug Products, acknowledged our concerns, stating, "You are correct regarding the use of the term asymptomatic in your letter. The current label describes an indication for patients who have a CD4 cell count >500…as you have pointed out, use in strictly asymptomatic patients has never been promoted by Burroughs/Wellcome, and if it were, we would act."
The trail of "flawed" and unsuccessful studies spanning over four decades has not only persisted but also served as the basis for Rico's treatment some 22 years later. This revelation underscores the critical importance of questioning established practices and examining the underlying motivations behind medical decisions. In Rico's case, it becomes glaringly evident that the well-being of an innocent child was compromised in the pursuit of upholding a flawed narrative. It stands as a poignant example of the lasting consequences that can result when erroneous information is allowed to endure, impacting lives long after its credibility has been shattered. Clearly, a drug that has been in use since the 1960s and is still claimed, in 2024, to have "unknown long-term effects" epitomizes a six-decade experiment with a hazardous black-label drug.
It's been over three decades since Lindsey began her arduous journey, and both Lindsey and Rico have departed from this world. It's evident that the elites would prefer this saga to fade into obscurity, as there is no longer any research value to be derived from either Lindsey or Rico. A candid and conclusive discussion concerning the questions about their lives may forever remain elusive. This is intrinsically linked to the absence of comprehensive documentation or an explanation of the underlying motives. I can assert with absolute certainty the existence of covert activities, reaching the highest echelons where logical reasoning and discernible patterns converge around the theme of experimentation.
Time has allowed for the certainty that all the events described up to this point leading up to Rico's birth are taking place both during and following Lindsey's pregnancy and also unfolding concurrently with Dr. Fauci's public call for hospitals to remain vigilant for a mother and newborn, fitting the precise and intricate criteria of Lindsey and Rico. Medical professionals and researchers may attempt to downplay these events as mere coincidences, encouraging everyone to dismiss any doubts. Nevertheless, it remains a fundamental truth that when human factors are involved, genuine coincidences are infrequent. Within the scientific domain, what some might label as conspiracy theories often turn out to be unresolved enigmas that defy straightforward explanations, whether on a chalkboard or through the lens of a laser pen.
Given the absence of transparency from the elites, I can only surmise that there was a deliberate manipulation of the narrative by individuals who actively integrated themselves into Lindsey's life. Their actions appeared to have intentionally suppressed information regarding the functional cure and the Mississippi baby experiment. This secrecy seemed to be linked to broader medical experiments or initiatives concerning HIV/AIDS. There was a pressing need for this veil of secrecy to safeguard their participation while also maintaining a firm grip on the situation. This imperative likely extended to the involvement of Mower County, as observed in the case of the Long Beach mother, who was deemed by the court to be unfit to care for an HIV-positive child.
If Huskins had positioned himself as a principal investigator, as I suspect, he would have agreed to certain conditions or protocols set by influential figures in the field, such as Fauci himself. Huskins may have also been following official guidelines or directives from medical authorities that discouraged discussing experimental treatments or confidential studies with Lindsey and John. In the unusual circumstance where medical authorities withhold information from patients or parents, the case involving Lindsey and John has introduced a surprising degree of flexibility in parental rights. Mayo Clinic's actions appeared designed to distance themselves from legal responsibility by involving the county, which held legal guardianship over Rico and thus had the authority to make medical decisions, including experimental consent.
As I see the never-before-seen documents begin to take over the story, I find myself merely following their chronological trail. Their emergence has transformed my narrative from what some critics might initially label a conspiracy into a series of events they'll eventually dismiss as mere coincidences. As I continue to study the intricacies of the story, these documents combined with the obvious missing information, I get closer to the truth that challenges my understanding of what really happened, a fact that defies easy categorization, blurring the lines between the unbelievable and the undeniable.
The patterns become so profound that to dismiss them as mere coincidence would be to overlook the grand design of fate itself. The rhythm of what transpired during Lindsey's life stretches far beyond the limits of chance. The connections between Lindsey and Rico's lives are not accidents of fate but rather the guiding truth toward an understanding that forces are at play beyond our comprehension. Sometimes, the most extraordinary truths are hidden in the folds of what may seem like ordinary occurrences. Digging deeper into the enigma of these events should lead one to the precipice of a revelation that will forever alter one's perception of the medical and scientific community.