Toxic Toyland

Debbie 14yrs old ~ Cable Beach.

Dedicated to my best friend Debbie in recognition of her courageous battle against the Health Care system. Stricken with TB when she was only 19, Debbie should not have had to battle the Health Care system along with her disease, instead they should have been there to protect and help her. Her story should be an eye opener for anyone who believes that the CDC and our Health Care Systems are to be considered benevolent friends in time of need.

When her son Sean was born, Debbie was not allowed to hold him, she was allowed to look at him for one minute through a glass window at the hospital ward and then he was whisked away and she was returned to quarantine. Hence, my tribute is called… Just beyond the glass…

Here is Debbie’s story, in her own words ~

Sometime during October / November of 1975, while visiting family in N.J., I developed a nagging cough. I was about 4 months pregnant with my second child, Sean. When the condition continued for a couple of weeks, I went to see my OB/GYN and told him about it. He gave me a basic exam and stated it was probably Post Nasal Drip. The cough continued along with night sweats and fatigue. Month after month I complained and was merely given antibiotics. Soon the symptoms worsened to the point that I was coughing so much (especially at night when I tried to sleep. It seemed worse whenever I was lying down rather than sitting or standing), that I began to cough up and throw up large amounts of blood.

Finally, one night late March, 1976, I was coughing so hard and so much that I started having severe chest pain and felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was rushed to the hospital wherein they began running tests. X-rays showed that my left lung had collapsed and had a suspicious spot (about the size of a ½ dollar they said). I was given a TB skin test (which takes about 24 – 72 hours to review) and was asked to cough and then spit on a little rectangular lab side. This was so they could view the sputum under a microscope.

Needless to say, preliminary results indicated that I had an active case of tuberculosis. I was immediately turned over to the State of Florida’s Health Care System. Apparently, Florida had never had a recorded case of active Tuberculosis of a woman who was in her 3rd trimester before. Actually, I was the first case of this magnitude they had seen since the 1950’s!

The Health Care Dept. took over my case and my life. I had strict rules to follow and breaking any of them would have been considered a felony offense. I had to report in to the clinic daily at first. I was given a once a day pill (INH) and every other day I was given a very thick serum in a huge needle of a drug called Streptomycin. It eventually left me with horrible bruises from the top of my hips down to mid thigh on both legs.

The Health Care Dept. informed me that I would be placed in a government controlled sanitorium for a minimum of two years (maybe longer) or until I died from the disease. They also told me that they would be taking my soon to be born son away from me the moment he was born. He would have to undergo many tests and if he was clear, he would be placed in foster care during the time I was to be incarcerated. Fortunately, my pastor’s son and wife stepped up to the plate and asked to be his foster parents. The courts agreed.

When it came time to deliver my baby, I had to endure induced labor (3 times) over a 36 hour period. My OB / Gyn came into the labor room and told me that I was subconsciously holding back and endangering the baby’s life. He said if this didn’t change, they would have to resort to a C-Section. Ifinally let go and Sean was born. In an instant they whisked him out of that delivery room and placed him in quarantine.

While I was on the delivery table, they told me to look up across the room. There was a small window (approximately 10” X 16”) in the delivery room door. A nurse briefly held my blanket wrapped baby up to the window so I that I could see him. I barely remember seeing his little face from that distance. I too was placed in quarantine.

Later that week, after much pleading, I was masked and clothed in special clothing and taken by wheel chair to Sean’s quarantined nursery. Again, through a small window in the nursery door, a nurse held him up for me to see. From a distance of about 7 feet, I was allowed to see his little face for about 2 minutes. Then I was immediately taken back to quarantine.

My husband (at that time) and my 4 ½ year old son were given skin tests (negative, thank God!) and had to be put on INH pills for 2 years. So did all of my friends and church family members. I was sent home a few days later. By penalty of law, I was under strict orders to not ever leave my house or be in public for any reason, under any circumstances. Except for my regular visits to the Health Dept every other day where I received more shots each time. I was truly miserable and post partum blues started to set in. I called my son’s caretakers several times a day to ask what he looked like, how he was feeding, etc. My husband at that time rarely even went to see him.

Depression intensified over the first 4 weeks after delivery. It felt as if I had given birth to a still born child. I had not as yet held him or even touched him. My Health Dept. routine continued for 30 days after delivering Sean. I was not going to the sanatorium until the final test results (which they had been cultivating for over 8 weeks) were in. This test was a culture derived from the sputum test that was done 4 weeks before giving birth. It apparently takes about 8 weeks to grow out colonies. Anything more than a few colonies was considered severe. So, when Sean was 30 days old, I was to have the culture results.

One week before this final appointment, I started praying intensely every night. I was praying to die. I was so weak and did not feel strong enough to take care of my 4 year old son. I was being led to believe that I was dying. I was coughing up and throwing up blood constantly. I could not lie down without severe coughing episodes. I was exhausted. So, not wanting to commit suicide, I started praying to simply die and end my misery. I did this for hours every night for 7 nights straight.

On the 7th night, feeling sicker than ever, I begged God to take me. It was 2:07 AM. I remember this so clearly. I don’t know if the following was a dream, a vision or if it really happened. I left my body and floated to the ceiling of my bedroom. I looked down at my own body lying on the bed. Initially I felt very happy believing that God had answered my prayers and that I was finally FREE! I flew straight through the roof of my home and was immediately encompassed by total blackness. It seemed as if I existed, but it was totally different. It was like being in a void or vacuum. I had no body, no sense of feel, taste, sight or sound. I was moving at an incredible speed towards a distant light that grew brighter and brighter nano-second by nano-second.

In less than a blink of an eye, I was instantly made aware of everything that my life had represented. From conception to that moment, everything I had ever felt, thought, ate, did….every sound I had ever uttered. Every detail that I had ever experienced I KNEW in a split second. Like a stamp in my mind. BOOM! What stood out however was that I was being allowed to come Home but was coming home “incomplete”.

I was made aware that everything God had purposed for me to do here on earth was not yet done. I realized the impact of what I had done when I had begged God to take me Home before my time. He was showing me what I would be leaving behind. I immediately felt intense remorse and begged him to forgive me for my lack of Faith. My movement towards that light stopped immediately. Then, the light started coming to me. When it reached me it completely engulfed my essence. I was instantly filled with such Peace like I had never experienced before. It was as if God himself had his arms all around me!

The next thing I knew I was awake and lying in my bed. I looked at the clock and it was now 2:20 AM. Less than 15 minutes had transpired. I fell into a deep sleep and awoke about 4 hours later. When I arose, I noticed how different I felt. I had energy. I was not coughing. Nothing! I had that final checkup before being shipped off to a sanitarium scheduled for 9 AM that morning. The results from the 8 week culture were due to be reported to me during this visit.

I arrived at the Health Dept. on time and with a huge grin. I started to tell the staff and the doctor about what had happened the night before. (big mistake). They thought I was nuts and treated me as such. The doctor sat me down and proceeded to report to me that the test results showed that my sputum had grown out over 300,000 colonies of TB. According to him, this was the worse case of TB in the entire history of the state of Florida at that time. I was instructed to go home and pack for the sanatorium.

I insisted that I was healed whether he wanted to believe it or not. I refused to budge. He finally agreed to run more tests that day. First we did the spit test on the little glass to look under a microscope. It was negative. He said that it was probably due to the Streptomycin shots I had been receiving every other day for the last two months. I insisted on X-rays.

BINGO! The first set they did showed no signs of TB. That ½ dollar sized hole was not to be found. No scarring either. The doctor then said it was probably due to bad positioning on the X-ray table. So, he took more X-rays. And more X-rays. And more X-rays. The hole in my lung had vanished. He didn’t know what to say or do!

I then insisted that they give me back my baby. They refused. They insisted that I had the worse case of TB and could not possibly survive without being in the sanatorium. I asked them about the test results showing no TB. He simply wrote in my file something to the effect of “unexplained” results. I again insisted that they give me back my baby. They kept refusing.

This went on all day until 6PM closing time. I took it upon myself to barricade their front door. No one was getting past me. They tried to move me, but I wouldn’t budge. They threatened to call the police and I told them to go ahead. I wasn’t leaving without my baby.

Someone called the powers that be in Tallahassee to report what was happening. Finally, someone authorized me to be allowed to go home with my son. This was conditional however. I was to stay on the INH pills for 2 years (along with everyone else who had come into contact with me). Sean was to also be on baby doses of the same medication along with liquid Pyridoxine for one year. I was to come to the clinic once a week for 2 years and allow them access to my home once a month to count the pills in my medicine bottles to ensure that I was complying. I happily agreed.

I flew to my pastor’s son and daughter-in-law’s house and held my son for the first time! He was 30 days old and so beautiful! The joy I felt is indescribable, even to this day.

This is a true story and one that I will share over and over again until my last breath. God is so Good, Faithful, Loving, Powerful, All Encompassing and so Evident.

Peace and Blessings always,

Debbie K.