Pushing buttons

Pushing buttons


Those of you who have read my Substack since the beginning, may recall the story about me poking a stick in the yellow jackets nest. There were other more benign, but related events of me probing and testing the world and its inhabitants. In fact, there are many memorable non-events. Did escalators scare you as a child? Heck, did the bathtub drain scare you? I know it scared at least some of us, because Mr Rogers sang a song about it. “You Can Never Go Down the Drain.” Hah!

I wish he’d done a song about the sharp teeth of the escalators, but at least he did produce a sweet episode about up and down which included escalators. In my little kid brain, it seemed absolutely possible that my sneakers could get caught in moving stairs, pulled into them and mashed into bits! Every Christmas my wife and I watch Elf, with Will Ferrel, and I think the scene with him doing that fearful split on the ascending escalators is brilliant.

The escalators in our local Sears Roebuck were particularly captivating— and terrifying— to me as a child. One year around Christmas I saw the big red button at the base of the handle belt, with letters underneath that said STOP. Without much thought and zero premeditation I leaned over and pushed it. Then, those mashing metal teeth stopped. The silence was eerie. I felt this sensation of power over my destiny, that little old me could stop this enormous machine with the push of a button. I looked around and saw no one. Realizing that I maybe should not have done that, I hastily made my getaway. I ran down the now still stairway which released a hollow clunk with each step. I caught up with my mom and we left without further incident— until twelve years later….


As a teenager, I lived with my Nana and Pop pop in the tiny village of Parkerford, PA, in a little house, with a corn field in our backyard.  My high school was named after the former Supreme Court Justice Owen J Roberts.  We had an active chapter of the Future Farmers of America (FFA), and in the Fall and Spring seasons, when the windows of our classrooms were open, the sweet smell of cow manure being spread on the fields filled the air.  There was also a farm store across the street from our school where many of us headed for snacks before catching the late bus home.  

Trips into the vast city of Philadelphia were therefore a very big deal.  My friend Larami, now an esteemed Interventional Neurologist in the University of Pennsylvania health care system, loved, loved, loved to initate those trips.  We would drive to Paoli and catch the R5 SEPTA Regional Rail line into Center City Philadelphia.  Before Christmas of 1986, Larami, his brother Monk , Chris and I made one such trip.  Larami’s inspirations and infatuations of the moment circumscribed our plans.  So, first we went for the buffet at Salad Alley in the Bourse Building for lunch. Then we headed to The Galleries for some shopping. This was an urban mall with at leat four levels opening onto a vast interior, and it…was…packed.  We entered on the street level and approached the escalator.  Without premeditation, and with an impulsivity that I cannot explain or defend, my eyes landed on the big red STOP button below the escalator railing, right where it had been all those years ago. I leaned over, and pushed it.

Unlike the Sears escalator of my boyhood however, this one was packed with people, who all gave a little forward and backward bobble as the escalator suddenly stopped.I was just ahead of my friends, and when they saw what I had done, they looked at me in surprise, perhaps amusement, and then concern. Within moments I was surrounded by at least six very large security officers. The Gallery didn’t mess around with security. Gang activity and drive by shootings were on the rise, and off-duty police officers could pick up some nice extra pay during Christmas. These security officers were at least twice as tall and three times as wide as me.

Their radios crackled. Ccckkkk “Level one escalator has stopped. Nobody appears to be hurt.” Ccccckkkkkk “We have a white male teen in custody.” Cccckkkkk. Before they even bothered asking me what I had done, they turned to my friends and asked “Is he with you?” They all shook their heads no and slowly backed away. F#@*?rs!! Obviously we were together. Then the guards all turned back to me. I remember looking up and seeing about five hundred people lining the railings of the different levels to see what was gong to happen to this crazy little white boy.

Time passed. I was contemplating what I would tell my Pop pop when I called from the city jail. “You what!?!” More radio crackling. Cccckkkkk “Yes sir. Yes sir. No sir. I don’t think so sir. Roger that sir.” Cccccckkkkk. One of the very big men looked at me and said “We’re going to have to ask you and your friends to leave and not return to the premises.” Really? That’s it? No jail? No report? They escorted me and my disavowing friends to the nearest exit and stood inside the doors to make sure we went on our way.

Well, dear reader, I’d be lying if I said that was the last button I ever pushed. Which brings me to the present moment.


Once a month I meet with wise man who I’ll call my business guru and emotional mentor. His name is Geep, and he likes to tell me instructive stories which I don’t always enjoy. One thing which he has told me more times than I can remember is, “Scott, try not to piss people off by accident.” Well, last week on the FLCCC Webinar, I think I pissed off a lot of women who are keen on using collagen to soften their wrinkles, harden their nails, and keep their hair from falling out. Frankly, I’m lucky to be alive!

It was great fun being on the weekly webinar with Dr Marik. During the webinar, when I shared my observations that collagen appeared to be provoking platelet aggregation and activaton in my patients, it didn’t seem like a big deal. Perhaps what I forgot to say was what all of the Tarot readers my wife watches on You Tube say: “The following is for entertainment purposes only.” When Pierre texts me on Saturday and writes “I known it’s your one day off, but….”, what follows is never good. It seems that I stirred up a shit storm with those observations and the FLCCC was trying to manage it.

To differentiate the players, the FLCCC is a rigorously science-based organization, and Dr Marik is the guardian of that galaxy. If there aren’t studies to back an assertion, or a heck of a lot of clinical observeration, it isn’t going to make it onto the FLCCC protocols. On the other hand, the Leading Edge Clinic is our private telemedicine practice, and as diligent clinicians, if we see signals that a therapy is harming our patients, we won’t wait until a study comes out to warn them. For example, Dr Peter McCullough asserted months ago that shedding wasn’t real, because he couldn’t find any studies which supported the ideas. The rest is history, as we began acting based upon our clinical observations re: shedding almost a year ago, instead of waiting for a study which may never happen to confirm it. Now I can’t count how many interviews Pierre has given on the topic!

Back to collagen. I understand that it could be upsetting to hear me assert that the supplement your functional medicine physician / chiropractor / naturopath / yoga instructor (not kidding here) recommended to you may be exacerbating coaguloptahy in your body. All you were trying to do was not look so damn old. As John Stewart recently said during his second episode of The Daily Show in nine years: “I have sinned against you. I’m sorry. It was never my intention to say out loud what I saw with my eyes and then brain. I can do better.” Instead of Stewart’s ironic statement that “democracy dies in discussion”, I could say “science dies in discussion.”

Forgive me for my habit of risk benefit analysis. Not only are there no studies supporting my position on collagen and clotting, there is even one research paper from 2004 which may contradict it. Of course that paper was written before space aliens zapped us with a bioweapon made in the distant galaxy of Wuhan and deranged our bodies to such a degree that most of our pre-exisitng lab studies, radiologic tools, and diagnostic approaches have been nearly useless. It’s also worth mentioning that the collagen market is estimated at 5.1 billion USD in 2023 and is projected to reach 7.4 Billion USD by 2030, at a compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of 5.3% from 2023 to 2030. This is a minor matter though, because I’m sure that the good people of supplement sales only have our best interests at heart. It also doesn’t really matter that there really isn’t substantial evidence to support the benefit of collagen in attaining beautiful skin, full bodied hair, strong nails. We also need not be troubled by the lack of any standardization or FDA regulation of these collagen products which are ingested in good faith by so many.

Did you know that collagen is a waste product? It’s made from the leftover connective tissue of fish, pigs and cows (unless you’re getting the vegan version). I love waste products as much as the next guy. We have had a worm composter in our basement for years. I love making them smile with a bruised avocado half. Their excrement feeds the beautiful lives of our houseplants and garden. Our cat litter is made from the refuse of lumber mills, pine wood sawdust. It smells great and we can compost it. Even yummy apple cider is a refuse product made from the seconds. The thing is that besides apple cider, I can’t think of another refuse product which I would ingest, let alone pay big money to consume.

According to historian Roxeanne Dunbar Ortiz, at its peak, the Native American population of North American reached 450 million people. They lived on this land for millenia. Uniformly, they used every part of the animals and fish which they hunted and harvested. Tendons and sinews were used to make bowstrings and thread. Cartilage and hooves could be ground into glue. But, they didn’t routinely ingest connective tissue, the basis of animal collagen. Why not? Did they intuitively understand something which escapes us in the present moment?

What follows is a case series of patients in whom I think that collagen played a role in their pathology and in most cases, may have set them up for their original injury, and often exacerbated coagulopathy. You’ll see references to Vitamin K2 as well. I won’t entertain questions about that until I’ve been able to explain my observations and strategy in next weeks’ Substack. I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of time on this project in the last week. Because the number of cases is fifteen and growing, I’m going to divide this up between today and next week. As a disclaimer, the following is for entertainment purposes only, and it is not to be misconstrued as frontline clinical insight or evidence from an expert in the field. ; )

Patient 0

18yo female x2 mRNA Pfizer vaccine injury within two weeks of second shot.  Family unvaccinated. First visit 2/23.  Previously healthy, s/p tonsillectomy, competitive athlete.  Intake reports fatigue, shortness of breath, chest pain, joint pain, dizziness when standing, fast or pounding heart rate (HR), worsened symptoms after activity. Blurred vision when exercising, dizzy, light headed, nauseous, swollen ankles, chest and back pain, heavy weight on chest, sharp pains on left side of chest, trouble breathing, high heart rate and high diastolic blood pressure when exercising. 2/23 live blood analysis showed RBC aggregates, Rouleaux formations, poikilocytes, echinocytes, schisocytes, acanthocytes, and platelet aggregation.  Initiated Aspirin, Eliquis, IVM and NAC Augmentata 3/23.  By 5/23 had seen tremendous improvement in leg movement and strength,adjusting fine motor movements, working with an unvaccinated personal trainer.  4 of 4 microclotting, severe and widespread in study 10/23.  It was surprising that her level was still this high despite five months of anticoagulation therapy.  11/23 visit revealed that several months ago she had tried collagen for 3-4 days.  During that time, leg pain and weakness which was associated with her microclotting became much worse.   Spike ab not available due to location and lack of access to a Lab Corp facility.

Batch ADRs Deaths Disabilities Life Threatening Illnesses

FN7924 No data

FM2952 2

Patient 1

20yo female, x2 mRNA Pfizer vaccine injury.  First seen 2/24.  Previously healthy with no surgical history.  Spouse is not vaccinated, and shedding exposure is primarily from her boosted mother.  Intake reports fatigue, shortness of breath, fast or pounding heart rate, possible enlarged atrium, low blood pressure.  Interview reveals strong signal of MCAS with childhood migraines and many food sensitivities. Also had pediatric GI issues which continue into the present moment.  Developed increased anxiety post-vaccine and started Lamotrigine, currently weaning.  Fainted following a competitive sports event in July 2023.   Started collagen on and off for hair/skin/bones in August 2023.   Started iron supplementation due to fatigue about December  2023.   DC’d oral birth control December 2023.  Had a second fainting episode at work in January of 2024.  Developed chest pain, dyspnea and fatigue.  ED visit showed abnormal ECG, and follow up cardiac echocardiogram was abnormal with possible atrial enlargement, further evaluation pending.  Labs for spike ab, D-dimer, neurotransmitters (urine) pending.

Patient 2

55yo female, post-acute sequelae of COVID (PASC), unvaccinated.  Spouse is vaccinated. First seen 1/24.  Hx TBI, cervical cancer, asthma, hypothyroidism S/p incarcerated inguinal hernia, hysterectomy, oophorectomy, cholecystectomy, appendectomy, tonsillectomy, adenoidectomy, right knee replacement x3 in 18 months. Intake reports fatigue, brain fog, memory problems, shortness of breath, chest pain, joint pain, dizziness when standing, symptoms worsening after activity, distant Hx of PE. Pain in the spleen, increased CRP values, inflammation, severe constipation.  COVID in late 2019, early 2020, and early November 2023.  Strong signal of MCAS,with very narrow range of foods she can eat.  Taking collagen and Vitamin K2.  Guided to DC both.

Spike ab 2345 U/mL

>>D-dimer 0.87 mg/L FEU

PAI-1 4G/4G polymorphism (denotes high risk of developing venous thromboembolism)

ADAMTS13 >100%

ADAMTS13 Ab 3 U/mL

Factor VIII Activity 70%

Serotonin, serum 76 ng/mL

Patient 3

68 year old male with PASC, unvaccinated.  Initial symptoms in 2/23 were sinus congestion, impact on right ear hearing, new diagnosis of asthma, and wet end-expiratory breath sounds.  Raynaud’s began before COVID and receiving monoclonal antibodies in the Winter of 2020.  Post-COVID, developed an arrtyhmia and worsening GERD.  Has had allergies his whole life.  Most recently, feeling well overall, but has intermittent muscular trouble with focal pain in one leg and bilateral leg fatigue after exertion.

Spike ab level: 3564 U/mL in 2/23, down to 157 U/mL 5/23, up to 2172 U/mL 12/20/23 following travel and shedding exposure. Microclotting score 3 of 4 moderate in 8/23, drop to only 2.75 of 4 in 1/24.  Question arose re: why there was such a small drop in microclotting after five months with use of Aspirin, IVM, Serrapeptase, Nattokinase, Flavay, Baobab, NAC Augmentata.  Scrutiny of medication reconciliationg (med rec) revealed that he was taking collagen protein peptides as a powder along with Vitamin K2 in an MVI.  The collagen had been recommended by a functional medicine physician for muscle soreness several years ago.  Collagen and Vitamin K2 DC’d.

Patient 4

54 y.o. female x2 mRNA Pfizer with vaccine injury.  First seen for acute COVID in 9/22.  Seen in follow up 10/22 for persistent enlarged, painful lymph nodes, then 11/22 for vaccine injury.  Had been on a proton pump inhibitor (PPI) when she was originally infected with COVID and vaccinated, which likely contributed to her injury.  She stopped this in early 11/22.  Lymph nodes in bilateral axillae continued to be painful, and she noted outbreak of Herpes Simplex Virus (HSV) lesions on her lips.  Reporting persistent heel pain, GERD.  In 12/22, had extended menses of twenty days, which stopped 4-5 days after initiation of high dose IVM.  We then dropped the dose due to emerging photosensitivity.  Nattokinase was started.  Lost weight, followed a lower histamine diet, had COVID again around Memorial Day 2023.  Menses began to be prolonged again, following acute COVID and extensive travel for work.  Was experiencing increased fatigue.  Started sipping Baobab in 7/23 as one of our twenty pilot study participants.  Spike ab level has consistently been >25,000 U/mL since first testing in 7/23, and with repeat testing in  9/23 and 1/24.  Microclotting score was 3 out of 4, moderate 8/23.

Batch ADRs Deaths Disabilities Life Threatening Illnesses

EW0177 1458 6 12 18

Fasting glucose decreased from 99 to 96 over the first month of sipping Baobab.  Menses stabilized.  Began anticoagulation with Aspirin, Eliquis and Plavix in 9/23, along with IVM, NAC Augmentata, Nattokinase.  In 10/23 saw decreased dyspnea with exertion, but injured left shoulder while lifting a heavy object. At this time she stopped taking collagen, and began taking colostrum to help heal her gut. I was not yet suspecting the role of collagen in provoking coagulopathy.  Use of the Arc Microtech helped minimize bruising and bleeding concerns on anticoagulation.  Despite stress of family health issues, job changes, and her own health challenges, she was doing well during this period.  Flavay was started in 11/23, and we fine-tuned treatment for MCAS by adding Antronex, a natural antihistamine from Standard Process.  She had an acute viral illness around Thanksgiving following exposure to many family members who were acutely ill.  We initiated peptide BPC-157 for gut healing and ProTandim for emerging cognitive concerns.  Chronic connective tissue concerns began to yield, with less shoulder and heel pain, improved appetite, resolution of skin issues.  She had backed off the Baobab use for two months.  Menses became elongated again, and she was having sleep disturbances.

Patient 5

49 yo female, PASC, unvaccinated.  Husband not vaccinated.  Hx migraines, MTHFR gene mutation, S/p ACL reconstruction.  Previous COVID-19 infection by testing or presumptive by symptoms, January 2022 and December 2022.  Onset ~ four weeks after initial COVID infection.  Intake reports brain fog, memory problems, anxiety and depression. Mother, sister’s husband and all of their close friends have been vaccinated. Was around them after sick first time. Unvaccinated daughter and son attend schools around many vaccinated students.  Husband works around many vaccinated individuals.  Shedding is an active dynamic and ongoing consideration in her care.  2/23 labs showed spike ab 844 U/mL and slight elevation of D-Dimer at 0.51 mg/L FEU, a late sign of microclotting.  3/23 labs reflected reactivation of EBV with early antigen level of 10.4 U/mL.  8/23 microclotting study showed stage/grade 4 of 4, widespread and significant.  Patient and her husband asserted that there was a mistake in the labs and this was another patient’s blood. When she went to the lab for another draw, the phlebotomist couldn’t draw her blood, because it kept clotting.  They then agreed this was in fact her blood, and wished to initiate treatment.  Started triple anticoagulation with Aspirin, Eliquis and Plavix as well as IVM, LDN, NAC Augmentata, Nattokinase.  Repeat microclotting study 11/23 showed reduction to 2.5 of 4, mild.  Patient felt 95% recovered.  In 12/23 and 1/24 visits, patient was exhibiting some relapse of symptoms secondary to shedding, but still doing well overall. In 1/24 visit she remarked, “Two weeks ago I was feeling really good.  I haven’t felt that good since 2022.”  Then her menses came, and she experienced a return of severe migraine.  At the end of the visit, in response to questioning from this provider, she reported that she had started taking collagen a few weeks ago.  Collagen DC’d after this visit. End of 2/24 patient reports that she is feeling much better, and was able to go for a one mile walk.

Patient 6

39 yo female, x2 mRNA Pfizer vaccine injury.   Increased fatigue over 2021 following vaccination.  Previous COVID-19 infection by testing or presumptive by symptoms, December 2021.    Husband vaccinated, works in health care.  Hx chronic fatigue syndrome, headaches, migraines. S/p no surgeries declared.  Intake reports fatigue, brain fog, memory problems, dizziness when standing, chest pain, tachycardia, headaches, depression or anxiety, worsened symptoms after activity, new onset daily headaches/ migraines, nausea.  One night she didn’t take her Aspirin, and the next day she had a severe headache.  “This is like dementia. I would open the fridge ten times and not knowing what I was looking for.”  During discussion late 2023, patient reported that she would use collagen supplementation in a liquid form regularly in the years before she became sick with COVID.   2/23, spike ab was 9814 U/mL.  8/23 study showed 4 of 4 microclotting, severe and widespread.  

Batch ADRs Deaths Disabilities Life Threatening Illnesses
EL0140    1243           52                    20                  24
EJ686             8

Patient 7

61yo female, PASC, unvaccinated.   First seen 4/22.  Hx of hypertension (HTN), s/p tubal ligation and foot surgery.  Three previous COVID-19 infections by testing or presumptive by symptoms, 11/2020 around Thanksgiving, and again 1/21, 7/22.  Onset 3/21, with lost of taste and smell, hypertension, fatigue, brain fog and memory problems, with worse symptoms after exertion. Stress from a busy work week also exacerbates symptoms.  Eating a low histmaine diet.  Completed BioAnalytics cytokine panel with Dr Patterson, started on Maraviroc for one month and most of symptoms resolved, although CCL4 remained elevated.  Excercise with HR > 100 provokes post-exertional malaise, and allergy symptoms with increased phlegm production and watering eyes for several days afterwards, at worst with vertigo, nausea and vomiting.  Low dose Dexamethasone was helfpul, as well as short-term, low dose Fluvoxamine.  HR improved and tapered off a beta blocker.  High dose IVM didn’t resolve loss of taste and smell; we then tried Vascepa, again without benefit.  Spike ab was 2497 U/mL.  During 2/23 visit, secondary to shedding from spouse traveling to a trade show, going to the gym, and being around vax/boosted people, saw increase in sympotm burden.  Experiencing eye twitching, vertigo, heat on back of her neck, returning fatigue, and increasing BP.  Initiated Arc Microtech after 7/23 visit.  At 11/23 visit, vertigo resolved, drop of spike ab to 940 U/mL continuing with low intensity exercise, modulating MCAS with antihistamines, and eating lower histamine diet.  Aspirin and Flavay initiated for presumed microclotting.  In successive visit Antronex and Ketotifen for MCAS initiated, and Oxytocin for taste/smell.  Completed microclotting study 1/24, which showed 2.5 of 4, mild.  During that visit, in response to my questions, she reported that she had been taking collagen 1 Tablespoon daily for years.  Collagen DC’d.  Within about two weeks of stopping the collagen, and initiating low-dose Nicotine patch, her taste and smell, which had remained elusively absent for more than two years, began to return, albeit inconsistently.  

P.S.. Thank you to Dr Ronald Epner for your generous financial support as the first reader to become a Founder. And thank you to each of the individuals who has chosen to support this work by becoming paid subscribers.

P.S.S. If you know someone in Wyoming or West Virginia who would enjoy reading Lightning Bug, please share. Those are the only two states from which I don’t have subscribers. I’m offering a free lifetime subscription to the first person from each of those states to become a reader.

P.S.S.S. I tried to send out a brief survey re: collagen and it didn’t work out of the box, so I deleted it. I’ll try again after learning more about this tool.

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Do not go gently

Do not go gently


When I was 14 years old, I was still living with my mom, stepfather and sister in rural Connecticut. Our family dynamics were acrimonious. We tried to resolve matters with a family therapist who I had known since I was a “hyperactive” little boy placed on Ritalin. Ultimately, he fired us as his clients, because he thought he couldn’t do anything to help us. Not long after that, I ran away and landed at my dad and stepmother‘s for a brief spell. My stepmother was not interested in me joining their family unit and presented me with two options: go to boarding school or go live with your paternal grandparents. To their immense and eternal credit, my Nana and Pop pop had been tracking my misadventures as a young teenager and stepped into the gap to offer me a home. After settling the legal details, my father delivered me to Nana and Pop pop in March 1983.

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Parkerford 1984

The feeling I remember at that time was one of immense relief. Nana had cleared out the contents of a bureau in the bedroom; a bedroom which I had known from infancy, when we woud visit Nana and Pop pop for holidays. The room had bright yellow and orange flowered wallpaper and two creaky twin beds with feather pillows. There were the sounds of the tinkling radiators at night , the creaking springs of the bed as I turned on it, and the smells of old dog, cigar smoke and yummy cooking. I found these all immensely comforting.

There was of course a honeymoon stage. Pop pop and I had always played gin rummy when I would visit, so after I first arrived, we had a routine of playing several rounds of gin when I got home from school. I started to get better and better at cards, and then to beat him, which was incredibly frustrating for him. Within a relatively short period of time our games lost that spirit of playful competition because he would reliably get angry at losing, and so sadly, we stopped playing.

Pop pop’s uniform consisted of navy Dickies pants and shirt that he would wear when he was working on cars. This uniform was the same one he had worn for forty-five years when he ran his service station. He wore a working man’s Oxford shoe with slip resistant rubber soles. I needed some new clothes and so the first clothes I got were similar blue pants and the same kind of shoes from the local shoe store.

I was ahead of my peers in Spanish because of the excellent public school system I had attended in Connecticut. One of the classes I entered midstream was senior-level Spanish. I realize that the students were very gentle with me, considering what a big dork I was. I remember Susan, one of the pretty girls from the field hockey team, commenting without judgment “You look like a miniature version of your grandfather with your work shoes and Dickies.” At the time I was proud of that and didn’t realize it was a social liability. By the time I graduated, I had reinvented myself to such a degree that I was voted best dressed guy in my graduating class. This actually became one of many points of contention between my Pop-pop and me, as he would call me a fashion plate as I headed out for the bus in the morning.

On the way to Best Dressed, Junior Prom 1986

Nana and Pop pop had not been engaged in parenting for 20 years and a lot had changed during that time. Despite the fact that I was a straight A student and graduated second in my class, my Nana remained convinced that I was a drug user, who would surreptitiously drink alcohol at late night parties. Nothing could’ve been farther from the truth, but I think she was watching too much TV. That’s what could happen if all you watch is soap operas and Donahue.

During this time we had to get to know each other as imperfect human beings on a daily basis rather than the grandson and grandparents we each knew from occasional and relatively short visits during holidays. One thing which shocked me was hearing my Nana swear. Keep in mind that she looked like a little old lady, who spent the better part of her day, sitting on the couch, knitting sweaters, and watching soap operas. I was also coming from a household ruled by a Navy Captain for whom uttering the word crap was a punishable offense. I nearly fell off my chair the day I heard my Nana in the kitchen say “Oh shit.”

I also came to feel the tension between my Nana and Pop pop and understood that it had very old roots. My Pop pop at the age of twenty seven, enlisted in the Marines to go fight in the Pacific during World War II. He didn’t have to, and left for uncertainty and danger, leaving my Nana and two young boys behind. During that time, my Nana had what would later be called a “nervous breakdown.” I don’t believe she ever forgave my Pop pop for that, and I don’t think there’s anything he ever could’ve done to make up for that lost time. They didn’t stop loving each other, but that bone of contention was right there between them every day since 1945.

Pop pop had lots of stories that he told over and over. They used to fascinate me as a boy but living with Nana and Pop Pop, and hearing the stories for the fifth, sixth or seventh time was a little bit wearisome. He had multiple phrases that he’d like to use. Some of the most memorable would be “More _____ than you can shake a stick at,” or “I wouldn’t give you a nickel for a box car full of them,” or “I told him to take a long walk off a short pier.” My all-time favorite had to do with gauging the trustworthiness of someone. He would say “If he goes to church check him twice. If he sings in the choir, check him three times.”

My Nana had her own phrases which tended to be darker. I had never heard these as a boy growing up, but they came out in day-to-day life and close proximity. For instance, “More people dead, more blood in the gutter, and no spoon to eat it with.” Or the alarming “Just take me out behind the barn and shoot me.” Or, most relevant to today’s discussion, “Growing old is for the birds. “

When I was a senior in high school, I had the lead in a play called You Can’t Take It With You. I played the grandfather. My Nana and Pop Pop came to see the performance, and afterwards my Pop-pop commented —more than asked. “So that’s what I’m like?” It hurt my heart. I actually hadn’t considered that he would see my portrayal as a representation of him but it makes sense. I played the character as a man who walked as if in pain. Unfortunately, that was actually the case for my Pop pop. If his arthritis hadn’t been so bad, our relationship would have benefited from many walks in which we would not necessarily have had to speak, but could’ve enjoyed each other’s company and God’s magnificent creation.

In the many years since I lived in Parkerford with Nana and Pop pop, my perspective on aging has evolved. I no longer assume that aging inherently involves increased daily pain, loss of mental clarity, and increasing infirmity. Sometimes I wish that I could go back in time and heal my grandparents with the knowledge I have acquired since then.


I’ve spent countless hours in counseling, trying to move past the traumas of my childhood. I can accept that at any given time, taking into account all circumstances, and what they experienced as children themselves, my mother and father and step- parents always did the very best that they could do in the moment. That doesn’t mean that they didn’t mess up and that I got hurt.

It was my tremendous good fortune to have known four sets of grandparents during my childhood and adolescence. All of them were exceptional people. Where my parents mistepped, my grandparents filled in to impart what values and wisdom they could to help me in my journey.

I never knew until the day arrived how long it would take me to forgive my mother for the hardest times of my boyhood. It turns out I needed to turn fifty four. She visited Ithaca this last summer. My wife traveled north to visit my stepmother and so my mom and I had the house and time to ourselves. It was probably the most meaningful and delightful time I’ve experienced with my mother in my entire life.

One of the reasons our visit went so well is that my mom was able to listen to me talk about long-haul COVID, vaccine injury, my own experience as a vaccine injured person, and my experience treating patients over the last two years. She has no idea how famous Pierre is and how extraordinary it is that he and I found each other and became partners. That’s fine. I think she has some sense of the exceptional knowledge I have accumulated and how few people on the planet know what I know and do what we do as a team.

As lovely as her visit was, I don’t think I was able to effectively communicate how profoundly her decision to get boosters has affected her health and the pain which she experiences daily. At the end of the day, I’m still her son, not her treating physician. It may be hard to take too seriously the person whose dirty diapers you changed, who sass talked you when he was a teenager, or who has been hot and cold for decades of your relationship. My story is not that different than those of hundreds of other readers, who have felt disconnected and isolated from their families, friends, and neighbors as they become aware of the real dynamics behind this pandemic. I had to leave my home as a teenager to find another home. I’ve had to leave the healthcare system as I knew it, to help create a new healthcare system which prioritizes people and wellness above sickness and profit. I’ve chosen to care for the people in front of me who want my help, when I haven’t been able to protect the people I love.


To use another quote from my Pop-pop, “If I had a nickel for every time a patient told me that they thought their symptoms were simply a sign that they were getting older or out of shape, I would be a rich man.” In a vaccinated or boosted patient, with new symptoms of cognitive impairment, fatigue, muscle or joint pain, I think that we should assume it is spike-related until proven otherwise. It isn’t just because you haven’t been going on as many walks or eating too many Doritos.

In the last week, two different patients wanted to talk to me about a recent video which has Dr. Robin Rose of Terrain Health in Connecticut, and three other colleagues discussing a detox protocol. Robin was an early advisor of the FLCCC. There were many things in the video which I agreed with and which parallel my clinical experience. For example, Robin said that in microclot testing we have lost the controls and the best that you’ll find is a one out of four. In most long-haul and vaccine injured patients you’ll see a three, three and a half, or four out of four. Robin and her colleagues discussed a German study from 2023, which looked at the migration of spike in mice receiving IV injections of spike, and also cellular stains of brain tissue from human autopsies. Both Dr. Suzanne Gazda and I presented in reference to this study way back in May 2023 at the FLCCC conference on spikopathy.

The thing which Dr. Rose said which deserves focused attention is her statement re: triple anticoagulation. She said that triple herapy is very dangerous for many people. In our practice we have treated hundreds of patients with triple anticoagulation therapy. No one has required a transfusion, no one has died from this therapy. There have been a few nosebleeds, requiring an emergency department visit, and several menstruating women whose menses was so severe that we had to double check their CBC, and modify their treatment plan. On the other hand, there have been a long list of extraordinary improvements, and patients’ clinical symptom burden because of the effectiveness at treating microclotting. 99.9% of patients have seen a decline in their score over time. Two patient who haven’t seen this were surreptitiously using collagen which inhibits platelet activation and aggregation, and which I discussed in a previous Substack as a problem.

It is true that there are an increasing range of options for people to address microclotting. Dr. Rose puts forward a protocol which costs about $670 for six weeks of therapy and reports that it is very effective at safely decreasing spike and effectively decreasing micro clotting. In our practice, we have a robust discussion with patients regarding their clinical options. Triple anticoagulation therapy is one option. The range of other options includes enzymes, such as nattokinase, lumbrokinase, serrapetase, Flavay, and Baobab sipping. We have found that ivermectin is an extremely useful component of treating anticoagulation, because of how it inhibits spike activation of receptors on platelets, red blood cells and endothelial cells. The bottom line is that there is no single treatment which is going to work for every patient and these treatments are best delivered under the guidance of a knowledgeable practitioner.

It is equally important that among the still small cohort of practitioners who are treating patients with long Covid and vaccine injury that there is fastidious attention paid to the accuracy of statements which we make which could lead to depriving some patients of life-changing therapeutic interventions. It is always worth raising the question of what the financial interest is of the practitioner who is making such pronouncements. Do they stand to benfit financially from the therapeutics they are recommending? E.g. Dr Bruce Patterson owns the patent on Maraviroc. That doesn’t inherently mean that Maraviroc can’t be useful to some patients, but it’s a very expensive drug and an individual needs to keep this in mind when deciding whether or not to follow his protocol.

I’d also like to point out the risk of receiving care from a provider who is not up-to-speed with the clinical advances in understanding about micro clotting and spikopathy. This week our practice received multiple threatening and bullying calls from an orthopedic surgeon who was upset that his patient had developed a hematoma after major joint repair surgery. He displayed no understanding of microclotting or spikopathy and accused us of quackery. He blamed us for prescribing triple anticoagulation therapy when in fact, it had been ordered by a vascular surgeon participating in the patient’s case.

There are several important points here. The first is that the patient has a very high spike antibody level and elevated micro clotting, and so is much more likely to have a failed surgical procedure because of the inflammation and localized ischemia. The second point is that practitioners across the United States are slowly getting a clue (way ahead of the regulating and recommending bodies) that microclotting is a very powerful dynamic in the clinical setting. The third point is that knowledge about this is readily available for free to any practitioner who cares to stay abreast of the current reality and science based treatments for spikopathy and microclotting. Becoming a leading and trusted source of this knowledge has been a prime directive of the FLCCC Alliance.

Dr Jordan Vaughn has now given three separate presentations at three different FLCCC conferences regarding micro clotting and its treatment. He has safely delivered care, including the use of triple anticoagulation to more than 1600 patients and our practice has done the same with more than 200 patients. A pre-2019 understanding of coagulation is not only insufficient, but even harmful, and possibly dangerous in a physician’s treatment of a patient, especially in the context of surgery. The fact that a vascular surgeon from a conventional practitioner was willing and able to prescribe triple anticoagulation for our patient is a hopeful sign. Nevertheless, buyer beware. It makes sense to screen your providers with basic questions about what they understand about spikopathy, the pathologies that ensue and how to effectively treat them.

As an FLCCC Alliance-affiliated practitioner, I don’t think that we have all the answers. The protocols haven’t worked for every patient. I do think that under the scientific and medical leadership of Dr Paul Marik, there has been a rigorous standard of evidence applied to FLCCC Alliance recommendations and what makes it into first, second and third tiers. In a bewildering sea of sometimes conflicting medical advice, this foundation is invaluable as a North Star for patients and providers alike. Inevitably there will be honorable disagreements among providers re: the best path forward. Spirited discussion of emerging evidence and clinical responses will help lead to the best outcomes. This is the eternal flame, not yet extinguished, of scientific inquiry.

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Stay steady

Stay steady


Legos were my thing for a long time. Wooden blocks, Lincoln Logs, and Erector Set, we had those too, but Legos kept me coming back for more. The Legos I played with were a mish mash of accumulated sets, with many multicolored and interchangeable parts. They were from an earlier time, before the hyper-specialized Lego sets with more sophisticated and realistic shapes. My most common creations were police cars, fire trucks and tractor trailer trucks. I would dump my bin out on the floor of the rec room and crawl around for hours picking out pieces. The worn holes in the knees of my Sears Toughskins pants were evidence of my dedication. BTW, I flinch at the thought of those Toughskins, which were so not cool. I couldn’t wait to be a big boy and wear the much cooler Levis jeans.

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One of the habits I developed in my Lego trances was to not pay very much attention to my hunger. It wasn’t that I didn’t get hungry, and when I tell you that I’ve long been on a see-food diet, I see it and I eat it, I mean that. But the work at hand had my attention. I was searching for the four circle piece with the car grill on it, or the eight circle piece with POLICE on it, or the black circular twisty piece that connected the tractor to the trailer. If you know Legos, you probably know what I mean. Hunger didn’t hold the same pull as creation.

It turns out that playing with Legos served me well in several ways as an adult. Until I finally got fed up with never getting a break during a twelve hour shift and decided to help lead a unionization effort, familiarity with hunger was the quintessence of my nursing career. I wish that I’d known the value of intermittent fasting before I started my nursing career, as I wouldn’t have been so furious in my hunger.

There are always things to figure out and fix when you’re a nurse, especially in a busy Emergency Department. When the monitor would go on the fritz, the bed stopped working, or the computer refused to cooperate, I would often say, “It’s okay, I played with Legos,” and then set about troubleshooting. Not that I was always successful, but more that I was willing and able to give it a try. This can-do attitude has been invaluable in the uncharted territory of treating PASC and COVID vaccine injury. We are compelled to identify and try safe, repurposed therapeutics to help our patients get better, but because no one person responds in the exact same way, we need to initiate multiple trials of therapy.


I love France. And French food. And French women. Yes, my American wife of nearly thirty years knows this. It took me four trips to France and some seriously dark moments to finally figure out that French women were bad for my health. I have absolutely nothing against them, and in fact quite the opposite. The way they move the vowels and consonants with their mouths; the way they move period. Their strong scents of perfume, sweat, and food from the magnificent dishes they are creating in the kitchen.

There are three specific French women from my past who come to mind. Brigitte continuosly mystified me with the delectability and variety of what she could concoct from some leeks, a few eggs, potatoes, cheese, and the meat du jour. The fastest path to my heart is indeed through my stomach.

Boy can French women dress. Clotilde’s hair was always coiffed, and she would have just of touch of lipstick. She wouldn’t be caught dead in sweatpants, not even at home. Not when I knew her anyway. The fashion sensibility didn’t stop on top. I’ve never seen underwear and bras like that in the United States. Do they keep the good stuff in France and send the seconds out for export?

French women can pout like no others. I can’t quite catch it in writing, but it’s something like the movement your lips make when you’re blowing a quick puff of air, and make a sound like a pfff. Seriously. I never looked this up, but when I did, there is was. Yup.

1. Pfff

It might sound (and look) a bit silly but this word is a staple of French conversation and used in the right way, it will give your spoken French a bit of native attitude. 

Pfff often goes hand in hand with a facial expression that exudes boredom or dislike because it is used to convey contempt, disdain and scorn. 

I’m a recovering people pleaser, and pfffs are a way of life in France. Charlotte’s sharp regard and her pfff would slay me. It’s so much worse when it’s directed at you by a beautiful French woman.

Ultimately, French women were just too sophisicated for me. I could not get a handle on “La Seduction”. In case you are as mystified by this as I was, check out the book La Seduction: How the French Play the Game of Life by Elaine Sciolino. When I read this book in my forties there were more lightbulbs going off in my head than flashes at an outing of Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce. Honestly, I tried to keep up, but ultimately I had to leave it to French men. It seems like they enjoy talking as much as French women. I’m inclined to think foreplay is not four hours of political discourse followed by thirty minutes of sex, followed by another hour of political discourse.

So when did I reformulate my position on French liasons and pin my hopes on an American woman? Well, I came back from France in the Winter of 1994, after months of hard work on a farm, and a misadventure of pfffs, to the warm smile, loving arms and kind heart of the lovely lass who had seen me off at the airport in 1993. Somehow it all came into focus, kind of how the surface of a pond settles into still reflection again after a stone drops beneath the surface.

My beautiful American bride is big-boned, wears a Carhart jacket, and can handily beat me in an arm wrestle. She used to swing a hammer building houses with the boys. She is about the smartest commentator on political events that I know, but it doesn’t take four hours to get to kissing. She has a closet full of flannel and never wears lipstick. She is also a damn good cook.

I will always treasure the picture of her standing in front of a French impressionist masterpiece in La Musee D’Orsay: she was the only woman in the joint wearing a plaid flannel shirt and sturdy hiking shoes, as les femmes francaises floated by in their slim tight dresses and princess flats. As The Rolling Stones sang, sometimes you get what you need.


Three months ago I began leading a Zoom support group for patients who had post acute sequelae of Covid (PASC) and injury from the Covid shots. This wasn’t just an act of charity, because I needed it myself. I’m not a psychologist or psychiatrist, but since the age of fourteen, I have been involved in a type of peer counseling, called RC or Reevaluation Counseling or Co-Counseling. The parents of my best friend in high school, the same good people who brought me into the fold of Quakerism, also introduced me to RC. I have spent thousands of hours counseling with others, as well as leading support groups, teaching classes, organizing workshops, and participating in the workshops.

RC dramatically changed the course of my life. It gave me some really important skills around listening and healing. In my 20s I was spending 15-20 hours a week in counseling sessions. I was so dogmatic at that time that I held it out as a make or break requirement of an ongoing relationship with my beloved spouse. Ultimately, I think she has become a much more effective and balanced counselor than me. For me, RC was the Truth, the Way and the Light.

Over time RC lost it sparkle for me. I’ve never stopped using the tool but I found that it didn’t adequately address the issue of suffering. In 2005 when I helped lead an effort to establish an integrated free clinic here in Ithaca, New York I had to back off of my RC commitments. At the time it seemed like a logical next step of putting my learning into action to try and change the world for better.

We all have stories about the surreal way in which our lives changed during the pandemic. The response of the leadership of the RC community and its participants was one of the more bizarre dynamics which I witnessed and continue to observe. Essentially the community bought the narrative. Just like my beloved, progressive, liberal Quakers. That wasn’t as surprising to me as the politicization of the organization and community where Trump became the devil incarnate and people who made the brave choice to not get vaccinated, began to be excluded and treated as if they were not acting rationally. The very organization which I believed was built upon the idea of trusting one’s independent thinking fell for the hypnotism, hook line and sinker.

As I have developed clinical expertise, treating thousands of patients for PASC and vaccine injury, I waded into the online discussions of the RC community to try and share some information. The response was mixed. There was a small number of furtive, private appreciations. There were some very strident, public counter arguments, some of which rose to the level of personal attacks. Ultimately, with some finality, I was instructed by the New York State and national leadership to cease and desist sharing my “opinions” which had no place within the discussions of the counseling community.

In my correspondence with the leadership, it became evident that their perspective was informed by articles in the New York Times, directives from the CDC, articles in Nature, and the guidance of two physicians who participated in the counseling community. One dynamic which surprised me was that people who have known me almost my whole life as a person of blunt honesty and integrity, as well as being a capable clinician, would so quickly deride and dismiss the lifesaving information which I tried to gently share.

One of the most uplifting consequences of my efforts to share was that I became connected with another co-counselor, who has been struggling with PASC. In comparison to the very knowledgeable clinicians within the FLCCC circles and beyond, I think that she is one of the most intelligent, and well informed lay people I have the privilege of knowing. While I have been silenced with regard to the RC community, she continues to persist within the organization to try and communicate the urgency of our predicament in a relaxed and loving way.

One of the immediate lessons that I have taken from this experience is to reconsider the lens through which I’ve viewed the world for most of my life and connection with RC. In essence, people in RC think that they have a corner on the market of rationality, and if they could only get the rest of the world to understand their perspective and utilize their tools the world would become a more peaceful and cooperative place. I think this is actually a very limited and dangerous perspective, which will ultimately lead to a higher proportion of illness and death within the participants of that community as they continue to submit themselves to Covid boosters. It is also a perspective which I need to consciously avoid.

There is no standard of care in treating PASC and vaccine injury, but those of us aligned with the FLCCC Alliance are doing our best to identify the scientific basis for the treatments which we utilize and observe for benefit, neutrality and side effects. Nobody, not even me, is an expert on this subject.

In the meantime, those of us who think that we have some insight that could be helpful to others, face the struggle of effectively communicating that in conversation with the people in our lives. In our support group last week, we spent some time on this subject, and it raises the idea of moral injury. Do we hold our tongue because every time we try to share others reject our guidance and may even break off communication and relationship with us? Certainly, clinicians such as myself, and Pierre have greater responsibility to share what we know publicly because of the ethical and moral commitments we have made to healing. But do you as an individual person have the same level of responsibility?

What we may anticipate—and fear— is that when the day dawns in which the majority of the population understands that we have been duped and poisoned, and are sickening en masse because of that, will the people around us turn on us, and claim that we withheld life-saving information? We won’t know until we get there.

In the meantime, I have a few suggestions. One is to go to the FLCCC Alliance website and become part of the online community there. It is a new initiative to try and establish a virtual space in which clinicians and lay people can engage in dialogue, which is not being censored, and which is scientifically based. Second, I would abide by the idea that we have two ears and one mouth. We should listen twice as much as we speak. Although I am not brief in my Substack, by any means, I try to be brief when there is an opportunity to discuss these matters with an individual.

Respect the innate intelligence of other human beings, give them the space to come to their own conclusions, and hopefully return to you with questions. My need to save others doesn’t override their need and right to exercise free will. Our urgency and strident tone will not persuade people that we are accurate in our perception and ideas about correct interventions.

I learned the hard way that we need to check our egos at the door. I’m still at the beginning exercises of How to Have Impossible Conversations by Peter Boghossian and James Lindsay. We need to prepare ourselves with time spent in nature, meditative repose, and prayer, for the tsunami of sickness which is crashing upon us. We can study the dynamics of grief, and attempt to engage in letting go as we proceed forward. Find your people and endeavor to breakdown the barriers between us. Humanity has not survived this long because of survival-of-the-fittest, but rather from tribal cooperation.

Peace be with you.

P.S. Je suis ravi de voir que la semaine dernière il y a deux nouveaux abonnés français. S’il vous plaît, comprenez cela. Je prends une licence poétique pour essayer de trouver de la légèreté et de l’humour dans la narration. J’apprécie profondément le large éventail d’expressions de l’identité française, qui ne pourrait pas être capturée dans un seul article ni dans une bibliothèque pleine de livres.

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All along the watchtower – by Scott Marsland, FNP-C

All along the watchtower – by Scott Marsland, FNP-C

Majestic Baobab Trees


When I was in seventh grade, we moved to the sticks. Our home was across the road from a state game preserve, which was literally swamplands. We had no cable, and the primary source of heat was a big woodstove to which I dedicated many hours, stacking wood, carrying wood inside, starting fires in the morning, and keeping the fire burning during the day. The bus stop after school was a quarter mile from our house down a gravel and oil road. We didn’t have Atari and my parents worked. There was only so much trouble to get into.

The single TV channel we could get carried The Rockford Files with James Garner, and so my slacker afterschool routine was to grab a big mug of Lipton instant tea, a bag of pretzels, and plop down on the worn sofa by the wood stove to watch. I’m really not sure it’s fair to call the sugary mixture tea, as it bears so little resemblance to the real stuff. But I loved the salty sweet yeasty flavors of fake tea and pretzels, and couldn’t get enough of Jim Rockford’s misadventures.

Years before the handsome Tom Selleck played Magnum PI, James Garner won my heart. Magmum PI lived the cushy life in a Hawaiian guest house and rolled in a red Ferrari. Rockford was the cranky antihero who drove 1974-1978 model year Pontiac Firebirds, was a wrongly convicted ex-con, and lived with his dad Rocky in a trailer. He got beat up more often than not.

My favorite scene ever was when Rockford flipped his cigarette into the face of a thug. It was supposed to be a distraction, enabling him to land a punch and escape. Instead, the thug didn’t miss a beat and knocked Rockford off his block. It’s not that I liked seeing my guy get beat up. It’s more that I felt validated, like, “Yeah, you think you’ve got it figured out and it never goes the way you imagined. Blam!”


My Nana took tea to the next level. She would brew half a dozen bags of Lipton orange pekoe tea for-ev-er on the stovetop in a gallon pot whose sole duty was tea time. Then she would dump a little can of frozen lemonade in and voila! Iced tea Marsland-style.

In my late twenties I would make fun of my friend Brett and his tea habits. He wouldn’t be caught drinking tea made with a tea bag. In his cupboard were special decorative cans from Kusmi Tea with names like Prince Vladmir. He had a special tea pot which heated water to just the right temperature for a particular tea, AND he had a timer to brew it for a specified time. It all seemed so precious and pretentious, and I figured, well, unless you were English or a metrosexual, a bag of Lipton was adequate.

Fast forward twenty five years and I think that Brett could make fun of me! In the top drawer of my work desk I have a thermometer and a tea strainer. Teabag tea tastes like cardboard to me now, and there is a time and a temperture for all: two minutes for Sencha, three for green, four for black, and five for Pu’er. 160F for green, 170F for Matcha (and a whisk don’t you know), boiling hot for black. And no burned tongue for me, as it won’t pass my lips until it’s cooled to 140F. Rishi Tea, the largest American importer of organic teas became my go-to supplier.

With the pandemic, green tea went beyond yumminess to essential equipment for survival. I was working evenings at SUNY Upstate in the trauma center, and the drive home at 12:30am was 1 1/2 hours of bleak, cold, darkness. I calculated that I could start sipping upon departure and stay awake on the road, then drink a big glass of water upon arrival home and wash out the caffeine. It wasn’t until I joined Pierre at The Leading Edge Clinic and began learning how to fight COVID, then treat post-acute sequelae of COVID (PASC) and vaccine injury that I realized how important that green tea had been.

There are multiple studies now which demonstrate how the epigallocatechin gallate (EGCG) in green tea blocks spike entry into cells. See studies here, there and everywhere. It turns out that after spending hours providing bedside care to sweating, coughing, distressed acute COVID patients, that green tea was not only keeping me awake on the drive home, it was also blocking spike from taking hold in my body.


All Along the Watchtower by Bob Dylan, made famous by Jimi Hendrix:

There must be some kind of way outta here
Said the joker to the thief
There’s too much confusion
I can’t get no relief

Business men, they drink my wine
Plowmen dig my earth
None will level on the line
Nobody offered his word
Hey, hey

No reason to get excited
The thief, he kindly spoke
There are many here among us
Who feel that life is but a joke
But, uh, but you and I, we’ve been through that
And this is not our fate
So let us stop talkin’ falsely now
The hour’s getting late, hey

If you’ve read this far, let me reward your curiosity and tenacity by introducing you to Baobab. After eight months of personal and patients’ use, tracking labs and monitoring clinical effect, I think it is some kind of way out of the confusion, and none too soon.

Baobab is a tree which covers half the continent of Africa. It dates back to biblical times, and was important to tribal people in arid desert regions, because both its hollow core and spongy bark could store water. It is an odd looking tree, which produces a large fruit the size of a football, which has a hard shell. When ripe, the fruit is a dry powder which can be mechanically separated from fiber and seeds. Every single part of the tree is useful to humans and animals alike. The leaves can provide forage for wild animals and livestock, the bark can be made into rope, the wood used for fuel, and the fruit for medicinal purposes. For these reasons it is often referred to as The Tree of Life.

Before there were words for these actions, Baobab fruit was antibiotic, antiviral, antifungal, antipyretic (fever lowering), and poison neutralizing. Tribespeople who hunt with poison tipped arrows and spears will mix Baobab powder with water to apply to the entry wound and neutralize the poison so that they can eat the flesh. Baobob has a pre-biotic fiber which modulates glucose metabolism, thus lowering fasting blood glucose levels. The fiber also creates a welcoming environment for an abundant and diverse population of bifida bacteria in the gut.

Baobab also has EGCG.

Last Spring, Pierre was at a conference in Hawaii and I was covering some of his patients. It was serendipity that I saw the labs come back for a family which had decided to measure the spike antibody for everyone in the household. Mom, college-age daughter and high school-age daughter were unvaccinated, with spike antibody (ab) levels of ~7,000, 3500 and 1500 U/mL respectively. Dad is a physician working in a busy outpatient clinic. He received two Pfizer shots, both from bad batches, and was exposed to ongoing shedding while delivering patient care in a healthcare environment. His spike ab was about 100 U/mL. I was stunned, and understood that this was either a lab error or a very intriguing aberration.

I picked up the phone and called this family, speaking with the mom at length. Dad didn’t take any medications, nor did he take any supplements. In fact, it took about thirty minutes to uncover what he could possibly be doing which would result in such a low spike ab level. Finally she said, “Well, there is this drink he makes every morning and takes to work. It has Baobab powder, and he mixes it with stevia and ginger. He only drinks it during the week, and sips it over the course of the day.” Why Baobab I asked? “It has a lot of vitamin C, and pre-biotics, but I’m not really sure. He’s been drinking it for years.” I thanked her and hung up, then spent the next four hours reading papers about Baobab.

As I read about Baobab’s many qualities, and then learned that it had EGCG, I concluded that the Baobab was somehow connected to this physician’s low spike ab level. He was patient 0. Researchers had considered Baobab to control COVID, but as far as I could tell, hadn’t pursued it further. I pulled $500 out of my piggy bank, messaged twenty patients whose spike ab levels were >25,000 U/mL or relatively high, and made them a proposal. Eat, drink, sip, but one way or the other get 1 Tbsp of Baobab in your body every day for a month, and then let’s recheck your spike ab level.

Within the month the feedback started to roll in, and I had my own experience to contribute. I started drinking the Baobab with my morning vitamins. That didn’t go so well, because I ended up with increased paresthesias (decreased sensation) in my toes and feet. After hearing the same story from three other participants in the pilot study, I suggested that we all sip it over the course of the day, like patient 0. The paresthesias resolved.

When the spike ab results started to come back after a month of Baobab, there was a signal. If patients ate it or drank it, there was a slight change in their levels. But if they sipped it, boy howdy! There were drops in spike ab levels reaching 5,000 U/mL over a month. That was enough for me, and I began guiding patients to sip Baobab, 1 Tbsp in 16oz of water over at least an eight hour period.

More feedback with additional patients revealed a few quirks of the therapy. If someone has severe mast cell activation syndrome (MCAS), they may need to go low and slow. Well, just about all of our patients have some level of mast cell activation, so I guided everyone to start with adding only 1/4 teaspoon to 16oz of water and slowly advancing. Initially, some patients (including me) experienced some bloating while sipping Baobab. I’ll attribute this to the recalibration of our microbiomes as we build up the bifida.

Labs in patients who were sipping Baobab showed a declining fasting glucose, similar to what we see when we use Berberine. Patients also report enormous formed brown stools with a clean finish, i.e. no wiping necessary, and a sensation of complete bowel evacuation. Gotta love that.

Then things got interesting. We have been treating patients for microclotting for over a year now, and so some patients were beginning to retest. What I saw was multiple signals that unvaccinated PASC patients who were sipping Baobab dropped their microclotting scores by two points in 2-3 months. For reference, it often takes six months on anticoagulation with Aspirin, Eliquis and Plavix for a PASC or vaccine injured patient to drop his/her/their score one point. It would appear that not only does Baobab block spike entry into cells, but also that it helps break down microclots faster and safely. How?

The likely answer arrived a few weeks ago when I was reading a review article about natural products for antithrombosis. I learned that EGCG acts along the COX-1 pathway, same as Aspirin, to inhibit platelet aggregation and activation. Whereas Aspirin has about a 20% effect, EGCG has about a 90% effect.

Why not just take EGCG then? Well, you could. But any herbalist worth his/her/their salt would explain that when you isolate an active component of a plant-based remedy, you leave behind other components which synergize and ameliorate adverse effects. Given what I have seen clinically over the last eight months, my vote is to stick with green tea and Baobab sipping.

Where do you get Baobab? There are plenty of sources online if you want to shop around, as Baobab is an agricultural product.

How do you mix it? If you can make gravy without lumps, you can mix Baobab. I usually start the day by slowly tapping one Tbsp of Baobab into a cup of water as I stir it with a spoon. I smush out any remaining lumps, and then add this to a thermos with cold water, shaking and sipping every half hour over the course of the day. Every time I talk to a patient about Baobab, I take a sip!

What does it taste like? I would describe Baobab as having a mild citrus flavor. If it doesn’t agree with you, feel free to flavor it like patient 0. A few patients have complained that it has given them heartburn, and there have been others who can’t be bothered with the fuss and muss of mixing/sipping. My position it this: Baobab costs about $20 for a 1 1/2 month supply, blocks spike, breaks down microclots, builds up my bifida, lowers my fasting glucose, doesn’t taste too bad, and helps me have a very satisfying poop every day. Sold!

Baobab sipping is an economical way to combat shedding. My suggestion is to prepare your Baobab sipper before you head into any social interaction. Start sipping ahead of time, sip during the event, and continue sipping afterwards. In effect you are delivering a steady supply of EGCG and whatever synergy we haven’t yet isolated in a lab, which is blocking spike entry into your cells. If you are going to travel, bring the powder with you and once you are through airport security, mix it up at the water fountain and get down to sipping. Our patients and team have been doing this for months, and overall the results have been positive.


P.S. If you have ever seen a Guardians of the Galaxy movie, you can appreciate the power of a groovy soundtrack. My wife and I really enjoyed the updated series of Battlestar Galactica, and I’ll never forget when Jimi Hendrix’s anthem showed up in the narrative. Five main characters keep hearing the song in their head, and end up together in the same rom where they realize they are the Final Five Cylons. Internet wisdom says: “The song’s biblical and mythical connections make it fitting for the show, as it foreshadows destruction and leads to a new world.”

P.S.S. I have no financial stake in any of the products I recommend, including Rishi Tea.

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Skin deep – by Scott Marsland, FNP-C

Skin deep – by Scott Marsland, FNP-C


Straight white teeth are a form of social currency. Alternately, crooked, broken and discolored teeth can directly impact one’s ability to attract a mate, land a job, and secure less unequal treatment in society. Common sense may tell you this is true, but there have also been academic studies which prove the point, such as this one from Ontario, Canada.

My paternal grandparents, Pop pop and Nana

My Nana and Pop pop, who were my paternal grandparents, took me into their modest home and raised me from my teenage years into adulthood. Nana had buck teeth, which she often referenced in a self-conscious and self-deprecating manner. Pop pop’s teeth were rather crooked, and both of my grandparents had brown tints to their teeth from years of drinking tea. We lived on their Social Security, and a very small monthly check from my father. I’ve never known two people who were more selfless and loving, good to the bone, and sturdy. I give thanks that I tumbled out of my middle class upbringing to live with family who instilled common sense and working class sensibilities in my fanciful head. To them I give credit for the values which have guided me through the valley of the shadow of death as a “plague doctor” during a pandemic.

Nana and Pop pop had three boys. Doug and Bruce were the youngest and middle brothers respectively, and my dad was the oldest. The story was that Pop pop sold his coin collection to help pay for my dad’s first year at Penn State, and there wasn’t money left for braces. As a result my dad had teeth just as crooked as Pop pop’s. I remember his fast work with a toothpick after eating corn-on-the-cob in the summertime. Although his smile was imperfect, it was big, kind-hearted and freely offered in friendship and humor.

In junior high school I still had a gap between my two front teeth. I wasn’t self-conscious about it until some scornful classmates used it to taunt me, and then I realized that this was a thing. Braces soon followed, which were becoming a badge of middle class status. I didn’t follow through with my retainer, and so I have an overbite, again. At eighteen I injured my left upper front tooth, which was replaced with a crown. At a party a few years later, a UPenn dental student pointed out that the enamel of my crown didn’t match the rest of my teeth. I was so surprised by her lack of social graces that I neglected to tell her to bug off to the moon. But, I was reminded again that in the eyes of many people, crooked, stained, mismatched, missing and imperfect teeth leave you lower on the social ladder.

The funny thing is that the older I get, the more I trust people with “bad” teeth. At least I know that they are rubbing up against the gritty truth of our existence, and they are less likely to pretend they are better. They are often capital C Characters, and that is a step up in my book.


During nursing school I was working full-time hours, taking full-time classes, up to my gills in rotating credit card debt to pay for classes, and stressed to the breaking point. It’s a testimony to her Taurus tenacity and Catholic kindness that my beloved wife stuck with me through that time.

At some point during those years I developed weeping lesions on both sides of my face. They were each about the size of a pinky finger, below my ears, along my jawline. They were red and angry, weeping straw colored fluid. Trips to my primary doc and the Dermatologist brought prescriptions for potions, lotions and pills, none of which helped. These sores on my face added an exponential layer of stress upon me as I was going through clinical rotations. Although none were so guache as to mention it outright, I could follow the eyes of patients and medical professionals to my bright red racing strips and see the alarm and questions forming in their minds.

It eventually occurred to me to try a homeopathic remedy called Rhus Toxidendron, which is formulated from Poison Ivy. My brain made the connection betwen the open weeping lesions one would experience with a severe case of Poison Ivy. I had lived and worked on a farm in France years before, back when I thought I wanted to be a farmer. The family on this farm had their own pharmacy of remedies, some of which dated back more than a hundred years, made by their grandparents. Within a week of starting Rhus Tox my lesions were gone. It would become one of hundreds of cases in my career where a simple intervention resolved what dozens of practitioners and therapies couldn’t touch.


About three months ago there was a week in which I had three different patients who developed worsening symptoms because they started taking collagen supplements. It wasn’t something I ever recommended, but I understand why they started taking it. Consider whether you have had this experience: you run into an old friend, or get to visit with a family member who you haven’t seen since later 2019. You are looking at them and thinking, “Man, you look terrible! You’re hair is falling out, your skin is pale, wrinkly and sagging. It’s as if you aged a decade in four years.” Mmm hmm. That’s the spike protein for you. It damages collagen, and appearances go to pot.

Collagen is akin to a three dimensional ladder which provides structure and support to our tissue. Spike damages it so that collagen becomes overbuilt and less flexible. Imagine the difference between a normal ladder with a foot between each rung, and a ladder with only an inch between rungs. The second one is nearly useless. It doesn’t need MORE crosslinks from supplemented collagen, it needs to be trimmed back to functionality. As a result of increased collagen crosslinking, skin loses its elasticity and tone, and blood vessels are not as resilient. This is one reason we see iliac venous compression in some patients; there is a perfect storm of endothelial injury, coagulopathy, and decreased flexibility.

It wasn’t so straight forward to figure out that collagen was hurting my patients. I end up feeling like a forensic clinician in a whodunnit story, looking for a clue that doesn’t emerge until the end of an hour-long visit (yes, we often spend up to an hour with our patients during a visit at The Leading Edge Clinic). We’re almost done and the patient tells me that a Naturopath or Chiropractor or helpful “functional” physician recommended collagen for their hair loss/saggy skin/soft nails. “But I didn’t put it on my supplement list, because it’s not really even a supplement.” Um, no. When we pin down the time they started it and when their symptoms started going south, there is consistently temporal association.

If you have been taking collagen for years, the story is even worse. What has changed in our bodies since late 2019 is that 100% of us now have amyloid fibrin microclotting. On a scale of 0-4, the best you will find, even in an unvaccinated patient, is a 1 out of 4. In most of my post-acute sequealae of COVID (PASC) and vaccine injured patients, the score is usually 3 or higher. Personally, I was a 2.5 out of 4, three months into anticoagulation therapy.

What does collagen have to do with clotting? Simply put, collagen stimulates platelet activaton and aggregation. I was reading a paper about natural ways to treat coagulopathy, and realized from one of it’s citations that the scientists were using collagen to provoke clotting. Check this out. On the bottom right of page 55 of the cited paper it says: “Determination of enzyme source of COX-1 and TXAS In our previous reports (Ok et al., 2012), we reported that the amount of TXA2 (determined as TXB2 ) in intact platelets was 4.0 ± 0.1 ng/108 platelets, and this was markedly increased to 356.1 ± 46.9 ng/108 platelets when platelets were stimulated with collagen (10 mg/ml) (Ok et al., 2012).” The bench scientists knew that if they wanted to provoke platelet aggregation and activation, all they had to do was add collagen to the platelets in solution. Yikes! In a post-Covidian world where everyone is microclotting, we don’t want to do things which provoke more clotting.

In a team meeting of our practice a few weeks ago, I reported that I had not yet seen a patient whose microclotting score didn’t improve over time with our treatments. It was the very next day that this track record changed. Six months after therapy with IVM, Aspirin, Plavix and Eliquis, the patient’s microclotting score remained a 3 out of 4. Scratching my head, I reviewed the chart and right there it was under supplements—collagen.

The last two weeks have seen a flurry of collagen conversations. “I felt the best I have since 2022, then two weeks ago I started to tank.” What did you change? Final answer in the last minute of the visit—collagen. Microclot testing shows one partner has a level of 1 out of 4, and the other is a 3.5 out of four. Both are world travelers with tons of shedding exposure. What’s a difference between the two? The latter has been using collagen as a supplement for years. Take home lesson: don’t use collagen.

The question has been raised about whether this means we should avoid bone broth due to its collagen content. The short answer is that I don’t know. I don’t think it’s enough to be problematic, and bone broth is very helpful with intermittent fasting by providing phosphates to rebuild cells, but I honestly just don’t know.

If supplementing collagen isn’t the answer, then what can you do to repair your collagen? One answer is Flavay. Not the knock-off generic versions of pycnogenol, but the real deal, orignating in France and made under several patents since 1948.

Aside from being a Francophile, I love Flavay for how it benefits patients clinically. It is made from French maritime pine bark. In addition to safely inhibiting platelet adhesion to other platelets and blood vessels (safe, because of no increased risk of bleeding), it also modulates nitric oxide producton, inhibits histamine release inside blood vessels, and renews/restores healthy collagen function by trimming overbuilt crosslinking. That is why you’ll see a lovely bikini-clad French woman running down the beach with her beautiful beau and children in the ads for Flavay. It rejuvenates your skin (and blood vessels). Vive le France!

P.S. I have no financial interest in Flavay or any other products which I mention in my Substack. If I do, you’ll be the second to know.

P.S.S. This week the number of subscribers from Minnesota lept ahead of my home state of New York. Hurray for Minnesota!

P.S.S.S. I am honored to be speaking at the third FLCCC Educational Conference, ‘Healthcare Revolution: Restoring the Doctor-Patient Relationship’, taking place February 2-4, 2024 in Phoenix, AZ! I’ll be speaking with my partner Dr Pierre Kory on shedding and also presenting a case study called Complex Syndrome, Complex Management, COVID Vaccine Injury. Looking forward to connecting with you there! You can learn more about the conference here: flccc.net/conference (http://flccc.net/conference)

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Cowboys and Indians – by Scott Marsland, FNP-C

Cowboys and Indians – by Scott Marsland, FNP-C


The Young Men’s Christian Association or YMCA was an important part of my upbringing. There were intramural basketball teams, day camps in the summertime, and the Indian Guides. Before today, I never gave too much thought to the history of the Indian Guides, how they reflected cultural appropriation or whether they even still existed. Thank you to writer Adria Carter with the University of Minnesota Libraries who wrote an excellent article titled ‘Playing Indian’: A retrospective on the YMCA’s Indian Guides program. While I was busy treating patients during a pandemic, author Ryan Bean and co-author Paul Hillmer, a professor of American history at Concordia University in St. Paul, published the book “Inappropriation: The Contested Legacy of Y-Indian Guides,” which examines the program’s 77-year history and how it misrepresented American Indians.  With deference to Carter, Bean and Hillmer, I’d like to share what the Indian Guides meant to me as a boy who was decades away from political correctness and the faintest whiff of white guilt.

Big Wind and Little Wind

My dad was Big Wind, and I was Little Wind. We wore vests and headbands with feathers, and went to weekly (?) meetings with other boys and their fathers. I can’t think of another experience in my childhood where boys and their fathers consistently gathered together in this way. Not church, not sports, not Scouts, realms where there was delegation of parenting and leadership to other adults. In the Indian Guides, we all had to show up. That act, in and of itself was unique, and ripe with both the tenderness and awkwardness of being male, toghether. There was no alcohol, there were no fights, and we often engaged in some act of creation, whether it was painting, gluing popsicle sticks together, or physical play.

The best of times were the camping trips. I remember being in the woods where we could run wild, away from our scolding mothers and annoying sisters. I remember the sounds of dozens of fathers snoring in the cold darkenss of the cabin. There wasn’t any drama. My dad was about as relaxed as he could get, and so were a lot of the other fathers. I’m grateful that they made their way through all the discomfort of being around each other in order to spend time with us, their sons. I wouldn’t trade our names or that time with my dad for all the Wampum in the world.


My first pass at college was attending Susquehanna University (SU) in Selinsgrove, PA. It is a small liberal arts college which began as a Lutheran missionary institute and retained some of those early influences. Things started off well enough. I had a combination of work study, academic scholarships, student loans and Pell grants to pay my way. I was accepted into the SU Honors Program, and was both a Degenstein and Presidential Scholar. Woo hoo!

Dr Susan Bowers taught our Freshman honors English course called Thought. She was a woman with a soft voice, brilliant intellect and steely character. Among the selected works we read in the course was Daughters of Copper Woman by Anne Cameron. The book was out of print at that time, so we had blurry stapled photocopies. It is essentially a feminist collection of Northwest Native American creation stories with female power at their center. That may not raise eyebrows now, but in 1987, at SU, it was subversive.

Susan, that book, and her course changed my life. It was the first time I had a glimpse of the world which was different enough from my own that it was unnerving and thought provoking. I wanted more.

The second year of the Honors Program required that students write a Sophmore Essay. With Susan as my advisor, I chose to write about Native American Women’s Literature. Given that I am a white man who was majoring in business economics that was a stretch. I got started, but I never finished, despite a last ditch trip to visit Susan the summer between my Sophmore and Junior year. I had a case of terminal writer’s block, and as a result I was booted from the Honors Program.

I would never want to let school interfere with getting an education though, and I sure did learn a lot the year I didn’t write my Sophmore Essay. I fell in love with the stories of writer Louise Edrich when I met the fictional families the Kashpaws, Lamartines, and Morrisseys in her novel Love Medicine. Years later I came to appreciate her husband Michael Dorris who wrote about being a single father raising an adopted son with fetal alcohol syndrome in The Broken Cord, and then his first novel Yellow Raft on Blue Water. When he and Louise co-wrote the novel The Crown of Columbus, I was moved to write them a letter of appreciation. I received a handwritten letter from Michael in a reply which I still treasure. He was that exceptional human being who didn’t forget from where he came and reached back to lend a hand to others in much more difficult circumstances. It saddens me that he would later take his own life.

What I was coming to understand over time was that the Indians of the movies were not real. The novel Waterlily by Ella Cara Deloria disabused me of romantic ideas I had of the peacful harmony of early tribal life. The real Indians, the Native Americans, were/are funnier, and messier, and terribly imperfect, just like the rest of us. They are rural, suburban and urban, upstanding, and downtrodden, not a stereotype and certainly not uniform. Literature carried me along until real-life experience and relationships filled in the gaps: salty poetry from Chickasaw poet Linda Hogan, the haunting novel House Made of Dawn by N. Scott Momaday, and the modern novel There, There by Tommy Orange.

God is Red by Vine Deloria sent me into an existential crisis of faith, one which took years to emerge from, out of a climax of disillusionment with Christianity and its myriad contradictions. An Indigenous People’s History of the United States by Roxeanne Dunbar Ortiz lead me to a different understanding of how vastly populated, developed and intentionally managed was the North America which the European settlers encountered.

Near our home of Ithaca, NY, there is the annual Finger Lakes GrassRoots Festival of Music and Dance, which for nearly a week draws capital C Characters from all over the world to dance, sing, eat and make all kinds of great music. In the early 2000s we saw the impossibly fit eighty-year old Jones Benally perform a hoop dance with his adult children. He is a Diné medicine man who at the time shared an office in a clinic with a Western educated medical doctor. It was startling to encounter his children later, performing as Blackfire, the Native American punk rock band.

One of my favorite songs by Blackfire is a version of Woody Guthrie‘s Corn Song. Even if you aren’t a fan of what you consider punk rock, it’s worth checking out Blackfire on Spotify. It’s a useful emotional and intellectual exercise to listen to the words and music of people who have thought deeply about resistance and hope, amidst an ongoing genocide.

In 2017 I began correspondence with a Diné man who was incarcerated for two consecutive life sentences in an Arizona prison. I’ve been a letter writer since I was a little boy. For nearly thirty six years I corresponded with my step grandmother Lee Jones, who was a living Buddha. When she died after her hundredth birthday, it left a big hole in my life, and I was looking for a way to fill it. Around that time I read a book called Locked Down, Locked Out by May Schenwar, which among other things, discussed how letters from the outside helped maintain connections and protect prisoners from abuse on the inside. I found Keith’s name and story on the website of a non-profit that faciliates penpals in this way.

While he was alive and we wrote each other, I never knew, and didn’t want to know what Keith had done to be serving two life sentences. I figured it wasn’t anything good. What I did know what that he had grown up poor on the Diné reservation in Arizona, and had become a mule, running drugs for a cartel from Mexico. He was artistic, a curious person, and spiritual. He struggled with mental ilness. I learned from him how the Arizona state prison system contracts with for-profit healthcare providers who withhold necessary medication and treatment to prisoners like him in order to preserve their financial bottom line. I also learned how the system prevented Keith from receiving an eagle feather, which was meaningful to him in his spiritual practice. It’s fair to say that we probably wouldn’t have been hanging together in “the real world”, but we both found a lot to share during the years of our correspondence.

If Keith had made it out of prison and visited us in Ithaca, there would have been a lot to see and do. The names of streets, bodies of water and landmarks reflect who lived here first: Cayuga, Seneca, Taughannock. We walk, eat and sleep on the land of the First Nations people. They didn’t leave of their own accord. Practically speaking, the tribes of North America have a lot to teach us about how to resist and survive in the face of an ongoing attempt at genocide.


Judge Ben Zvenia is a renaissance man. He was an officer in the military, a paramedic, formally trained as a Naturopath, later becoming a lawyer, and is currently a pro-tem tribal judge in several jurisdictions. With fellow naturopath and lawyer, Dr Daniel Royal, they collaborated with elected tribal leaders to establish the First Nation Medical Board (FNMB) in 2018 as an an economic development project of the Crow Nation of Montana.

The FNMB provides a legal framework under treaty law, dating back several hundred years, as well as constitutional, state, and federal case law. Essentially Native American tribes in the United States are sovereign nations. Kind of like the Papacy in Rome. To a greater or lesser degree they have the potential to exercise independence from state and federal agencies. What Ben and Dan set out to do, was create a structure, under which practitioners could practice indigenous medicine, focused on interventions with roots in traditional plant-based treatment. Still, at times patients may need prescriptions for modern pharmaceuticals which have their origins in plants and elements of the earth. For this reason they also use the FNMB framework to close the circle of tribal affiliated entities practicing medicine under sovereign nation status.

It was very intentional to create licensure with titles that are different than those governed by state and federal agencies. Applications can be submitted to become Certified Tribal Practitioners (“CTP”), Certified Tribal Healers (“CTH”), Certified Tribal Technicians (“CTT”), and Traditional Tribal Healers (“TTH”).

We learned about the FNMB from another FLCCC affiliated provider in the summer of 2022. We began conversations with Judge Zvenia and over the next six months obtained licensure for all of our practitioners and nurses, as well as our practice entities, one of which is an LLC under the Crow Nation.

The model is imperfect. Election cycles result in new leaders, and a previous administration’s commitment to the FNMB model is not necessarily carried forward by newly elected officials. When new leaders and their staff question why the tribe is working closely with a bunch of white cowboys, it throws sand in the works and requires fresh negotiation and new agreements.

My partner Dr Pierre Kory and I have both had complaints filed against us with state boards of medicine, not because of harming any patients, but because of political motivations to block our ability to treat patients with safe, proven medication, like Ivermectin and Hydroxychloroquine. The intentions of the boards are transparent as they reference recommendations from the WHO, CDC, and FDA against using these therapeutics, despite the fact that courts have ruled against the FDA and it’s attempts to tell providers what medications they can prescribe to patients.

Every patient that seeks our care is required to become a public member of the FNMB. The annual cost is $35 for an individual or $50 for a family. Patients are agreeing to receive care within the tribal structure, under our tribal license. In addition to layers of licensing fees, which we pay for providers and our practice entities, we contribute 5% of gross receipts as charitable contributions to the FNMB on a monthly basis.

Organizing our Leading Edge Clinic under the FNMB brings a lifetime of learning to fruition. It is a relation of necessity, but rich in common aspirations and shared resistance to a common threat: government alphabet agencies which seek to destroy the sacred relationship between healers and patients, and undermine our democracy. This is a new chapter in history, when cowboys and Indians are fighting on the same side.

In memoriam, Klee Benally 1975-2023

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