To the operators of Arkansas Continued Care Hospital and their lawyers: I can prove every word of this with witnesses and your own records. You know how to contact me.

Thursday 11 July 2024 21:53:32 1720752812

There, I've begun so this is the beginning. I have not much time left to live so my priorities are what is best for the most people. Briefly, three years ago my life expectancy was ten to fifteen years assuming an average lifespan or a few more given my family history. I have barely survived the past three years and my condition continues to deteriorate. With this year half gone I shall be surprised if I see the beginning of another.

While putting my affairs in order I composed a codicil to my last will and testament. Should I die from accident occasioned by the assault upon my person at Dr. Copeland's direction I wish it known that he is responsible. Here it is:

I am obligated before all else to inform the major hospitals in the Jonesboro area of certain facts, namely that any hospital committing a patient to the care of Arkansas Continued Care Hospital (ACCH) in Jonesboro is exposing that patient to extreme risk of serious injury - beyond any existing medical condition - to even more serious injury and even death. I can attest to the injurious treatment and am fortunate to be alive and only crippled beyond any prospect of recovery. ACCH acquires its patients from hospitals in several states with the majority coming from Arkansas and Missouri. There are three hospitals in the Jonesboro area and it is to them that I address this communication:

   Arkansas Methodist Medical Center (AMMC) - Paragould

   NEA Baptist Memorial Hospital - Jonesboro

   Saint Bernards Healthcare - Jonesboro

I include AMMC not only because it is where my journey into the belly of the beast began but because it is a large hospital and feeds a relatively large number of patients into the horrors that await them at the other 'hospital' in Jonesboro - Arkansas Continued Care Hospital.

I am not familiar with the corporate structure of your hospitals and this information does not seem to be as readily available it is with many businesses and in the past was in the case of hospitals. I do wish to address anyone in a position of such a position of authority or responsibility to care about what I am about to relate. When your hospital sends a patient to ACCH it becomes liable for the injuries - potentially fatal - that they are likely to suffer there. As of this writing I am aware of one lawsuit against one of the hospitals named above and ACCH because of the death of a patient. I have contacted the lawyer representing the estate of the deceased individual and offered my assistance in proving the malfeasance of the defendants and will do so in any future cases.

What follows is a description of my experience. It is an account of a perfectly serviceable human being who was turned into a crippled and dying shell of his former self. The above text of the codicil to my will is a concise account. The details of more than two months of abuse that left me near death should disgust any decent person.

Sometime in March 2021. I can estimate the date of my return to the real world from the hospital records as it was after the massive doses of psychotropic drugs had been reduced sufficiently to allow me to become both conscious and cognizant. To observers - my visitors and hospital staff - I appeared conscious as I am described in the badly handwritten notes as sitting up, talking, eating and drinking. My own perceptions were of nothing resembling reality, consisting of dreams - nightmares in some cases - and hallucinations of things that could not possibly be real.

Upon awakening I knew that I was in a hospital room. I didn't know that I had been there for more than a month and in fact had been in another hospital for a month before being placed in the one I was now in. I didn't know that I had had heart surgery to prevent a heart attack and afterwards had a heart attack - fortunately after only a couple of days while still in the ICU. Later I was informed that my heart and breathing had stopped for twelve minutes. My two siblings had briefly left the hospital to attend church, believing I was in no danger. At the church they received a call from this hospital informing them that I had expired. At least that is how my sister interpreted the statement we've lost him. They returned to the hospital to find that I was in fact not deceased. The hospital had performed a tracheostomy and put me on a ventilator. At the time a hospital employee told my sisters that they should not expect me to recover, i.e. if I lived I would probably be a vegetable. The doctor on being advised of this told them that the remark was irresponsible and not accurate.

I have no memory of anything that happened at that hospital during the month I was there. On 15 January 2021 - my sixty-fifth birthday - I was transferred to Arkansas Continued Care Hospital. ACCH was the third hospital that would take a shot at killing me and certainly tried harder than the first two.

15 December 2020. For many years I kept a journal in which I recorded brief details of my days - where I was and at what times, generally just a few lines for each day. The final entry for that day was like most of the others - 0722 I left for work, about a ten minute drive away. 0733 I arrived at work. The journal ends there - normally I would have noted when I went to lunch and when I left work, where I went afterwards and what time I arrived at home. I figured if I was ever accused of a heinous crime - for that matter a non-heinous crime - having a record of where I was at some time on some day or other would convenient knowledge. One never knows.

At sixty-five I was in decent shape. Almost thirty pounds overweight by conventional standards but more like twenty - I have a stout build, big shoulders and legs, the extra weight barely showed. I was conscious of it and tried to keep it in check, walks of at least a mile daily weather permitting and a hundred pushups every morning and again later in the day at least a couple of times a week. My office was upstairs and I was normally up and down those stairs at least a dozen times a day. I regularly worked in the data center - assembling racks and installing equipment, lifting and climbing. With a little more discipline I probably could have maintained a 'normal' weight. Breakfast was always plain whole oats and the most natural orange juice available with black coffee. Probably cutting out a pizza or two now and then would have helped.

At any rate an artery got clogged and with no warning things went south in a big way. I had worked for that company for eighteen years and daily visited the offices of a couple of longtime friends for a chat once or twice a day, the chats invariably involving some official business as well. On this occasion, I was later told, I went down to the office of friend-name-redacted and told her I didn't feel good and might need to see a doctor. My condition deteriorated rapidly and within the hour I was in an ambulance and shortly thereafter being examined. A cardiac catheterization was performed and - that hospital not having the surgical capability - I was sent to another hospital.

A dye used in the catheterization process can cause kidney injury and in my case it did. After the bypass surgery and I had a heart attack and was oxygen-deprived for a while the kidney failure became apparent. I am told that the pain - from the kidney damage or something else I don't know - was such that I remained sedated for the entire time I was there. I certainly remember none of it.

On 15 January 2021 I was transferred to another hospital, ostensibly to be treated for the kidney injury. I wouldn't wake up for another month or so.

Thus in March I woke up in a hospital room. The lights were off but I could see enough to figure out what the environment was. I was wearing a hospital gown and couldn't move - I was tied to the bed. Since my arrival on 15 January I had been completely dissociated by the drugs. After about a month of that my sisters - who visited me daily - became aware of the drug regimen and insisted that he reduce the dosage. He did so and essentially I woke up and asked 'why am I here and when can I leave' or something like that. I wouldn't know until later but I was being administered approximately a half dozen psychotropic drugs - drugs for treating mental illness. They are generically referred to as antipsychotics.

I don't know how many people can describe the experience of being administered large dosages of psychotropic drugs simultaneously. I was in what I can only describe as a continuous dream for more than a month. Few of the dreams resembled normal ones. In some I was sitting in the upper rows of seats in a theater or arena, watching my former workplace on a stage, as if it were a play. At other times some sort of medical person, a nurse perhaps, trying to do something to me - take medicine. She was an enormous person, almost impossibly large. She screamed at me constantly for what seemed like hours. Later someone else apologized for her behavior. Several times I seemed to be on an alien planet, seemingly devoid of life and dark. Several times it seemed that I was confined to some sort of asylum, the beds had cages built around them. I wanted a phone or a computer so I could communicate with someone outside but I was locked up in a cell. Sometimes it seemed I could hear someone in an adjacent room constantly screaming and the staff talking about him. A couple of times I believed another person was in the bed beside me, a man fully clothed, and somehow knew that he was dead. Sometimes I would see multiple clocks on the walls all showing different times.

While all this was going on I was as I said conversing with the staff and my visitors. I was talking random nonsense but I was awake. So it was presumed that I needed more drugs and to be tied to the bed. Most people develop a tolerance for drugs and increased dosages are needed. I have a natural resistance to most drugs and it happens much sooner with me. Twice during the first month I became, briefly, almost completely lucid. Once was during a visit by a friend from work. We watched a television program - the Barrett-Jackson Automobile Auction - for a couple of hours. After she left I went blank again until the next time. On this occasion I woke up in an ambulance. I remember well the interior, the gurney I was on, the ambulance being backed into the bay at the hospital I had been at earlier. I was unloaded and rolled through the halls. At some point I was sedated and that was that. On that occasion I was being taken back to the hospital to have a feeding tube reinserted as I had allegedly pulled out the one that had been put in. On each occasion the drugs had worn off sufficiently for me to know what was going on but each time I was drugged again.

After the dosage reduction I did nothing but lie in bed and have medications administered regularly. Meals - awful stuff - were brought and I ate them. They continued to put something (medication) in the feeding tube regularly. I had a telemetry box hanging on a cord around my neck - most of the time it was not powered on and usually one or more of the sensors were loose and the staff only occasionally bothered to reattach them. Between it and the feeding tube I could not comfortably lie in any position but flat on my back. In any case I was tied in that position. By tied I mean that loops of wire - thin, two twisted strands, like clothesline wire - were around my wrists and ankles. These were connected by strips of cloth - what looked like torn sheets - to the bedframe. My hands were freed temporarily so I could sit up to eat or receive medicine and then promptly tied again. I asked the staff not to tie me but they told me it was ordered by the doctor.

The doctor. What can I say about the doctor? Well, to this day I have never seen the doctor who ordered me tied to a bed for months. Did you get that? I have never seen him. I asked to see him. I asked every day to have the doctor come see me, to see that there was no need to time me to the bed. Each time I was told that the doctor would be advised that I wished to have him visit me. Each day, after breakfast and the usual medications, I lay in the bed watching the door. People passed by and occasionally someone came in but no doctor.

The doctor I have never seen is - according to the records - one Jeffery Blake Copeland.

Normally a patient in a hospital is visited by the doctor responsible for their care daily, usually in the morning. This visit is billed to the insurance company. I had been hospitalized once before for several days. One of the bills was for these daily visits - $115 a day. That had been several years earlier, I would imagine the insurance company was being charged more for the visits Dr. Copeland never made. I wonder if the hospital did bill them for that item - if so it would constitute fraud but it was a minor item. The hospital was billing my insurance company something over a hundred thousand dollars every two weeks. I was in there for ten weeks or so...

You see, ACCH is a special type of hospital, known as a long-term care hospital. Forget the aggrandizement - there is no such thing as a Long Term Acute Care Hospital. Anyone with a grain of sense knows if a person who is acutely ill or injured for very long will be either dead or beyond recovery. These hospitals are governed by a law written by Medical Industry lobbyists to increase revenue. They are long term care hospitals and acuteness has nothing to do with it. One of the requirements for these hospitals to maintain their special status is that the average patient stay must be at least 25 days. Is a patient is admitted and dies after say, ten days, that isn't good. It isn't good that the patient died obviously but it is even less good for the hospital. Enough of those and the 25 day statistic is at risk. The deficit has to be made up with other patients. So these hospitals keep patients as long as possible. Actually all hospitals do that if they have available space but for LTCHs it is essential to the business model. And there is a special category of medical fraud called LTCH or LTACH fraud.

Dr. Copeland can take his choice because I don't know what was going on in his head. Or what the hospital policy is, if you take my meaning. If you know the CEO you can do some research and maybe get a better idea. Anyway, which was it Doctor? Are you just that stupid and incompetent or were you deliberately drugging me senseless and telling my family I had brain damage and would never recover, so you could keep me in the hospital at ten thousand dollars a day? Given what it was costing you to keep me there I was a gold mine. And the more days I was there the more days available to pad the books for the patients that didn't make it 25 days.

Let's see if this helps. My sisters decided that at the very least I wasn't getting any better and - let's just say your behavior made them suspicious. You didn't come out of your office to talk to them most of the time, and you didn't come to my room at all. They began contacting other rehab facilities to see if one of them would accept me. I was awake by this time and I remember a couple of times people from those hospitals came to see me. They actually came into my room and looked at me. I was still pretty hazy and didn't know what it was about and didn't talk to them. Later I looked at the records and found out why they wouldn't take me. They couldn't deal with my 'behavioral problems'. What behavioral problems Doctor? I was lying quietly in the bed 24/7 and not causing anyone any trouble. Whether or not you knew you should have known.

No, Doctor Copeland, here's what I think. I believe you told them I was violent and required constant restraint so they wouldn't take me and the insurance money would continue flowing. I had a platinum Blue Cross policy and it was probably better than Medicare and you didn't want to give it up. Finally they told you they were taking me home. Strangely you let them do it even while warning of dire consequences if I was removed from your 'care'. But what could you do? Refuse? If they got a lawyer and you were forced to let an independent doctor examine me your scheme would have been exposed. Or your incompetence would have been exposed. Take your choice.

After more than two months in a hospital bed, tied to it most of the time, a physical therapist (according to his nametag) and an assistant got me out of the bed and attempted to return me to an ambulatory condition. The first time I was unable to stand even with them holding me. My legs collapsed under me. They picked me up a few times and eventually put me back in the bed. The next day they repeated the process with the same result. One of my sisters came in a bit later and I told her that I would never be able to walk. And that is what I believed. On the third day I was able to stand for a couple of minutes but it another two days before I could stand - using a walker - unassisted.

After a couple of days I was able to walk a short distance down the hallway, very slowly. As I passed several rooms I looked at the patients inside. It seemed that in each one an elderly person was lying on their back, whether asleep or looking at the ceiling. As I had been for weeks. Now I wonder how many of them were being used as I had been. Many people in hospitals don't have family and friends to visit them and of those who do most accept what the doctors tell them. They are the doctors, and why would a doctor lie?

At some point during the next few days a nurse took me down the hall to a room with a shower and assisted me to be become somewhat clean for the first time in weeks. She was one of about two or three that actually treated me like something human. Most of the others stood around outside the door to my room and talked about me, laughing at me and the things I said in my drugged state.

Finally it was time to leave. Papers absolving the hospital of any deleterious consequences resulting from my being removed from the hospital's 'care' had been signed (the only deleterious consequences were caused by the hospital) and I was dressed in clothes my sisters had brought. They assisted me to the elevator and across the lobby to the entrance where a car was waiting. I had to be lifted into the car. For the first time in months I was free of the clutches of the Medical Industry. I slept during the nearly two hour drive home and for most of the next several days. Actually recovering would take much longer and in fact continues. Whether I will live long enough to become near fully functional again I have no idea.

Sunday 21 July 2024 14:34:00 1721590440

Recently in Massachusetts young woman - a nurse and mother of three young children - allegedly killed her children and then jumped out of a window in what was described as a suicide attempt. Wanna hear another theory? That poor woman - who had about twice as many psychodrugs in her as I did - was nowhere close to reality in her head. Sure, she was walking around and apparently acting normal but in her head something was telling her those children weren't children but something else. Some kind of monsters like I saw when I was sitting in a hospital bed talking to the nurses and visitors. Get it? Those are worse hallucinogens than any recreational drugs. She wasn't trying to kill herself when she jumped out the window, she was fleeing from something that only existed in her head. Three dead children, a woman crippled for life - physically and mentally - and man who has lost his children and wife to the greed and stupidity of the parasites of the Medical Industry. She was part of it and believed and trusted the people who did that to her.

Psychopmarmaceuticals, or psychotropic medications are, to quote Wickedpedia "psychoactive drug taken to exert an effect on the chemical makeup of the brain and nervous system. Thus, these medications are used to treat mental illnesses. These medications are typically made of synthetic chemical compounds and are usually prescribed in psychiatric settings, potentially involuntarily during commitment."

OK, Dr. Copeland and your lawyers, ACCH is not a 'psychiatric setting'. I was not mentally ill and there was no reason for anyone to believe that I was. In sixty-five years before I was committed to that hellhole I was never suspected of being mentally ill and in the three years since I barely escaped with my life I have not been considered mentally ill - by myself or anyone else. Got that? Why did you put those drugs in me? Did you diagnose me? I was unconscious when I arrived and you kept me that way for months. Why? Did your employer perhaps encourage you? You were billing my insurance for more than $100,000 every ten days or so. Your employer is a long-term care hospital dependent on patient day statistics.

Tuesday 30 July 2024 11:37:34 1722357454

On a cool morning in April of 2021 I walked out of Arkansas Continued Care Hospital for the last time. Actually it was the only time since I had never walked in or out, having been transported by ambulance and rolled in on a gurney. Actually as I learned later I was transported to the hospital twice and rolled in on a gurney twice and rolled out once but I'll explain later how that works. It may be that I will one day walk in again should I choose to do so but that is for another time.

Let me tell you something about Arkansas Continued Care Hospital. Jonesboro Arkansas is a small city in northeast Arkansas, the fifth most populous in the state. That means that only four other cities have more people living in them. Those would be Little Rock (the capital) down in middle of the state and Fort Smith (over on the west edge) and Fayetteville and Springdale over in the northwest part. That's where Wal-Mart and some other big companies are headquartered. Of course Wal-Mart is the biggest but there are a few pretty big ones. Some trucking companies are based there as is the company that makes Daisy BB guns. Daisy didn't begin there though but was moved from it's place of origin in Michigan. Northeast Arkansas is about all agriculture and Jonesboro is the only sizeable city in the area. It's part of a larger population center, the Jonesboro metro area containing about 120,000 of which about 80,000 are in Jonesboro. Paragould is about fifteen miles away and it and its surrounding population bump the area population up to about 163,000.

Paragould is where my journey through the bowels of the beast began, at the local hospital. Arkansas Methodist Medical Center is a fair-sized hospital but doesn't have the advanced stuff - heart surgery, cancer treatment, etc. Jonesboro is about fifteen minutes away and has two hospitals that have all that. It has a third alleged hospital - Arkansas Continued Care Hospital (ACCH) - which is a disgrace and I'll just leave it at that for now.

A long time ago - let's say twenty years - there were two hospitals in Jonesboro. Saint Bernards had been there for over a hundred years and is big and spread out over the old downtown area. There was a smaller hospital built sometime in the 1970s. It was called the Methodist Hospital of Jonesboro and was located out on what was then the southeast edge of town. It was a lot smaller than Saint Bernards but it had a heliport I occasionally observed a helicopter delivering a patient there. Sometime in the 1990s the hospital was acquired by a company which subsequently had some problems - financial and possibly legal - and closed some of the hospitals it operated. Methodist Hospital of Jonesboro was one of those closed.

That was somewhere around 2000. The facility sat there empty for a few years before it was temporarily occupied again. A local group of doctors had a big clinic and expanded it into a small hospital of sorts and merged with the big Baptist hospital in Memphis. The big outfit decided to build a huge new state-of-the-price.... OK state of the art too hospital up on Highway 49 going north out of town towards Paragould. It took two or three years to build and looks like it. Nice place, some family and friends have had young people have children there, I had a close relative have heart surgery there, nice place and apparently does good work.

While the new hospital was being built the NEA Baptist Hospital as it was called used the old Methodist facility. That was in 2012 or so. A couple of years later the new facility was finished and the old Methodist hospital on Red Wolf - formerly Stadium Boulevard - was again deserted.

From 2014 it sat there empty. I drove through Jonesboro regularly and often looked over that way as I passed. Same empty building, occasionally when I had some time to kill I drove over and looked at it. Weeds growing in the parking lot, some maintenance was being done as they never got out of control. One day noticed a new sign on the building. I went over and looked at it. Big blue letters: ARKANSAS CONTINUED CARE HOSPITAL. OK, some kind of rehab facility maybe? That's what I thought of. The original hospital didn't have any kind of signage on the building, hospitals often, probably usually, do not. I didn't think much about it, and certainly didn't expect to almost die there one day. But I would. Almost die that is. After almost dying in another hospital and being revived only to be fed to the beast that lurks in the stygian depths of the Medical Industry.

But such is life.

Tuesday 13 August 2024 12:36:05 1723570565

On 15 December 2020 began as a normal day. Some months later I would look at the final entry in a journal I had kept for many years. According to that final entry I left for work at 0724. I arrived at the office at 0744. Eventually I would recover enough of my memory to know that I would have probably stopped to talk with a couple of people and gone to the office of a friend who worked downstairs. We would have chatted for a few minutes before I went upstairs to my office.

Before going to work my usual routine was a hundred pushups on the floor beside my bed. I had long ago stopped at a hundred and two or three days a week I would repeat the process later in the day if time permitted. Most days I would walk two or three miles after work if the weather was agreeable. I had a breakfast of whole oats with no additives with a cup of black coffee followed by a large glass of non-concentrated orange juice. I took an aspirin because that is recommended for reducing the probability of a heart attack. The surgery I would have later that day was supposed to prevent a heart attack too but I promptly had one two days later. Supposedly eating oats was good for that as well. Okey-dokey.

I was technically out of shape at near forty pounds overweight. I didn't look like it because I have a stocky build to begin with with wide shoulders and legs and so I didn't have the appearance of being especially fat. Whatever the case sometime that morning things went south in a big way.

My friend who worked downstairs tells me that I came down to see her and told her I felt like I should see a doctor. Given that when something similar happened a few years earlier I barely made it to the hospital she called my doctor to see if someone could see me. Shortly after that I was unconscious on the floor and they were calling an ambulance.

Paragould has a decent hospital, bigger than the old derelict joint in Jonesboro were I would eventually find myself. They don't do heart surgery, and decided that I probably needed it so they got me back in an ambulance and sent me to the nearest place that could do it. Actually not the closest but more on that in a minute.

The Paragould hospital did a heart catheterization and that would cause some problems later. OK, moving on.

The hospital in Paragould is located on a four-lane street about a mile from nice new four-lane that connects it to Jonesboro about fifteen miles away. Once the ambulance covers that mile or so it's got clear sailing to Jonesboro - light traffic most of the time and with the traffic moving over it's a quick trip to Jonesboro. Now Jonesboro has two hospitals. Technically it has three but the one I'm talking about (Arkansas Continued Care Hospital) is indeed only technically a hospital. It is a deathtrap and although my destination was on of the real hospitals the mouth of the beast yawned not far away.

You see, Paragould is about fifteen miles from Jonesboro, way less than fifteen in an ambulance moving well over the speed limit most of the time but the hospitals in Jonesboro are so that one of them is really just that far - fifteen minutes or less from Paragould the ambulance driver can hang a right and be at the emergency room in two or three minutes. Or he can continue one and shortly find himself in a maze of narrow and congested streets leading to the other hospital. Let's call it hospital B and the one we just passed Hospital A. Hospital C is later and you don't want to know.

Hospital A is a real new facility, state-of-the-art (and state-of-the-price this being the Medical Industry) and part of a large hospial system centered in nearby Memphis. It's easily the better hospital in every way. But the ambulance went on by and down the streets of the old town to the old hospital. This added another fifteen minutes or more.

Now help me out here. I'm in imminent danger of beginning an irreversible process of assuming room temperature and a there are two hospitals equipped to deal with the situation and perhaps keep me alive. Instead of sending me to the closest one - much closer in time - they send me to the one farther away. If I expired neither hospital would get much money since dying is fairly cheap compared to surgery and days or weeks or in my case months of hospital 'care'. Yet they took the chance by sending me to their preferred hospital.

Actually I know why but there is no point in going there now. If you aren't in the club you aren't in the club and that's the way it is even in the smallest nooks and crannies of society. Small towns - much smaller than Jonesboro - have their dirty laundry shook out now and then and I wonder why people make asses of themselves for so little gain, especially money. I understand it in places as big as Jonesboro and even Paragould as there is a fair amount of money in being in the club.

I was still breathing when they got me into Saint Bernards and they went to work. Did a bypass and sent me to recovery. Then I had the heart attack. And I wasn't breathing - it was twelve minutes before they got a trach in.

My next of kin - two siblings - had been with me constantly up until then, one or the other leaving occasionally for a while. Having been told that I was no longer in danger they had left the hospital to attend church some forty miles away. Upon their arrival my younger sibling's phone rang and upon answering she was told "We've lost him."

Generally that means the subject of the remark has expired. Assumed room temperature. Whether that is what the caller meant I have no idea. My two siblings hastened back to the hospital to find that I was in fact alive but wasn't expected to be in very good shape if I ever did again assume a vertical existence. That is I was likely to be a vegetable at best. One doctor did have the good sense to tell them that it was an irresponsible and remark and possibly not accurate.

OK, no oxygen to the brain for nearly a quarter hour, it didn't look good. The hospital records indidate that I experienced an anoxic encephalopathy. Probably I should have been dead but I wasn't. I was dissociated from reality for the remainder of a full month 15 December 2020 - 15 January 2021), the ending day being my birthday. Nohing like being neat.

There was the problem of they dye injected during the diagnostic attempts at the previous hospital. The dye can cause acute kidney failure and in my case it did. It has its own special name - Contrast Induced Nephropathy (CIN). Ever notice the Medical Industry likes three-letter acronyms? Especially when advertising to encourage people to see if they have a three-letter ailment that can be treated with a product they're selling. Recently I have noticed to two-letter ones but three seems to be the favorite. Probably somewhere a focus group has evaluated commercials to determine the optimal number of letters. So I had one and they would do dialsys on me for a while to see if the little organs would recover from the chemical attack.

I don't know if it's profitable to detail the approximately twenty-five days that I was in Saint Bernards. I haven't gone through the records because the actions of ACCH were far more egregious, by an order of magnitude or three. I have no memory of it because I was drugged senseless - whether with sedatives or some other type of drug, I was completely out of it.

After the almost exactly one month - given that some months are longer than others and from the fifteenth day of one of one month to the fifteenth day of the next - is that exactly a month or amonth and a day? - they sent me to another hospital. The buildings that once housed an actual hospital that is. Two of them actually. Now it was the belly of the beast.

I was unaware of my predicament until another month and some days had passed. Apparently believing that I was brain-dead or something close to it they good Dr. Copeland did no more than the doctors at Saint Bernards to asssess my condition and the necessity for care. At least they never did it competently - once removed from the last hospital I began to recover immediately. Slowly, I have still not recovered and the damage done by the psychopmarmaceuticals Dr. Copeland administered have caused permanent damage but had I remained in his custody I would now be either dead or beyond any possibility of recovery.

They continued the dialysis - the only thing they did right. My kidneys recovered - in such CINs that is generally the case unless they don't. Now I had a lot drugs in me and being incognizant of my situation or even of my existence I was - according to the staff - uncooperative and potentially violent. If I was it was because of the drugs - in sixty-five years I had exhibited any such behavior and in the three years since my deliverance from that place I have not done so.

So they got this old guy, pullling the wires and tubes, falling out of bed, moving when they wanted me to be still so they tied me to the bed. Not using those padded restraints made for the purpose - wire tied around my wrists and ankles. While I didn't know about it it didn't matter except the wire rubbed my wrists and ankles raw but when one day I woke up I was alarmed to say the least and when they left me that way day after day I kind of began to resent it.

What the doctor had done, as I would later learn, was use psychotropic drugs to - for lack of a better description -send me on a nonstop psychedelic experience. I have never used psychedelic substances and have, or had, no idea of what it is like. I have been around people who were in that state and their behavior suggested that they were - inside their minds - an unreal world. I was awake but did not know it. I am told by visitors and the hospital records record that during this time I was behaving in a nearly normal manner - sitting up and conversing with visitors and hospital staff, eating and drinking. I remember none of it but I do remember hallucinations - the dead man lying in the bed beside me, an enormous black woman - too big to be real - screaming at me constantly and trying to make me do something, being at my workplace - not being in it but observing it as if it was a play on a stage far away. I saw the graves of my recently deceased parents but two small stones instead of the large monument that covers both graves. Occasionally I believed I was on another plantet seeing a bizarre alien landscape. Sometimes it seemed that I was aware that I was in a hospital and was not sick and my captors had no intention of letting me go. I wanted a phone so I could call someone, not knowing who I would call. I thought I would call a lawyer and have them make them release me.

That's what I was seeing in my mind. That is why I suspect that the nurse in Massachusetts acted as she did because of hallucinations caused by the drugs. I couldn't do anything violent because I was tied to the bed. And I was tied to the bed because of the way I acted under the influence of the drugs. I wonder how many other people have committed irrational acts, harming other people, because of misapplied psychopharmaceuticals.

For may years now mass shootings have been a regular occurrence, many of them occurring at schools and perpetrated by teenaged students. I have been able to find only a few - perhaps only one - case in which the perpetrator was not under the influcence of psychiatric drugs. Most other mass shootings, particularly at workplaces, involved psycho-medicated perpetrators.

OK? I'll just leave it there.

For more than a month I was in that state. My two siblings visited every day, usually together but sometimes they came on alternting days because the hospital was allowing only one visitor in the room. Covid, donchaknow? I consider myself fortunate that they didn't administer the vaccine - at least I hope they didn't. This was before the Plandemic became so hysterical so they probably didn't. In any case only one visitor was allowed in the room. They were driving 40 miles each way to visit me and the doctor. Most of the time the doctor did not even come to my room with them - they had to go to his office and talk to him, often standing outside the door as he had someone else in the office.

As I said I was tied to the bed and asleep most of the time and no physical therapy was being done, allegedly because I was uncooperative and violent. When asked to remove the restraints Dr. Copeland refused, saying that he was concerned for the safety of his staff. In any case my physical condition deteriorated and about two dozen medications were being applied daily to treat the various symptoms of the abuse to my body. Finally they persuaded Dr. Copeland to reduce the dosages of the psychotropic drugs. This was done in increments and one day I woke up in a dark hospital room.

I say that I woke up because, as stated earlier, my body was apparently awake - eyes open, conversing, eating - but my perceptions were entirely the hallucinations caused by the drugs. So I found myself that day lying in a hospital bed and wondering why I was there. I was immediately cognizant of my surroundings and of the several nurses and other persons who came and went and did various things which included administering drugs using a feeding tube. I don't know if I woke in the morning and the first visitor arrived later of if it was the next day - I wasn't yet processing the data well enough. Nevertheless I eventually saw a woman wearing normal (non-hospital) clothing standing in the doorway. It took a while but by the time she was in the room standing by the bed I recognized her as one my sisters.

We talked for the hour or two that she was there, I learned that I had had a heart attack, and that was about it. As days passed I learned little more about the experience at Saint Bernards - only that I had had surgery and some sort of complications, possibly about the anoxic encephalopathy incident. I remained tied to the bed and asked them to release me - they were freeing one and sometimes both hands if they wanted me to sit up but tied me again afterwards. I was told that my request had been given to the doctor and he refused. I asked them to have him come to my room and observe me, each time I was told that he would visit me the next morning. Each next morning I lay in the bed, watching people passing the room and occasionally one coming in, but the doctor never showed.

At some point - whether it was the lingering effects of if the dosages of some of the drugs had been changed - I began to hallucinate again. Or maybe it was dreams. Twice I managed to free my hands - the perils of not using proper equipment as patients can not escape from regular restraints - and once I had freed my feet I lay quietly in the bed until the nurses returned and tied me again. Somehow I got one of the hand restraints loose from the bedframe - they were tied with what looked like strips of torn bedding - and lay on top of it, pulling the dirty blanket or whatever it was up over me and pretending to be asleep or unconscious when the nurses returned. They looked around a bit but didn't move me - just replaced it with another one. Later I gave it to my sister and she took it with her. Somehow I knew something wasn't right and that I should have some evidence.

The nurses stood outside the door, gossipping and laughing. I heard one of them say to some one "we call him Houdini". I heard that several times. Obviously I had not committed any acts of violence of tried to escape during my brief periods of freedom but they refused to leave me untied. And still the doctor - Doctor Jeffery Blake Copeland - never came to see me. To this day I have never seen him in person - I have seen photos on the hospital wesbsite. It's on the "Our Team" page, it looks like someone did a professional photo shoot for it. I've been in a couple of those. Fat guy, not very old. I looked into him and he only had a few years experience - about two at one of the real hospitals in Jonesboro and later a year or two at a hospice and rehab facility located in the same building as ACCH. Why he left the most highly regarded hospital in town to work in a dump like the one I was in I have no idea.

Just kidding.

What happened was that my sisters realized something was bad wrong and began working to get me out. They didn't yet realize that there was absolutely nothing wrong with me execpt the neurological damage that was being inflicted and thought I might actually need some sort of therapy but I wasn't going to get it there. So they contacted several legitimate - as legitimate as Medical Industry operations can be - facilities in the area and asked them if they could take me. Two of them sent representatives to see me. I remember them coming in but didn't know what they were there for. Both declined solely on the word of the hospital that I exhibited serious behavioral issues that would make me impossible for them to care for. So day after day I lay in a dirty bed wearing a dirty hospital gown and my physical condition deteriorated.

They did at some point remove the 'restraints' and allowed me to leave the bed. I was just able to move to a chair a few feet away and sit and that was it. I was too weak to do anything more. I was lucky that one of the other facilities did not take me - eventually my sisters decided that it time to end it and told Dr. Jeffery Blake Copeland that they were taking me home.

He gave them warnings of dire consequences if they did so but did not try to prevent it. If my life was endangered by being removed from his 'care' shouldn't he have done something? They told him they wanted me walking and able to leave. So one day a young man, pleasant fellow in fairly clean-looking scrubs and a nametag - something I had seen few if any of on the other staff. The name tag indicated that he was a physical therapist. He had a big guy with him, he had one of those long wide straps around his waist and several excess feet hanging loose. The idea being that if I couldn't stand - I couldn't - he would wrat around me to keep me vertical.

The regular-sized physical therapist and the big guy helped me get out of bed. I had been hobbling over to the chair holding onto it to keep from falling. More like crawling. They got me vertical for a few seconds before my legs gave way. They had to stand close together holding me up with the strap wound around me. After about ten minutes of it they put me back in bed and left.

Shortly afterwards one of my sisters came in and asked me how it went. I told her, and believed then, that I would never be able to walk again. Being tied with wire hand and foot to a bed is scary but I had learned to live with it. Thinking I might never be able to walk again really scared me.

The next day they came back and tried again with no better results. It was several days - I believe the following week - that they came back. After a couple more sessions I was able to stand for a while and take a few steps, carefully, with them holding me. After a couple of weeks, at three sessions a week, I was to stand and walk using a walker. They still had to stay close and catch me as I frequently stumbled. Finally one day we went outside the room into the hallway.

I walked - if you can call it that - down to the end of the hall and back. Maybe 200 feet. As I passed each room I looked inside as almost all the doors were open. In several I saw what looked like an elderly person lying on their back, either asleep or staring at the ceiling. That was scary too, thinking about how close I was to being one of them.

After a few days of that my sisters told me I would be leaving. One of the nurses took me to a room down the hall and helped me take a shower, as much as was possible while being supported by a walker. I would later learn that I had been there for sixty-eight days, in a dirty bed and a dirty hospital gown that as far as I can remember only was changed once - when the apple juice they gave me at breakfast made me vomit. I knew it would happen because apple juice does that to me but I was desperately thirsty. The food was enough to make one vomit.

My systers had brought me some clothes and I managed to get dressed with a little help. I felt as weak as the proverbial kitten. I was about thirty pounds lighter than I had been when I arrived (not that I couldn't spare a few pounds) and my clothes were loose. With two people walking beside me and one behind me I slowly made my way to the elevator. Downstairs I crossed the lobby where a car was waiting. Someone opened the door and helped me get in. I collapsed and didn't move during the ride home, nearly an hour. I didn't know then what I had escaped from, what I had survived. As I would learn others have not been so fortunate.

OK, let's leave it there for a while.

Friday 30 August 2024 20:02:19 1725066139

One of my sisters lives on a fair-sized estate near the small town of Wynne. I grew up there and visited regularly during the thirty or years I had been living in Paragould and Jonesboro and owned a small place nearby. Upon arrival I promptly went to bed and slept for a long time. How long I have no idea as my perceptions were still skewed and would remain so for a long time and some remain so three years later. Such are the side effects of psychopharmaceuticals.

You see, psychotropic drugs are developed the same way as other drugs - throwing something sticky at a wall and seeing what sticks. I would ask how they know whether to use the stuff that sticks or the stuff that doesn't. Obviously the stuff that sticks is what has something like the desired effect and in fact medical research has always involved trial and error to some degree. The problem is that once an objective is in sight little things like side effects are ignored.

Some years ago - in the 1980s - I knew a young woman, several years younger than me. Her family was wealthy and owned some profitable businesses and she worked for on of them. The business was a client of the company I worked for and I was there frequently and got to know her a bit. She was an extraordinarily beautiful woman and I don't say that about many, and had a personality to match. She treated everyone the same regardless of their station in life and that is pretty unusual.

Some colleagues who knew her better than I did told me that she began to have 'mental problems' and was seeing a shrink as we called psychomedical types. I still saw her occasionally and on one occasion she talked about her treatment which had included a couple of incidents of being hospitalized. She showed me a pill case of the type people use to organize their daily medications. There were at least nine or ten.

I changed jobs and saw her only rarely and eventually not at all. A few years back I came across her obituary - she had died at the age of forty-six. I inquired of some acquaintences who had known her and was told that her death was an overdose or adverse reaction to a combination of drugs and was considered accidental. I prefer to believe it was than that it was deliberate - that she had become unable to deal with the pain. Now that I know what those drugs do to you I know that is a possibility.

Why does the psychomedical racket continue and grow with no consequences for the people who perpetrate these atrocities? Mostly because the power of Medical Industry is such that it is nearly immune. Occasionally doctors or hospitals are sued for malpractice or prosecuted for fraud but the monster is so big that resources are unavailable in cases of fraud. Only when a particular entity falls from favor with the powers that be is anyone ever held accountable and even then the true villains suffer nothing more than financial loss.

In the case of victims of psychomedical abuse there are rarely any witnesses and when there are they are unlikely to be believed. Who believes a woman who 'murdered' her three children? What the doctors did to her doesn't matter as their actions - no matter how improper - were not illegal and the little corpses are not in his office. And who believes a kid who just shot a bunch of students and teachers? If he is even alive - many 'mass shooters' either kill themselves or are killed by law enforcement. Who believes a former military person at a VA clinic who has been filled with drugs and comes to the hospital and kills people? These people are crazy, right?

In my case once free of the drugs I began - slowly - to recover somewhat. A complete recovery is unlikely - some of the drugs used on me cause what is known as a chemical lobotomy. I cannot walk without a cane and even with it fall regularly. My memory frequently goes to lunch and I