An Open Thank You Letter on behalf of Ayesha Kreutz and her Miraculous Defeat of the Chyna Virus.
Updated: Dec 30, 2021
Dear friends and family,
Sorry this has taken so long. Especially to all the folks who donated to Ayesha Kreutz’s Gofundme page or through Kezia and Sherie regarding her legal and medical fund after going on the ventilator with the pneumonia caused by the Chyna Virus.
I tried to do a thank you on the Gofundme page, but as soon as the fund paid out, they erased the page and all the names of the donors. If you donated, I’m sorry, but Gofundme has prevented me from seeing those records. So, please accept this open thank you letter to all who prayed, donated, called, worried and/or fretted about my wife on the ventilator. I’m not done, but thank you.
I am actually going to include portions of a letter I tried to write to my wife and to everyone who cared on the night of the day they intubated her. I was home alone, and my kids had to be away from me because I had just spent eight days taking care of Ayesha before she went into the hospital. I was feeling pretty low. Like a failure. I wasn’t able to keep her out of the hospital, the place where COVID patients go to die. What I wrote didn’t work, so no one saw it.
I came back to it numerous times in the following week, but it always sounded too final and as if I, like those running the ICU where they were taking care of Ayesha, thought she was on her death bed. Eventually, I just walked away from what I wrote, but some of it is here. It is hard writing about your wife while she’s in a coma and can’t breathe without a ventilator. It never seems to come out right. Every once in a while, I’d find I’d written something in the past tense and would hear my wife chirping in my ear, “I’m not dead yet,” as if she were playing her part as the nearly dead in Monty Python and the Holy Grail – believe me, she appreciates that. For the sake of my kids, whom I wanted to protect from knowing the severity of the situation, I didn’t post my thoughts. I just kept quiet.
But here is some of what I wrote.
This day, October 8, 2021, turned out to be truly Dickensian in that it was the worst of times and the best of times. Considering that my best friend and my beloved wife was just put on a ventilator because of Covid and pneumonia, the “best of times” portion might sound crazy. Not going to lie, the last few days, with my wife in the hospital, have been truly the worst of my life. The worst of times.
However, at 5:00 that afternoon, unbeknownst to me, some folks set up a prayer vigil to be held outside the hospital. People from all over showed up, some of which I didn’t even know. A new father, whose son was born the day before, walked by and was so touched he stopped, met me, prayed with me and then went in. Twenty minutes later, he couldn’t get enough. He came out and laid down Psalm 52 like it was a Royal Flush on the devil’s poker table. Suck it Satan. What’s more appropriate than a new father of a baby that wasn’t aborted getting swept up by my wife’s prayer vigil? My wife’s raison d’etre is the pro-life movement.
Having heard my wife’s pro-life testimonies a thousand times, I never get bored of them. She has so many aspects she can cover and so many ways to get there, her testimony always turns out differently. Nonetheless, one of my favorite observations is her realization that she isn’t a woman who aborted a baby, but a mother of a dead child. It’s all relative.
And maybe that’s what this letter is about. It’s a love letter to my wife. But it’s not a letter to remember her. It’s a letter to celebrate the life she still lives. While her body is asleep so her lungs can get enough oxygen so her body can heal, her spirit is still there, and the people who’ve been driven into action on her behalf are being moved by it.
And let me tell you, she has an indomitable spirit. One that’s unlike any other I’ve ever encountered. I fell in love with her the first time I met her. It was on Resurrection Sunday over at the Sniateckis’ house. She and I started talking, and we didn’t finish for more than three hours. The most natural conversation ever. Seven months later, we were married. We knew. Shalom was introduced to me during that conversation. Ayesha asked 4-year-old Shalom, “What do you know about Barak Obama?” Without thinking more than a millisecond, Shalomy said, “He kills the babies.” It was the glory and rawness of truth from the mouth of a babe. Made me like Ayesha even more.
If you weren’t aware, killing babies is pretty much a no no in our book.
Ayesha has never been one to pussyfoot around the truth. Nor have I. [Wait until you read “I respond to those who wished my wife death.”] With that in mind, she always says, she married herself. Nonetheless, we are a little different. Whereas she is most concerned about how what she might say in a speech or write on the Facebook would appear in God’s eyes, I’m a little more Patrick Henry. “Give me liberty or give me death.”
[I took some stuff out here. It wasn’t necessary.]
And yes, we both learned a heck of a lot studying Frederick Douglass over the years. It’s all about freedom. Not just of the flesh, but of the spirit. The spirit is where the strength comes from.
With that in mind, I want to share something I put in a message to her while we were up all night the night before they put her on a ventilator. She was scared. As scared as I’d ever seen her. It was absolutely horrible. This is what I wrote:
I know you feel alone, but you are not. Let me tell you a story. It was thurs night in 1987. I was lying in a hospital bed the night before my sixth surgery in two weeks. Mon, Wed, fri, mon, wed, and now fri again. I didn’t think I had anything left. I thought I was going to die. I was sure of it. So, I prepared for death. I prayed all my waking moments and repented of my sins. I begged for forgiveness and that God would take me. It was a tough night. I put my body on cruise control and let God take the wheel. It was a terrible surgery and recovery, but that was the turning point. It got better. I was just reading Romans, and I was reminded that we must worry more about the spirit than the flesh. And then the passage if God is for me, who could be against me? It was there. So, I mentioned it. You are not alone. You are just being tested. Is your faith strong enough for what God has in store for you? I think it is. The prayers coming at God on your behalf are coming from all over the world. That ain’t no small thing. Pass this test. God is not done with you, my love. Nor am I. I love you more than anything. So, this is my advice. Tap your faith, put the anxiety away, and focus on the spirit. The flesh will take care of itself. In the name of Jesus, I pray. Amen.
Her response was this: “I love you babe. I will read this over and over. They have me in the icu now.”
I mention it because that is what I had her thinking about in order to get rid of the anxiety. The anxiety was killing her and making it even harder for her to breathe. So, when praying for her, pray that her spirit remains strong and that she knows I’m doing everything I can possibly do to make sure she gets the treatment she needs.
As well, pray that we get a positive ruling in the court and that we get an emergency ruling on this holiday.
[End of what I wrote back then.]
As you all know, we did eventually get a good ruling, and the Highland Hospital was forced to treat her with Ivermectin for five days. On the fifth day, there was a second hearing to look at the progress. After two days of the treatment, Ayesha started getting better. She needed less oxygen, and they were turning down her ventilator settings. This progress kept coming every day.
However, at the second hearing, the lawyers for the hospital told the judge we were giving her poison that was killing her and that she was getting worse every day. The hospital’s ICU physicians’ assistants were telling me she was getting better, and I had documented it all for my attorney. After the hospital that was trying to kill my wife made this argument, my attorney laughed out loud, and the judge must have thought them idiots as well. He ordered another seven days of treatment with Ivermectin.
I snapped into action, and, with the help of my wife’s friend Sherie, I found more Ivermectin at a Walgreens in Webster, drove there, picked it up and then drove it to the hospital. For at least a half a day, they pretended not to have gotten it, suggesting I didn’t drop it off. My attorney had to make a call to get that straightened out, and guess what, it got fixed quickly. While Ayesha missed a day of treatment, she was quickly back on track. Four days later, my wife, whom the hospital said was being killed from the poisonous Ivermectin, came off the ventilator. Guess that's why we don't take medical advice from hospital lawyers.
It was on that day too that I had to find more Ivermectin for days 6 and 7. I got some and took it to the hospital. On my way home, my wife, who’d been taken off the ventilator that day, called me. After the first excited greetings, I told her I had just left her hospital after dropping off some more Ivermectin. Her response was, “This hospital ain’t going to give me no Ivermectin.” You can take her out of the ghetto and off the ventilator, but my wife can still go ghetto on your butt.
That’s when I got to tell her what I’d been up to while she slept, “They’ve been giving it to you for the last 10 days. We sued, we won, and the hospital was under court order.”
Ayesha has been improving ever since that moment. Ivermectin saved her life. The nurses in the ICU told her they never thought she was going to survive. But she did. They asked her how she knew about Ivermectin. They’d never heard of it. That’s embarrassing on so many levels, but hey, what are you going to do? Today’s medical professionals have grown up with the scientific method of socialist cogs. It doesn’t begin with observation and end with conclusion. It begins and ends with the predetermined conclusion of the fascistic socialists running the system, the medical schools, the pharmaceutical companies and just about anything that looks like it could be raped by a pervert. I’ll get into that more in “I respond to those who called for my wife’s death” – Believe me. I don’t like perverts.
This letter is about thanking all those who helped turn the worst of times into the best of times. Whether it be with prayers, donations, phone calls, emails, cooked dinners, whatever, I want to thank you. My wife does too, but she’s with the grandbaby at the moment.
To all those who’ve prayed, came to the prayer vigil, offered help and/or donated to the legal account, I can’t thank you more. It’s amazing, I am truly humbled, but I am not surprised.
My wife is amazing. People always love her. Me, I’m happy to live in her shadow, where I quietly sit in admiration. But just understand, as much as you all love Ayesha, multiply that by a number you can’t count to in a week, and you might get in the vicinity of where I’m at. Ayesha is my best friend. I missed her terribly while she was in the hospital, and I don’t believe either of us would have made it through this without the love and prayers of all our friends and family.
That’s why she’s back. So, again I thank you all.
As an introduction to my response to those who whished my wife death, I'll begin by saying that many of her detractors claim she is a coward for not relenting to the fascistic pressure to get vaxcinated or to wear a mask all over the place (she just can't wear the mask for personal reasons). Knowing and claiming in the first place that Covid might kill her, she still stood against the vaxcine mandates – not only because they are dangerous, experimental, and not even FDA approved – but because forcing someone to take poison that kills or debilitates a noticeable percentage of the injected victims actually violates the Nuremberg Code. In any case, I will address the vilest of the vile who gleefully kicked at my wife's dying corpse with words while she was in a coma and on a ventilator.
Now, I do not do this because I think it will make a difference. I do it simply to draw attention to the monsters that have been created through the over hype of vaxcines that work so well you need to get boosted every few months. Of course that's no inconvenience at all because we all have to go and get our polio, smallpox, and measles vaccine updated every three months too. Lucky for us the pharmaceutical companies are more than happy to vaxcinate us regularly until we die. Or as they say in the board room, "We'll vaxcinate them to death," followed by a round of stinky-coffee-breathed guffaws. That in mind read my response to those who wished my wife death.