Matthew's Tears

By Geoffrey Stokes

Matthew is born in 1974 and his proud father, Geoffrey, takes him to their family doctor for his first triple antigen vaccination. Within 24 hours, Matthew begins to incessantly convulse. This is a time when no one questions their doctor, their word is sacred.

Nothing can be done to stop Matthew’s fits, and the doctors only say they are continuously causing more and more brain damage.

Geoffrey blames himself and descends into a self-destructive pattern of behaviour, causing his life to spiral downward and out of his control.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Apr 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9781398422513

Geoffrey Stokes

Geoffrey Stokes hails from Cessnock, New South Wales. As a young man he was well-known for his active participation in various sporting pursuits. Following school, he took a position with a large coal mining company in their newly established central computer office. The job involved the development and utilisation of a specialised computer system to run and maintain functions previously done by hand. He soon married, purchased a home in Cessnock and later welcomed the arrival of Matthew, his first child. Following the death of his son 11 years later, he was divorced and left his job to learn to fly aeroplanes. He later left the Hunter Valley. During this period, he worked in various marketing and management positions until discontentment eventually drove him to enrol in full-time university study, which culminated in his attainment of the awards; BCom, BCom (Hons), GradDipLegStuds, JurisD. The university experience reignited his passion for storytelling, which developed at a very young age. Initially this took him back to Cessnock, but he now resides in Bowral on the Southern Highlands of New South Wales where he continues to write.

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About the Author

Geoffrey Stokes hails from Cessnock, New South Wales. As a young man he was well-known for his active participation in various sporting pursuits. Following school, he took a position with a large coal mining company in their newly established central computer office. The job involved the development and utilisation of a specialised computer system to run and maintain functions previously done by hand. He soon married, purchased a home in Cessnock and later welcomed the arrival of Matthew, his first child.

Following the death of his son 11 years later, he was divorced and left his job to learn to fly aeroplanes. He later left the Hunter Valley. During this period, he worked in various marketing and management positions until discontentment eventually drove him to enrol in full-time university study, which culminated in his attainment of the awards; BCom, BCom (Hons), GradDipLegStuds, JurisD.

The university experience reignited his passion for storytelling, which developed at a very young age. Initially this took him back to Cessnock, but he now resides in Bowral on the Southern Highlands of New South Wales where he continues to write.

Dedication

I dedicate this book to Susan, my wife and best friend.

Copyright Information ©

Geoffrey Stokes 2023

The right of Geoffrey Stokes to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This publication is based on actual events. Certain characters, events, and sequence of events, locations and timelines have been changed, created and included for the enhancement of dramatic effect. The names of most of the characters involved, have been changed to protect their identity.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398422506 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398422513 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

With thanks and acknowledgement to the authors and creators of the following works, which were referenced in the telling of this story:

Brian Deer, The Vanishing Victims, The Sunday Times Magazine, November 1, 1998. http://briandeer.com/dtpdpt-vaccine-1.htm

Dorling Kindersley Limited: ATLAS, 2004, 2nd edition, 80 Strand, London.

Ethan A. Huff, DPT Vaccine Causes Permanent Brain Damage, 150 seizures a day in young girl, Natural News, com, Wednesday February 23, 2011, http://www.naturalnews.com/031469_vaccine_brain_seizures.html

Kangaroo Court: Family Law in Australia, Quarterly Essay 17, 2005, Black Ink, Melbourne, Australia.

Moore, Geoffrey. Essential Real Property: Cavendish essential series, 2005, Cavendish Publishing (Australia) Pty Ltd., 45 Beach Street, Coogee NSW 2034 Australia.

Pertussis Vaccination: Use of Acellular Pertussis Vaccines among Infants and Recommendations of the Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices (AC):

http://www.cdc.gov/mmwr/preview/mmwrhtml/0004 8610.htm

Seth Mnookin, The whole cell pertussis vaccine, media malpractice, and the long-term effects of avoiding difficult conversations:

http://blogs.org/thepanicvirus/2012/09/13the-wholecell-petussis-vaccine-media-

Sunday Telegraph, March 22, April 14, May 5, 12, 19, 26, 28, 31, of 2015 and January 3, 2016.

The Concise Oxford Dictionary, edited by J.M. Hughes, P.A. Mitchell and W.S. Ramson, 2nd Edn, 1992, Oxford University Press, Melbourne, Australia.

The True Story of Pertussis Vaccination, D Geier:

http://www.1796kotok.com/vacines/news/pdf

In loving memory of my son: Matthew Ian Stokes

Oh, what joy for our beautiful little boy

Born blue-eyed and perfect in every way

Until he was caught through nobody’s fault

By a friend that had gone astray

Alas the damage was done

Before his life had begun

Leaving him broken beyond repair

Without relief

There was little respite

Forcing him to fight with all his might

Until he could fight no more.

Preface

Guillanne de Baillon first described pertussis, or whooping cough, in 1578 as an epidemic bacterial disease that in Asian countries is commonly called the one-hundred-day cough. It is extremely infectious with reported attack rates as high as 70–100% in non-immunized populations. The pertussis toxin attacks the lining of the victim’s lungs causing wide ranging symptoms including airway obstruction, laboured breathing and inspiratory whoop, vomiting, fainting and coughing paroxysms. The severity of the cough has been reported to cause urinary incontinence, rib fractures, hernias, vertebral artery dissection, post-cough fainting and subconjunctival haemorrhages; while in extreme cases there are reports of pleura rupturing inducing pneumothorax, irreversible brain damage and death. Contemporary estimates indicate that as many as two hundred and ninety-five thousand people worldwide die annually from a reported four and a half million cases of pertussis.

In an effort to combat pertussis clinical research began in the early nineteenth century. Much of this research was specifically aimed at the development of an effective vaccine. By the early 1930s two vaccines were identified: the whole-cell vaccine and the acellular vaccine. The whole-cell vaccine exposed the recipient to the active form of the pertussis toxin with the aim of producing antibodies that are capable of inactivating the toxin if infected. The acellular vaccine, on the other hand, had the same effect but contained inactivated pertussis toxin.

In 1942 the American scientist, Doctor Pearl Kendrick, created the first triple antigen vaccine by successfully combining whole-cell pertussis with diphtheria and tetanus [DTP]. It was eagerly taken up by the drug companies and endorsed by governments who recognised DTP as the best antigenic preparation capable of preventing what were then acknowledged as three of the deadliest human diseases. However, by the early 1950s, it was well documented that whole-cell pertussis vaccine was causing biological and neurological complications.

In the 1960s US, British and Australian governments legislated that all pre-school children must be vaccinated with the triple antigenic preparation – commonly known as DTP triple antigen vaccine.

Geier & Colleagues established in 1978, that the whole-cell pertussis in the DTP vaccine contained extremely high levels of the very toxic substance endotoxin. The acellular pertussis vaccine, on the other hand, did not present with any major complications but was by-and-large previously disregarded because the American drug companies felt that they were too expensive to produce and sell. However, a major change in direction during this period precipitated by political pressures and litigation in the USA and England instigated by parent groups whose children were reportedly damaged by whole-cell pertussis vaccine culminated in a whole-sale shift to acellular vaccines in 1992. This massive shift precipitated an equally major push for scientists to develop new, less expensive methods of acellular pertussis vaccine production. Since year 2000, US drug companies have ceased the manufacture of whole-cell pertussis vaccine.

My son, Matthew received his first triple antigen vaccination in 1974 and within 24 hours his and our nightmare began. We were never informed by his doctor of the possible complications of the whole-cell pertussis vaccine prior to administering it and that it was being investigated in the USA and England. When Matthew began convulsing, his doctor failed to inform us of what the cause may be. If we were informed and still decided to take the risk of it not affecting Matthew it would have been a decision we made, not the GP’s nor the government of the day. But, as with many other Australian parents, we were kept in the dark by his GP. I believe that this nanny state attitude that prevails in Australia ultimately cost Australia more per capita in treating complications than the compensation paid out by the USA and English governments.

Fear of complications following the vaccination of their children has driven many parents throughout the twentieth century to elect not to have their children vaccinated or opt for the alternative double vaccination containing only the diphtheria and tetanus antigens [DT], even though the contemporary acellular pertussis vaccine is considered to be very safe.

By the twenty-first century, contemporary thinking was driven by politics and promoted by certain sections of the media. In their thirst for power, governments of all persuasion were advocating the denial of the unvaccinated children of their civil rights to attend pre-school and their parents’ rights to child minding rebates and social security benefits. In desperation, parents of the unvaccinated children claimed to be conscientious objectors, by asserting that vaccination is unsafe, and that they and their children are entitled to be afforded equal rights. To overcome the conscientious objectors, No jab, No pay laws were introduced by the Australian coalition liberal/national government paving the way for all such objections to be denied under government legislation.

The protestations continue today – a situation that could have been avoided if governments could have been honest from the start and doctors weren’t so easily swayed to take their line. Whatever happened to the Hippocratic Oath in which doctors formally affirmed their obligations and proper conduct towards patients back in the 1970s and their duty of care to them today? Doctors should not be dictated to by governments in order to avoid costs that may or may not arise from families taking legal action against them for negligence. It was the government that legislated that all children are to have the triple antigen vaccination. Consequently, I now believe that when it became apparent that the whole-cell pertussis vaccine was causing trouble the Australian government of the day directed doctors not to inform parents of the dangers that it presented.

Many thinking advocates of community safety promote education as the alternative to punishment as the way forward. Hopefully, good sense will prevail in the future over the knee jerk reactions that inevitably have created inequity within the community today.

∞∞∞

Chapter 1: Broken Dreams

We lived in the coalfields town of Cessnock in the New South Wales Hunter Valley when our son, Matthew, was born. I was employed by a large coal mining company in what was considered a job for life at their newly established Central Computer Office located in the hamlet of Weston, some four miles east of Cessnock where our family GP, Doctor Brown was one of several doctors co-opting out of a small medical practice housed in a modest five room fibro building. The town of Weston was then no more than a small coalmining village and home to many of the seventeen hundred underground coal miners employed at the nearby Hebburn No. 1 and No. 2 collieries.

Although a little out of the way, we chose Doctor Brown as our family GP on the recommendation of my wife, Jean’s big sister who told her after giving birth to her own child twelve months previously, ‘He will be there no matter what time of the day it is when it comes time for you to give birth.’

The location of the surgery further enhanced our decision to engage Doctor Brown as it was located on the opposite side of the train tracks that separated the village of Weston from my office, making it only a short walk away via an overhead pedestrian bridge.

Another reason for choosing Doctor Brown was Kurri Kurri Hospital which was a thriving medical centre that was established to service the many coal mining families inhabiting the village of Weston and the much larger township of Kurri Kurri itself. It sat like a beacon on a hill overlooking the township and the dangerous S-bend bridge that traverses the rail lines separating the two communities. Powerful steam engines, each pulling almost half a mile of skips, fully laden with the black coking coal dug from the depths of the many lower Hunter Valley underground coal mines that dominated the area, constantly rode the rail lines snaking their way to the Hexham coal washery before continuing on their journey to the Newcastle coal loader, situated on the Central New South Wales eastern seaboard.

Being a good young husband and father, when it came time for Matthew to have his first triple antigen injection, I volunteered to take him into Doctor Brown’s surgery while Jean waited in the car out front. That night he was a little irritable, so at 3 p.m. the following day, I rushed home from work and drove the car into the shed. I ran from the shed and momentarily spoke to Jean hanging clothes on the line before entering the house to see Matthew.

I lifted him from his bassinette and cradled him in my right arm. I proudly kissed his cheek and forehead several times.

‘I love you,’ I then repeated over and over whilst looking deeply into his big blue eyes.

‘Shit!’ I suddenly cried out, as his eyes flickered, then rolled back deep into their sockets, like the proverbial circus clown in side-show ally as the white ping pong ball passes down its metallic throat.

Terrified, I stared, mesmerised by the ghostly whites of his eyes that bulged with the hue of freshly boiled eggs before quickly fading to a yellowish cream edged in pink, like rose buds ready to burst. Then, his whole body stiffened, taking on the persona of a rigid porcelain doll and his arms slowly rose like mechanical levers.

Panic stricken, I gutturally screamed for my wife, ‘Jean, Jean, come quickly!’ I nestled him back into both arms cuddling him close to my chest. ‘Where is she?’ I desperately mumbled. I then urgently commanded at the top of my voice, ‘Jean, come here, quickly!’

Matthew’s eyes again rolled and his body stiffened. Not knowing what to do, I walked in a quick circle around the lounge room rocking Matthew from side-to-side, with my eyes transfixed on his eyes, willing them to return to normal. Then just as suddenly as it started, it subsided and Matthew’s body quickly returned to what I sensed to be a normal posture.

My mind was desperately racing wanting to find a simple explanation for what I had just witnessed. I checked the dial on the oil heater – but, alas, it was set on low.

Jean arrived, saying as she petulantly approached me, ‘What is your problem? You will scare Matthew screaming out like that and I still have a basketful of clothes to hang out before starting dinner.’

I immediately retorted, ‘His eyes are rolling back in his head – and it won’t stop!’

Jean could sense the panic and urgency in my voice. She looked at Matthew, only to think to herself, Matthew’s eyes seem quite normal and he is very quiet, considering the way that Geoffrey is shouting and carrying on.

Suddenly, Matthew’s eyes again rolled back. The whites of his eyes turned a very pale shade of pink, undulating and shimmering like ships’ beacons on a stormy night and his arms rose as his body stiffened and shuddered.

Jean screamed, ‘What is happening?’

I replied with great urgency and bewilderment in my voice, ‘He has done this three times since I picked him up.’

Panicking, Jean took Matthew from me, and shrieked, ‘Ring the doctor’s surgery!’

I ran to the phone in the hallway and dialled the surgery’s number. A recorded voice greeted me with the message, ‘This surgery is closed for the day. For conditions requiring immediate attention please go to the Kurri Kurri Hospital.’

I replaced the phone receiver and immediately headed for the lounge room, where Jean was by then beside herself shaking and crying in fear as Matthew’s seizures continued, whilst increasing in severity and duration. She desperately looked up at me as I entered the room.

I frantically spluttered, ‘I will get the car out while you wrap him up warmly. We will have to take him to the hospital.’

Driving to the hospital with Jean nursing Matthew in the front passenger seat of the car, I was unable to speak and shaking like a leaf. The sights and sounds emanating from the seat beside me controlled my mind, rendering me open to all manner of fears and torments. Until, finally, after eighteen horrendous minutes I was able to park the car outside the hospital’s main entrance. I quickly snatched Matthew from Jean’s embrace. And then, without waiting for her, while clutching Matthew tightly to my chest to shield him from the heavy rain which had just begun to fall, I ran across the driveway and up the ten steps leading to the large timber doors that opened into the hospital foyer.

I burst through the doors and came to a sudden halt – my eyes were flashing in all directions. My brain was on fire with fear as adrenaline saturated my body. I could sense that my life was starting to crumble before my eyes with Matthew’s turns now occurring continuously, with one almost instantly following the other in quick succession, and each turn now lasting up to one minute in duration.

I frantically looked around for someone to help him.

A nurse recognised me and seeing my agitated and frantic state she rushed across to me, and said, ‘Geoffrey, what is wrong?’

I could barely get the words My son, my son out before Jean burst in through the front doors.

She slipped on the tiles and almost fell due to her wet slippery shoes, before rushing to my side, her voice noticeably quavering as she said, ‘Is it still happening?’

I fought for control of my emotions but my bottom lip was markedly quivering as I replied, ‘Yes, they are happening all the time now, longer, one after another.’

The nurse immediately sensed the urgency – our child was obviously suffering from some form of dystonia, evidenced by his involuntary muscle contractions and mournful cat-like cry. So, she did not try to ascertain the problem but quickly walked us through the maze of corridors to the children’s ward.

The ward sister and a nurse led us to a cot. The sides of the cot were down, so I sat on the end of the cot still nursing Matthew, my mind almost bursting. And Jean pulled a chair over close to us – tears freely ran down her cheeks as she stroked Matthew’s right arm.

The ward sister asked me, ‘Who is your family GP?’

‘Doctor Brown,’ I quickly retorted.

The ward sister instructed the nurse to remain with us and then rushed off to the nurses’ station where she immediately rang Doctor Brown who lived on the other side of town.

He arrived twenty-five minutes later – the longest twenty-five minutes of our lives. Matthew’s eyes were constantly rolling while his body stiffened, his shuddering was increasing. There was no let-up – it just went on and on! Yet, Matthew’s face would seem normal for the moments in between the seizures – though his little mouth would quiver with fear and his eyes half close, his arms and legs no longer stiffened uncontrollably. And the little boy inside cried in the low tone of a child suffering despicable horrors at the hands of a monster – he was pleading to flee the pernicious demon consuming him.

I immediately beseeched Doctor Brown, ‘What the bloody hell is happening?’

Dr Brown, having just arrived and not yet knowing anything, merely pat me on the shoulder like one would a child, saying, ‘We will find out.’

This was a time when doctors were given God-like reverence and their word was unquestionable. Therefore, I reluctantly sat quietly on the edge of my seat forcing myself to endure the fear that was by then tearing my heart and mind apart. My stare was porcelain like in appearance; pale, motionless, not uttering a word, as Dr Brown proceeded to examine Matthew. But, as time slipped by, Dr Brown did not turn to us to say, He’s okay, just a loose nappy pin! Instead, as Matthew’s seizures continued unabated, I noticed a pronounced change in Doctor Brown’s normally confident demeanour – he began to show signs of panic as if he knew something but was unwilling to divulge to us what he knew. And, despite the compelling urge raging inside me to take my son, who, between seizures, was screaming in fear or in pain, or both, and just run away with him to comfort and protect him, I forced myself to think that the doctor was simply being cautious. So, while fighting my fears, I continued to sit silently – my mouth partially open, my neck tense and straining forward so as not to miss any movement or conversation between doctor and nurse, my eyes red and swollen with tears and fixed rigidly upon my beautiful small son.

Jean, too, sat stunned. Her eyes were permanently glued to her son’s every contorted movement – awkward, painful and freakish moves that defied any sense of what this little boy was.

Several more minutes passed, that seemed like hours, before the doctor turned to me saying, ‘I suggest trying Valium, a tranquiliser, to calm Matthew down. At least this will reduce the severity of the seizures and give him some respite from the painful muscle contortions caused by the continuous grand mal fitting he is experiencing.’

Hearing this, Jean immediately curled up into an upright foetal position – she brought her feet up onto her chair pressing her heels hard against her thighs as she flopped her head forward onto her knees. She began to uncontrollably weep like a little girl and rock back and forth.

With Jean’s reaction and my ever-enquiring fearful stare, Doctor Brown began to panic with what, I now believe, was obviously going through his mind – but, he felt that he could not mention this. He had recently read a report in the 1973 British Medical Association Journal claiming that whooping cough vaccine was responsible for causing brain damage in infants. The symptoms described in this report in the journal’s section on Childhood Disease were very similar, as he recalled, to the symptoms now being displayed by Matthew following the DTP vaccination that Matthew had received at his surgery late in the afternoon of the previous day. The report was written by Dr John Wilson, a paediatric neurologist, in conjunction with a lecture he had presented to an audience of fifty distinguished consultants, professors and other specialists at the London Lecture Theatre of the Royal Society of Medicine on October 26, 1973. Dr Wilson had conducted research involving fifty of his infant patients between January 1961 and December 1972, who had been sent to the hospital suffering from neurological illness. His findings claimed that thirty-six of those patients examined suffered neurological complications, i.e., brain damage, directly attributable to the pertussis, or whooping cough antigen, in the DTP vaccine. Further, that the brain damage occurred within the first twenty-four hours following the vaccine being administered; suggesting a causal relation, not a coincidental relation.

I now believe that Dr Brown was unable to push these thoughts of Dr Wilson’s report aside and was trying desperately to hold himself together. His pride in his profession and the role he performed in it prohibited him from openly lying to his patients. However, he could avoid speaking the truth if he deemed that to do so was in their best interests. But his mind was now questioning whether it was, in fact, in Matthew’s best interests to withhold the knowledge he possessed. His body was shaking and he found himself avoiding eye contact with those in the room in fear of one of them asking him a direct question in respect to Matthew’s symptoms and any relationship that Matthew’s condition may have to the DTP jab he received the previous day at his surgery.

Suddenly, I, almost nonchalantly, as if our minds were subconsciously interfaced, asked Doctor Brown, ‘Could this have anything to do with the jab I brought Matthew to your surgery to have yesterday?’

Doctor Brown’s mind froze, he could say nothing – and then turning away from the others in the room he suggested in an almost inaudible voice, ‘No… I should make a phone call,’ and immediately exited the room.

He then scurried off down the corridor, quickly fading into the darkness like a shadow into the night.

With Dr Brown’s departure, the nurses attending Matthew tried despairingly to console and reassure us, but they too were desperate for this to end. This was not a place they wanted to be and with every painful cry now emanating from Matthew, and the immediate reactive pang of pain distorting the faces of his parents, their inadequacy in