The Story of Steven Traini
To preface Steven’s story: My husband was a Patriot and served our Country in the USAF. He survived 3 stents, a new knee, a new ankle, a new shoulder, a torn bicep, 2nd degree burns, a fused neck, Celiac Disease, a deviated septum and a chain saw accident. My husband was a fighter who believed in God.
2021 – I had not visited my mother in a few years, so we were planning a trip to Northern CA to visit her and to celebrate my birthday and the Thanksgiving holiday.
We checked to see if there was an open Urgent Care, but it had closed. We had to drive to Enloe Hospital in Chico, CA – about a 30-minute drive from DeSabla (where my mom lived). I drove our truck with my mom in the passenger seat giving me directions, and Steve in the back seat. We reached Enloe Hospital, Chico CA, somewhere around 7pm.
We arrived at the ER and the attendant brought out a wheelchair and Steve was wheeled into the center, and they sequestered him in a room off of the main area and gave him oxygen. I filled out all the insurance paperwork and the usual things one does at an ER, as Steve was unable to do this. But he was feeling better having been put on oxygen. The hospital said they wanted to keep him for observation, none of us thought anything bad about that, we wanted him to breathe and to feel better. I hugged him, kissed him, and said we would see him tomorrow.
By the time his doctor contacted me, On November 30th, Steve had been given TWO doses of remdesivir. They gave him that poison without my consent. My mom and I drove down to the hospital, and I asked to speak with his doctor. This doctor would not even come out to SEE me, so I proceeded to have a very interesting phone call in the lobby. I told the doctor to stop the remdesivir. That the WHO had on their site that remdesivir was not to be given to anybody with covid while in the hospital, that it came out November 20th. He all but called me a liar. Said he couldn’t find it. My voice raised continually for a good half an hour when finally, the receptionist asked if I would like a private room – which I declined. I wanted God and everybody to hear what I had to say. Finally, the doctor said he would stop the doses. After that call, he personally called me every day with an update.
Steve’s first doctor FINALLY called me December 1st. Somewhere in between the 1st and 4th the doc called and said Steve was agitated. I don’t recall what he said Steve was given. We finally had some good conversation, and he thought it would be good for Steve to see me. He talked with the head nurse, and this doc informed me that I was allowed to see him for fifteen minutes on Saturday, December 4th. Sometime in this same period, I called our personal physician, Dr. Anthony J. Christoff of Colorado Springs, in hope that he could talk some sense into the doctors since they “speak the same language.” I think in part, that is why I was allowed to see my husband. Dr. Christoff has been our physician for over 20 years and he knew Steve VERY well. Anyway, Steve was told that Saturday morning I would be there to see him. According to his nurse, it brightened him up a good deal. When I arrived, Steve was SITTING UP and going to the bathroom without any assistance, he was feeling better! Additionally, the nurse assisted him with the mask, and he ate applesauce that morning as well, first thing he had eaten since he’d been there. They garbed me all up with the masks and gown and hand sanitizer, even though by now, we know that I’d HAD COVID. [and to interject, we still had not been contacted about the covid protocol] I chatted with Steve and told him the doc said he needed to lay on his belly so his lungs could expand better…he did some difficult maneuvering and patted his tummy…I looked at him quizzically, thru his B-Pap, I could hear him say “I’m on my tummy” – that was a very positive sign! He wanted to live! I got to see my husband, tell him to fight and that I would see him tomorrow (Sunday Dec 5th). After the 15 minutes I left – yes FIFTEEN MINUTES – the nurses were having a fit that I got to see him. His arms were bruised, I assumed it was for IV’s as he had veins that liked to move. I told the head nurse I would see her tomorrow and she said no, we’ve already broken protocol for you…and I said “I told my husband I would see him tomorrow!” she relinquished, and they ‘bent the rules’ and I was able to see Steve on the 5th. It was about half an hour I was able to spend with him – the nurse on duty told me she had something to do to keep her occupied, so to spend some time with him as it helped him.
I arrived and oddly enough the receptionist let me in with no questions about being vaccinated. They were expecting me. They EVEN allowed my mom to go in as well, of course, after being fully covered with this paper crap and masks and sanitizing our hands before putting on gloves. Upon entry into his room, we were told we could only be there FIFTEEN minutes! My husband was dying and we could only have fifteen minutes!! For a short time that afternoon, Steve had decided he wanted to live and would keep his B-Pap on…but then his body started shutting down, he looked at me and said, “I’m done.” The insenstive and totally uncaring nurse on duty kept coming in and saying our 15 minutes were up – we basically told her to go take a flying leap as we were not leaving. My mom and I were there until he passed at 220pm, but not before the nurse allowed him to suffer one more time of not being able to breathe as she swapped him from the BPap – [a process which took her five minutes!] to the easier to use and breathe mask, the one through the nose that is used for comfort care. When the BPap was removed, the stench was terrible…the Thrush he was enduring had to have been terrible and painful and NOTHING had been done! When he was entered into the hospital my husband weighed over 230 lbs. He was skin and bones when I saw him December 12th and passed while my mom and I were holding his hands.
