Lindsay K.'s Story

Richmond, VA

They silenced him, gave him lethal amounts of sedatives, starved him, poisoned him, and intubated him against my will and for no good reason.

They refused to attempt to repair his lung and then they watched him suffocate to death like an animal.

Visit To The ER

“He was diagnosed with COVID based on alleged low oxygen levels and the fact that he was not vaccinated alone.”

My name is Lindsay and I am now a 40-year-old single mother to my 10-year-old son Grayson. My fiance, best friend, soulmate, co-parent, emotional caregiver, and love of my life Bruce Ingarra was murdered by ICU doctors and RNs at St. Mary's Hospital in Richmond, VA on 10/8/21. Bruce and I were together for 13 years and he is... was the father of my only child. He has another son that is 2 years older than Grayson from a previous relationship. He began taking BP medication in September due to slightly higher than normal BP. After being on it for about 2 weeks it began to cause severe nausea. We informed his PCP but he said to keep taking it and that the side effects would subside. Well, they only got worse and he basically stopped eating for almost 10 days due to severe nausea.


Bruce suffered from a condition called Emetophobia which is basically an irrational fear of vomiting. This anxiety-driven disorder is why he stopped eating and barely drank anything for almost 2 weeks. He suffered a mini-stroke on 9/24/21 due to dehydration and most likely vitamin deficiencies from his body going into starvation. I was reluctant to take him to the ER because we made the decision as a family not to get the vaccine as we had several friends and relatives that suffered strokes, paralysis, and even blindness after getting vaccinated. I had seen the stories online about hospitals killing COVID patients for money but I thought it was just a crazy conspiracy. I couldn't have been more wrong.


I called an ambulance and when the EMTs arrived I told them exactly what was going on with him and even gave them his no medication and his PCPs business card. I opted to follow the ambulance to the hospital instead of riding in it because I thought I would be bringing him back home after he was evaluated and given fluids and nausea meds. They put him in the ambulance and then sat in our driveway for almost 20 minutes. I had no idea at the time but they were actually placing an IV in him in the ambulance. Not for fluids but so that they could heavily sedate him and silence him and prevent him from communicating with me or resisting their sick treatments.


I walked into the ER one minute after he went in and when I asked to go back and see him I got the shock of my life. A nurse told me he had been diagnosed with COVID pneumonia and I was from this point on prohibited from any form of communication with him. I knew at that moment the grave mistake I had made and in my heart, I knew I would never see him again. I asked how in the world could they possibly have tested him and x-rayed his lungs in 3 minutes. That's when she stated that he was diagnosed with COVID based on alleged low oxygen levels and the fact that he was not vaccinated alone. I was in shock and could barely speak. She handed me a sticky note with a number on it and told me I could call the ICU later to speak with his nurse.


It Was Not Covid

“He never showed any signs of an upper respiratory infection whatsoever.”

I know for a fact that he did NOT have COVID. He had an anxiety disorder that caused him to act irrationally when he was nauseated and his nausea was caused by his BP meds. He never showed any signs of an upper respiratory infection whatsoever.... no coughing, no wheezing, no shortness of breath, no sore throat, no runny nose, no loss of taste or smell, no fever... and they wanted me to believe that he had double pneumonia!!! And so began the worst 2 weeks of my entire life. For the first 8 days that he was there, he was on a CPAP mask but still kept completely sedated. However his first night there I got a call from a woman stating she was his Medicaid caseworker. He did not have an advanced medical directive on file but she stated that he told her to appoint me as his POA. She said that she did some muscle strength exercises with him and determined that he did have a mini stroke. She told me however that I should not worry about it because it was very miniscule and with a few weeks of PT he would be back to normal like it never even happened. She said that she spoke with him about his medical history and she even joked about how he told her the story about how his pupil got blown in his right eye 5 years ago when my ex-boyfriend punched him. The reason I am mentioning this is because there is no way that she could have known this unless he told her about it. She said that she thought his prognosis was really good and that he would probably be going home in the next day or 2. I was hopeful and relieved...but it was short-lived.


The next day one of the dozens of rude, unsympathetic, vile nurses that I would speak with regarding his status called me to tell me that he was currently "stable" on the CPAP and they were giving him a steroid, antibiotics, and Remdesivir. I told her that I had spoken with his case worker the night before and she told me he was alert and oriented and that his prognosis was really good and she also said if I wanted to have a video call with him so Grayson could speak to him, to ask his nurse. She immediately became defensive and loud for no reason stating that he has not been alert and oriented at all since he got there. She even said that due to his "agitation" they had to triple his sedation dosage. She refused my request to do a video call stating that he was too confused and delirious with severe pneumonia to speak to anyone right now. I tried calling the case worker over and over that day but never got a callback. At that point, I didn't know what else to do other than print out hundreds of pictures of us as a family over the years to put in a portfolio I was making for him and take it up to St. Mary's and ask the nurses to show them to him. I also drove around to 25 of his closest friends' homes and had each one of them write him a few words of encouragement. Grayson and his other son Sawyer drew pictures and made cards and I wrote him a letter as well. I took the folder up to the ICU on the 7th floor and handed it to his nurse sobbing and begged her to please show him the pics and cards and read him the letter from his friends and family. I know now they never showed him any of them.


The Starvation and Lies

“She said my POA had been revoked by the hospital because we were not married and he was not coherent enough to make that kind of decision in his condition.”

Several days passed and they gave me the same status update every day for about 8 days. They said he was stable but not improving and still too confused for a video call. On day 8 I spoke to another nurse and it occurred to me that no one had mentioned anything about how he was getting nutrition or food so I asked. I had told all of the nurses and doctors I spoke with that he had not eaten in 2 weeks and he desperately needed food or a feeding tube. The nurse told me they "tried" to place a feeding tube but due to his deviated septum ( which is only on one side ), they could not get it in so they gave up!?!?!? So now he had gone over 3 weeks with no food of any kind while also being injected with "triple dosages" of heavy sedatives 24/7, steroids, and Remdesivir. How he survived that I still don't know.

I demanded to talk to his doctor and his case worker. Several hours later I got a call from another RN stating that his case worker had been reassigned to a different patient and she said they would have to intubate him because he kept "knocking off his CPAP mask and telling them he did not need to be there." and she did not have time to babysit just him ( yes she really said this ). I immediately objected to him being put on the vent and that is when she said my POA had been revoked by the hospital because we were not married and he was not coherent enough to make that kind of decision in his condition. I screamed and cried and begged her not to intubate him. I knew that this would drop his chances of survival down to 14% and if he was on the vent for longer than 3 days he would lose the ability to breathe on his own. I begged her to let me and my son at least say goodbye to him over the phone and she heartlessly declined my desperate requests. I knew he was going to die at that point. That was the night I had to look my 10-year-old son in the eyes and break his heart into a million pieces and destroy his life forever. The sound he made will haunt me forever. He had a panic attack that night and gasped for air and choked on his own vomit crying so hard that it blew several blood vessels in his eyes. Had I not been afraid that he would be murdered too I would have rushed him to the hospital.


They also told me that he was not a candidate for monoclonal antibodies but they would not tell me why. Over the next 4 days, I could barely get the nurses to call me back. I asked 2 of his nurses and his doctor about Hydroxychloroquine and Ivermectin and they rudely and viciously shot me down. I asked them why, if they knew he was going to die why couldn't they at least try them? They refused to answer me and just kept saying it wasn't approved by the FDA or the CDC.


On the 5th day, I got the call that I had been dreading more than words can even begin to describe but at the same time, I knew it was coming. They said that one of his lungs collapsed due to the COVID... and not the ventilator being blasted into his lungs at max capacity for 5 days straight. I asked them if they were not going to try to fix his lung or do surgery to repair it and they said no it would not be worth the effort because he would not survive. They told me they were going to unplug his ventilator at 3 pm and this is when these sick monsters asked me if my son and I would like to join them on a video call so we could watch them unplug him to say goodbye to his comatose body as he suffocated to death. To be honest, everything went black after that.


My mother told me that I passed out and my head hit my asphalt driveway so hard she thought I was dead when the sheer force of it didn't so much as make me flinch. The next memory I have is waking up inside on my couch with my son crying and gasping for air yet again as he dug his little nails into my side. My sister had come over while I was still unconscious and my mother had gone to pick my son up from daycare. She had to tell him his dad had died since I was blacked out on the couch with road rash all over the side of my face and a painful lump on the side of my head the size of a softball. Needless to say, I did not seek medical attention for my injury for fear that my son would end up an orphan.


Their Evil Ruined Our Lives

“My son and I will never be ok. Our lives are a living nightmare.”

He suffocated to death like an animal at 3:14 pm on 10/8/21 surrounded by his murders. I immediately requested medical documentation regarding all of his stats and treatments throughout the duration of his stay in the ICU and I was denied the paperwork. The hospital stated there is a medical clause in VA that allows doctors to deny medical documentation to the families of deceased COVID patients. How does that even make sense??? How is that even legal? The next 4 months after he died were a complete blur from which I have but a vague outline of a memory. My doctor said that I developed severe PTSD from shock and that in turn caused me to experience a dissociative disorder called DP/DR or depersonalization/derealization. This disorder is a defense mechanism of the brain that manifests when the brain thinks you are dying. It dulls your senses and puts you in a semi-conscious state with highly limited awareness and severe short-term memory loss. He compared it to the brain trying to protect you from experiencing a fatal trauma like being eaten alive. I felt like I was in the midst of a lucid nightmare that I could not wake myself up from for 4 straight months.

Due to my mental health, I was unable to work or pay my mortgage. I ended up losing my job of 15 years, and my house. My son and I had no choice but to move into my mother's basement. My son has fallen into a deep depression that is characterized by fits of rage and physical violence, night terrors, insomnia, and an eating disorder. He went from being a star athlete and straight A student at his school to the most broken, angry, sad, anxious child I have ever known. He sees a grief therapist 3 times a week and participates in group activities for children that lost a parent to COVID through a state program but none of it helps. It's been 6 months since he died and I still can't work because I have panic attacks multiple times a day and I still can't control my emotions. I see 3 different doctors, a grief therapist, and a psychologist. I do group meetings with other widows and I'm on 4 different psychiatric medications but I still can't function. I was a professional medical recruiter and the head HR Manager for a prestigious home health care agency for 15 years and I have been reduced to a 100-pound jobless, homeless 40-year-old mentally ill sorry excuse for a mother because of all of this. Bruce was my best friend for 30 years. He was the only person in the world that could make me feel safe and grounded. He was my rock. He was my strength. He was the kindest, most gentle, silliest, coolest, funniest, most loving, most patient, most devoted father that ever existed. His entire life revolved around making us happy. His light shined so bright that I still to this day cannot accept that he is gone.


I don't know what else to say other than the doctors and the nurses at St. Mary's worked hard to murder my Bruce. They silenced him, gave him lethal amounts of sedatives, starved him, poisoned him, and intubated him against my will and for no good reason. They refused to attempt to repair his lung and then they watched him suffocate to death like an animal. My son and I will never be ok. Our lives are a living nightmare. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't fantasize about ending it all but I have to try to hang on for Grayson because I can't leave him here alone. I know it won't bring my Bruce back but I think that if those doctors and nurses were exposed and held accountable for what they did to us we might just find the strength to live.







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