Western Medicine Is Dead

Once vaunted as the most respected professional field, Western medicine has been corrupted by the scientism of the times, reduced to a pill-popping and vaccine-injecting shamanism that no longer cures diseases but prolongs them. Medicine used to bring solace and hope to people, but now it is the grim reaper, the bringer of suffering, confusion, false hope, and unnecessary death. We’re fast approaching the stage where it may be better not to seek medical care at all for the most serious of illnesses.

The politicization of medicine

When I was an undergrad at university, I originally wanted to become a doctor. I was on a pre-med track along with many of the peers who majored in a hard science. Starting in my junior year, much of our talk was centered around taking the medical school entrance exam (MCAT) and achieving a score that assured acceptance into a medical school not based in the Caribbean. I quickly learned that, all else being equal, we would be evaluated on a curve according to our race. My black peers could get in with an MCAT score of 25, while my white peers needed to get close to 30. It was even worse for Asians, who had to punch above 30.

How could it be that applicants who objectively did worse on an exam could become a doctor over those who had done better? Doesn’t society want the absolute best doctors in the country to perform life-saving procedures and surgeries? Apparently not. The medical care that you receive is becoming increasingly dependent on correcting perceived historical wrongs than rewarding genuine ability and intellectual merit. I could not understand that as a lowly undergrad student. It should not surprise you that nearly all of my black peers became doctors, but based on what I knew of their abilities from studying with them, they were not the most qualified above other applicants who were discouraged due to the higher standard they were being judged on.

While a requirement for intelligence has not been completely thrown out the door, politics was already an entrenched factor for medical school admissions upon my graduating year of 2001. Consider the fact that women are so “encouraged” to become doctors that they now outnumber men, only later to leave the profession in droves because they changed their mind or desired lighter hours. What a societal waste to train women for medicine when so many of them rightfully decide it’s more joyful to raise children.

Once in medical school, at least, students can be taught pure medicine, untainted from the type of affirmative action policies that selected much of the admission class, but medical schools are connected to universities—the same universities that have become infected with a Marxist rot that insists on creating an inverted world where revolutionary and egalitarian ideas are elevated above the most basic truths. I have seen no indication that medical schools have walled themselves off from this revolutionary spirit. Not only have they adopted Marxist ideas, but at the same time they’ve become heavily influenced by money from the pharmaceutical industry.

Medical treatments lack reproducible proof of efficacy

Medical school curriculums have been created through “scientific studies,” and who can afford to conduct those increasingly expensive studies but globalized institutions, corporations, and “philanthropic” foundations. Take a look at the popular medical journals today and you will see a paucity of studies promoting natural remedies or lifestyle changes. Those compose a tiny minority of the research compendium because it entails no profit, and if you encounter such a study, it almost certainly was done outside of the United States.

Medical students gain a large amount of raw knowledge, but the entire orientation of which to apply that knowledge is to slice, dice, and pill-feed. In their exceedingly expensive training (medical school debt can surpass $1 million), students learn that all bodily problems can be solved with a scalpel or through prescribing chemicals produced in Chinese and Indian factories. I’ve been to honest car mechanics who have advised no intervention for an annoying car issue, but a doctor is trained to do something, anything, and the patient, lacking in faith and terrified of death, will beg for that anything—which they may have seen on a slick television commercial—no matter how extreme or toxic, even if the expensive solution to his ailment will merely rearrange the workings of his body to soon create yet another ailment that he must also seek treatment for. The efficacy of all those treatments is unknown because of the reproducibility crisis that has not only hit the soft sciences but also medicine.

The reproducibility crisis is the phenomenon whereby at least 50% of scientific studies cannot be reproduced, in spite of the fact that reproducibility is supposed to be the hallmark of science. I should be able to take your peer-reviewed and published scientific study, duplicate the setup, apply the same variables and conditions, and come up with identical results, but this is simply not happening, and perhaps never happened. You would think that reproducibility is essential to prove the efficacy of any medical treatment because human health and life are at stake, but just one successful study is enough to sweep all the failed ones under the rug. I know this because I worked for a pharmaceutical company that would hedge their bets by conducting multiple studies on the same drug candidate and then pick the ones that showed the most favorable results that could lead to FDA approval.

Many drugs that were heralded to alleviate a disease, despite the studies allegedly proving their claims, turned out to cause serious health damage while providing no curative effect, and so the entire foundation of modern medicine becomes shaky, held up only by vested financial interests that want to keep selling you expensive treatments. I can in fact prove to you that the best way to put out a forest fire is to drop a nuclear bomb on it. The fire will certainly go out since the entire forest and all combustible matter would be obliterated. I may even get published by a journal that peer reviews my nuclear bomb treatment, but if you want the forest to at least somewhat resemble its original state, it may be worth looking into another remedy, and the sad truth of my nuclear bomb example is that at least it does work, but most medical treatments do not work, and were approved by compliant government bureaucrats who wanted high-paying jobs in the same companies they are supposed to protect us from.

What is really true and what is not? What really works and what doesn’t? You’ll need a professional laboratory to help you seek the truth, but only 3% of laboratories are independent. Most are connected, by one or two degrees, to corrupt academia, the same interests that profit from the supposed cure, and Bill Gates and the Rockefellers, who have a strange fixation on the agenda of depopulation alongside “health.” No one in their right mind could interpret the actions or behavior of globalists like Bill Gates as a genuine concern for their fellow man.

Medicine’s motto is “dope and cope”

How could I be so against medicine? I must have had a bad experience—a really bad experience—and you would be correct. My sister, when she was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2015, became a medical experiment for numerous drugs, infusions, and treatments that were “proven” through “studies” that appeared in the most prestigious journals. Her team of smiley doctors (all female) was full of “optimism” and “hope” of their recommendations. They pricked her, sliced her, diced her, and injected her with some of the most carcinogenic substances known to man. No recommendations of theirs did we refuse, and not even three years later, she was gone, at the age of 31.

The suffering she went through, not from the cancer but from the doctors who treated her, who swore an oath to do her no harm, was so deceptive, needless, and barbaric that you can say my opinion on medicine has become biased. I have absolutely no doubt that I could have constructed a treatment plan for her from basic food ingredients in the kitchen cupboard that would have reduced her suffering by over 90% and perhaps even prolonged her life, because three years is not a long time, and in hindsight, doing absolutely nothing would have given me more positive memories of her in her last days than the personal anguish I still feel for not advising her correctly on how to face this disease, but how could I have done so when I had no faith in Jesus Christ to put her illness in context?

At least I was by her side when she died, along with my mother and father. I know my presence comforted her before she departed this world, but if tomorrow I am in her position and reach the end of my life in a hospital, my parents would not be by my side because of demented hospital rules that forbid it. In the name of halting the spread of coronavirus, which from my lying eyes and ears appears to be a bad flu that is an incredibly useful tool to establishing a worldwide scientific dictatorship, my own parents would not be able to comfort me as a lay dying on a hospital bed while connected to the med-tech machinery of computers, sensors, pumps, and breathing machines. Even if I have a wife and children, they would not be able to console me. I would be forced to die alone as if I were alone, because I guarantee no doctor or nurse would stroke my hand as I take my last medically-assisted breath.

I talked to a priest who told me the story of going to a hospital to give one final communion to a dying parishioner. He went prepared with a face mask, but the security guard would not let him in due to “rules.” A heartfelt attempt at having compassion for the dying was met with a threat that the police would be called. The parishioner died without a man of God to pray for his soul.

If I suddenly approach death’s door, I challenge you to convince me to call 911 for an ambulance. Convince me to get admitted to a hospital with nurses who may prefer making TikTok videos over changing my bedsheets, who would be relieved to discover that there are no friends and relatives of mine who can ask questions, test their treatment decisions, and confirm that I’m receiving an appropriate level of care. In my incapacitated, drugged-up state, would I be able to protest? Would they even listen to my complaints or would it be easier to tie me to the bed? Would I be allowed to escape the hospital prison and die on my own terms instead of theirs? Or would my death be managed as per the standards of modern care, which is now what the prompts on the computer screen by your bedside tell them to do, a decision tree no doubt approved by the insurance companies, so they can end your life without fear of lawsuits while the coronavirus numbers can be juiced further for the hospital to receive a big fat check from the government?

I choose not to die in a hospital

I don’t trust the last days of my life in the hands of doctors and nurses. Whatever consciousness that remains in me without medical aid I will dedicate to repenting and glorifying my Creator. It’s for that reason that my life expectancy has dropped. I have no ailment and am in fine health for my age, but I will not be admitted to the hospital. I will not be intubated, undergo open-heart surgery, or receive the same toxic chemotherapy drugs as my beloved sister. If I am struck down by the hands of fate, of which only God knows the when and how, I will die in my own bed, beside my family, and I will receive one last communion from my priest who cares about my soul.

I’ve been to several hospitals and noticed that many of them were established as explicit Christian charities. Relics of those foundings can be seen in the occasional Bible verse displayed on the walls, but when you walk into a hospital administrator’s office today, or you peek into the cubicles of the nurses and doctors who practice there, you will see not the God of the Cross but the gods of technology, silver, and gold. Medical care is a big business that is controlled by big interests, and the token displays of Christianity you witness are just to appease the few faithful remaining in this country who feel hesitant to be chopped up by human hands instead of trusting the hands of God.

Good can only come from God, and if an entire industry is advancing without God, as medicine has been during our lifetimes, I don’t see much good in it besides the boring but effective treatments of hip replacement, eye cataract surgery, and removal of warts. If you’re afflicted by something that merely annoys you, perhaps a visit to the doctor couldn’t hurt since you will make a decision for your care that is clear-headed and not based on your fear of death, but if your life is at stake, and you ask a doctor to lay hands upon you, you will get the worst of what medicine can provide simply to keep your body alive when God Himself had already decided that what you need to do is repent and get ready for your next life.

It is possible that I may die sooner than my parents because I refuse to get butchered by doctors only to die alone in the end, but I can’t help but consider the benefit to my soul. As I write this, I know that I can be struck down at any moment. No med-tech torture device or genetic therapy injection will save me. I may not have much time to even say goodbye to those I love when the angel of death comes to take me, so believe me when I say that I make my peace with God every single night. Not one goes by that I don’t ask him to forgive me for my sins, because when the end comes, I only want to be comforted and embraced by the love of God who created me, not the sterile gloved hands of a doctor who wants to dope me up to the point where I don’t even know what is happening to me, all under the guise of making me feel a false “comfort.” Only God can give me comfort. Only He can help me face my death. And only He can prepare my body to be resurrected in the age to come.

Source: Roosh Valizadeh