Domestic Research Subject Recruitment
I was moved around frequently and kept out of sight of many of the recruiter’s family and superiors. I had been hidden away for months at a time in a series of military camps and often-expensive schools. She rarely let me stay in one school for more than a few months, and I was frequently absent entirely for months, and sometimes years, at a time (I once missed two and a half years of school in a row, between the beginning of fifth grade and the latter half of seventh grade). It felt like being given an in-depth tour of every type of educational model. I can confirm that some are, indeed, better than others.
I do not recommend the by-rote Prussian model of “education” adopted by many public school systems, nor the modernized and infantilized version of Montessori education - although the original Montessori model offers some serious advantages for students in the early years of education. What I recommend the most is a method that does not appear to exist in modern education - one that allows and promotes true analytical thinking and creativity within the sciences by the students, without treating the field as if it were an infallible and untouchable altar to worship at. In order to learn, in order to teach children to learn, we must first admit to them that we are still learning and do not already know everything.
Out of the habit and convenience as a medical research recruiter, she also stowed me away on clinical wings of pharmaceutical company campuses for long residential trials, primarily of cancer drugs for which my medical documents were altered to make it appear that I had a wide variety of cancers so that the woman who had illegal rights over me could have the added benefit of collecting the payments that were being given to the parents of volunteers.
The recruiter would forge my medical records to match the “disease of the day” and sign me into paid medical research, primarily via her connections and the list of research participation opportunities that they kept in the office of the Yale Medical Research Department. She had connections to that department going back to the 1960s, according to officially published medical articles citing her, using her then-married name, as a researcher for the Yale Medical Library.
We’re a world of individuals and nations
attempting to make real moves for survival,
based on fictitious information and half-truths
about concealed dangers.
The results are disastrous, painful to watch, and often fatal.
It is impossible to walk a path to safety when
you’ve been blindfolded
and lied to about
where every stone in that path is placed.
Image Source: National Library of Medicine (25)
“World Biomedical Journals… Acknowledgements:... Yale Medical Library, for the programs yielding index computations and tabular listings; to analysts (omitted) Mary Parham, (omitted) and (omitted) for their citation gathering…”
Text Source: National Library of Medicine
She would sign me into the highest-paying research programs, which at the time primarily focused on childhood epilepsy and cancer - two conditions I did not have.
Although, one epilepsy researcher did mention to me, in a worried voice, that he thought the recruiter might have Munchausen by Proxy once he realized I did not have the condition he was doing his research on. I assured him that she just wanted the money.
Image Source: Yale School of Medicine (26)
“For more than four decades, the Yale Epilepsy Program has led the way in research.”
Text Source: Yale School of Medicine
There are official state child abuse records from that time confirming that I didn’t have epilepsy and that the recruiter was faking it in me (images of records can be found below). The social workers were never able to locate me to speak to me directly. The recruiter kept me hidden and out of school in those years.
Image Source: Personal File, State of Connecticut Department of Children and Youth Services (27)
“DHR worker…Robin told me she was concerned because she has never seen (child).”
Text Source: Personal File, State of Connecticut Department of Children and Youth Services
So, if anyone thinks I’m a diabolical manipulative mastermind and have been since early childhood (that same “child criminal” concept Argentina and other genocidally-inclined nations are convinced of), and that I make up cruel stories about the saint who illegally adopted me over international borders, you can stop it now. I had zero influence over the investigation the social workers did which led them to believe she was fabricating illnesses for me to have. The case was first opened when a school reported me truant. I was not involved. I wasn’t even present in the school to be questioned. The only people the social workers ever spoke to were doctors, the recruiter, and possible new schools to send me to.
I do wish that I had somehow known those were the years to reach out to Child Protective Services myself, to reach a particular social worker I didn’t know the name of, and to highlight - among all the abuse I was going through - the Munchausen by Proxy aspects. Because if I had, it might have triggered them to do something more. Unfortunately, most victims are kept in the dark and won’t know the exact moment and opening that could have potentially saved them.
Image Source: Personal File, State of Connecticut Department of Children and Youth Services (28)
“Thorough investigation showed no photosensitivity and that even if photosensitivity did exist, it would not be influenced so strongly by fluorescent lighting. Mother is refusing to send her daughter to school in a fluorescently lit classroom. Mother has sabotaged efforts to test for photosensitive epilepsy.“
Text Source: Personal File, State of Connecticut Department of Children and Youth Services
I should probably explain what the ridiculous circus the recruiter was bringing the social workers through was actually about. Her strange claims that it was fluorescent lighting that induced my “epilepsy” were part of a very well-thought-out con. She wanted to visit multiple schools in the area under the pretext of being a concerned parent of a potential student. Access to the social workers - the gatekeepers of children and thus the school system - gave her a way to do exactly that.
She would tell each school that she wanted to "see the lighting in the classrooms," and there would be the authority of a social worker there to back up her absurd requests and claims. That would get her through the door during school hours. Once in the classrooms, she would seek out potential impoverished students who might fit the medical research recruitment requirements for the same high-paying programs she was signing me into. Running only one child through the programs wasn’t enough of a payout for her.
If she saw a student who interested her, she would tell the head of the school that she was interested in having me attend there, and that she would like to go to a parent-teacher night to meet the teachers and school community to make sure it was truly a good fit for her significantly intellectually disabled special-needs daughter. There, she would locate the parents of the child (or children) she was interested in and would begin her deceptive recruitment tactics, turning up the charm and posing as a philanthropist from Yale.
I was the model child she would use when she was recruiting those children into “opportunity programs” that didn’t actually exist. She would point to my ballet lessons and large vocabulary as part of a rags-to-riches success story. It was simply her tricking the parents into signing over enough medical rights buried in contracts she would call "permission forms" so that she could gain the written authority to sign their kids into much of the same paid epilepsy, cancer, and other research she was signing me into.
Image Source: Personal File, State of Connecticut Department of Children and Youth Services (29)
“Mother’s story is far-fetched and highly unlikely that seizures and blindness occur because of fluorescent lighting.”
Text Source: Personal File, State of Connecticut Department of Children and Youth Services
I watched as kids were convinced they were headed to summer camp. Each parent was told that their kid had been granted a full program scholarship and would be attending summer programs at Yale for free. The recruiter informed them that the programs would give their child the exceptional opportunity to meet influential people who would help that child's career. The parents always signed. Then the kids were bused to university hospitals or pharmaceutical companies to be hooked up to chemo IVs or worse, often with creative ways to keep them in the dark, such as telling commercial pharmaceutical researchers they were dealing with “child cancer patients who don’t know they have cancer because it’s better for them psychologically if they don’t, so let’s let them pretend this is a summer camp, the poor things.” i.e., cons within cons, blanketed in the good intentions of complacent adults who participated in the harm done to us for profit. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never seen a traditional summer camp with rows of beds with IV poles next to them and I hope I never will.
The children’s cancer treatment drug trials were depressing. In one case, the recruiter convinced colleagues of hers to also enroll one of their adopted children into the program. He was a boy roughly around my age. The odds of us both having the same type of cancer, which neither of us knew we had, is not in our pediatric medical records, and we’ve never even been told the name of it as adults so that we could inform our own doctors about it… The odds are simply impossible. In other words, it was just a scam to get the significant monetary payout the pharmaceutical company was giving to parents. We didn’t have cancer.
I had to sit there in one of the little hospital beds, next to my friend, as he talked about what he thought was a summer camp we had been signed into. They had lied to him and drugged him before sending him into the building. The happiness in his voice hurt my head and broke my heart as the particularly noxious chemotherapy drugs entered my veins.
The chemicals in my bloodstream caused an instant deep and sinking darkness that took over my whole world and perception. All of the remaining good, health, and lightness left my mind and body in an instant. It was replaced by a dragging weight and an intense sense of hopelessness and dread. The world actually looked darker.
Through the windows by our beds, we could see a hill that led down behind the building. We begged so much to be allowed to play on it, that one day they finally caved in and let us. I attempted to gather the other children and have them run down the hill with me to escape. A few followed for a bit, but the tall hay and forest were unforgiving, prickly, and rough, especially to children made oversensitive by what was nothing more than human testing for medically prescribed chemical poisoning. They were also concerned about breaking the rules - the adults were poisoning them, quite literally, chemotherapy is poison and the early-stage-research chemotherapy running through our veins certainly was - but they still felt the compulsion to obey and the fear of consequences if they did not. We have had actual survival conditioned out of us before the age of ten.
By the time I reached the road at the bottom of the hill, I was the only one who hadn’t turned around and given up.
Security guards from the pharmaceutical company building drove by and collected me shortly after. People do not feel the need to act humanely if the harm they are doing is being covered with a lie of care or assistance. I assure you, poisoning a child for a cash payout or research funding is neither care nor is it assistance.
I saw kids die from the research. Not from health conditions. From the research. I also bet there are several out there who are considered certifiably insane if they've mentioned the trauma of "IVs at summer camp" and tried to process how that happened. Never mind the ones that were placed into DoD research, and that did happen. Sometimes, I come across one who was clearly damaged and cannot come to terms with it. Most of them turn to drugs or eventually fall into psychosis. This culture we live in, this society, was not made to support the victims of the crimes it hides. It eventually just mows them under.
It is so much easier for people to believe that what is wrong with a victim comes from the internal and not from abuse. Case and point: The recruiter told Child Protective Services, people who should know to look for signs of abuse, that I was extremely learning disabled.
Image Source: Personal File, State of Connecticut Department of Children and Youth Services (30)
“Spring Glen (school) may be able to accommodate…
Lazy eye, learning disabled.”
Text Source: Personal File, State of Connecticut Department of Children and Youth Services
Child Protective Services never even questioned it, nor did they ask the teachers or administration at my prior school who could have confirmed that I was an ordinary student with B grades at the time. It was a private Catholic school that didn’t accept children with learning disabilities. They didn’t have the resources set up to do so. The blunder of not knowing or looking into this was made despite CPS being trained to investigate signs of child abuse and endangerment. Silencing a child by falsely claiming they’re too dumb to speak is a major red flag. Yet, tactics like that have become so pervasive in society as a whole that even professionals have trained themselves to ignore them.
I promise that I’m not, nor have I ever been, learning disabled. I missed nearly half of the total years of schooling before university and still managed to fight my way to the top portion of the class nearly every time I returned. I’m also writing this for you right now, with post-graduate credentials, while working in a country that is not my own, and keeping a large apartment directly by the sea. I am not learning disabled. Quite the opposite. There is nothing wrong with me other than the damage I wear from this life and my rather conversational use of commas.
The recruiter “visiting schools for her disabled daughter” was entirely a con only intended to recruit. She went through at least half a dozen schools. She never sent me to any of them. I was rarely even in the New Haven area at that time. She was utilizing me elsewhere.
Many times, elsewhere was obviously in a research hospital or a pharmaceutical company’s facilities. She kept the monetary payments that resulted from the children (myself included) “volunteering” in medical research. I paid with my health. I’ve had unnecessary chemo, MRIs, radiation therapy, bone biopsies, and more while my actual health problems were usually neglected because standard childhood medical appointments do not come with a stipend/payment for the adult to collect.
Oh, and “the mother sabotaging efforts” the social worker mentioned in their first notes that I referenced (three images above). They may have been referencing when the recruiter drugged me to an excessive poisoning level before an electroencephalogram (EEG) with every substance she could find that might induce a seizure.
I still didn’t have a seizure. I’ve never had a seizure in my life.
I did, however, develop cancer shortly after a series of very destructive chemotherapy and a separate clinical trial looking into altering immune system response via changes to hormone levels.
The cancer I developed from that would eventually be discovered by doctors later when I was in my teens. The recruiter told them not to inform me “because it might make the cancer patient sad” and neglected to have it treated because it would cost her both effort and money. There were no research programs for the particular type of cancer that would have paid her to enroll me and allow them to treat the condition. A lab assistant, who I would come to know socially through a friend, rushed out of the hospital when he spotted me walking alone on the sidewalk, and he informed me that I had cancer. I didn’t believe him. I assumed he had my file confused with some random cancer patient’s. My stomach hurt frequently, and I was always tired, but there were so many other legitimate reasons for both of those at that time in my life.
Years later, when I was residing in another part of the country in my early twenties, the pain became unbearable. I saw a doctor there and was referred to a surgeon who removed the still-growing cancerous mass from my stomach. He found it latched on between my womb and intestines. That was the painful tug I had felt every time I had anxiety. When my stomach muscles tightened in an anxious moment, it would pull at the healthy tissue and surrounding organs. It wasn’t until after the surgery that I learned that anxiety isn’t supposed to physically hurt.
One of the better-paid and easy medical research projects I was sent to as a child was as a test subject for a new type of MRI machine being used on humans for the first time. They needed healthy female test subjects and were willing to pay several thousand dollars for only a few hours of a participant's time. She signed me up quickly, added a few years to my age on the form so that I would qualify, and came along to ensure that I made it to the appointment.
The MRI machine scan picked up the problem with my neck that had most likely resulted from the leap my mother had taken before I was born. The doctors made a quick emergency consultation, showing us the results and stating that I would need to have several of my vertebrae fused. The recruiter smiled, nodded, and agreed to bring me to a specialist. Then she double-drugged me on the way home so I wouldn’t remember, and never brought me to any follow-up appointments for my spine. I only recall the walk from the research hospital because the amount of drugging that day made me so incredibly nauseous that the agony of it broke through the pharmaceutically-induced amnesia wall. While I do not appreciate the level of medical neglect she put me through, nor her outlandish and overdone methodologies, in this one case I am happy she did not listen to the doctors. No one needs metal fusing their vertebrae.
Decades later, in Italy, I would go to a specialist on my own to see why my neck had always hurt. When he showed me the results of my MRI, it took everything in me to remain quiet and not look like a crazy person by mentioning the drugging, medical abuse, and the fact that I’d seen that exact issue with my neck on an MRI scan before, in a drug haze, with doctors recommending surgically inserting metal, years and years prior.
First Image: Cervical Spine MRI 2018, Age 41, Source: Personal Medical File (31)
Second Image: Example of a Healthy Cervical Spine MRI, Source: Radiopaedia
But that’s getting into the future. There are still the years I was growing up in the grasp of a government-approved psychopath:
There was one cancer research trial that I remember in particular, not because of the treatment itself, but due to it highlighting the distressing but pervasive nature of the individual components of humanity - humans - to hide the deceit of others for their own temporary self-preservation.
While that method of survival may have worked in a world in which we could escape the consequences of our actions simply by running from them, it’s an archaic instinct that will result in our demise in the modern world in which implications can travel the globe.
The medical trial was in a clinical setting, and I was sitting in a waiting room with the recruiter. Near us were a mother and a child. The child very clearly had cancer. The medical trial was for the type of cancer she had, quite like one would expect in a relatively sane world. The mother, spying the recruiter and I sitting in the waiting room, thought she had found another mother-and-daughter cancer duo. She started to talk to us about the type of cancer and other details. It was clear that she had done her homework and knew as much as she could about the condition her daughter was suffering through.
As she spoke to us, and I couldn’t answer anything about the cancer - not its name, not what part of my health it would have affected, etc., her eyes began to widen. I could see her processing the information and realizing that I didn’t have the cancer. In that moment, she knew the woman I was sitting there with was a fraud and about to expose a child to unnecessary and dangerous cancer treatments. I watched her closely as the muscles tightened in her neck and she began to turn to look for a nurse or someone else to alert. And then I watched her suddenly pause and look back at her daughter.
Her emotions were so clearly written on her face, with her panicked eyes flickering around the scene as she thought about it all in those few seconds, that I could see the exact moment when she decided that her daughter’s treatment might be at risk if she reported that the other child in the room was there fraudulently. In that moment, she chose her daughter’s life above the safety of a stranger’s child. She went silent, stayed in her seat, and didn’t alert anyone. I can’t entirely blame her. Her daughter was dying and that cancer research trial may have been the best bet she was told she had for recovery.
However, I’ve seen that exact response and behavior in countless situations with much less extreme potential consequences for the witnesses. They still never did anything to stop the crimes unfolding in front of them.
That’s the reality I became faced with when dealing with potentially very harmful and often deadly situations. I could not save myself or anyone else unless I did it on my own, which wasn’t always possible although I did try. There was no community support. The community almost always chooses to support the predator, and they do it due to immediate fear. They never seem to think of the long-term consequences of keeping a predator encouraged, well-paid, and thriving within their own community.
It’s a flaw in the human mind and one that the predators among us take full advantage of. It gives them the full and complete protection of the herd they feed on. It would take an incredible amount of care and restraint to not take advantage of that. Very few have both care and restraint to that degree.
I needed to share this last part with you because abuse and coercion do not change simply because members of a military have a child within reach rather than a nation that day. Much of what was done to me would be done to the world on a wider scale, with many of the same methodologies. It’s like research and results. We research on a small scale before we enact the results on a larger scale… and I was among the scientists. That’s how they work.
Abuses are simpler to see when they’re still small enough to be in the same room with you. They get harder to pinpoint once they’re magnified and obscured through complex policies and backroom maneuverings on a large scale, even if they are planned and enacted by many of the same people.
I need to show you the mechanisms, mentalities, and behaviors behind the small parts of the explosion before we get to the mushroom cloud on the horizon. That mushroom cloud will be much easier to comprehend this way. You’ll know where it ignited, and how. You’ll know precisely how the hand moved when it detonated that post-nuclear bomb.
In order to learn about a field, we must start with the building blocks. We must first see that 2 + 2 equals 4 before jumping into differential equations.