Category: Health Tips

RFK Jr. shocks Joe Rogan… WiFi causes ‘leaky brain.’

“It degrades your mitochondria & opens up your blood brain barrier, allowing toxins & pathogens to enter the brain.”

The US gov’t silenced & shut down the research that proved the harmful effects of EMF, WiFi & Radiation.

• Dr. Allan Frey’s Work on EMF and Radiation
Pioneered bioelectromagnetics in the 1960s; discovered the “Frey effect” (pulsed microwaves create audible sounds in the brain). Found low-level microwaves open the blood-brain barrier, allowing toxins in & causing neurological damage. Showed non-thermal effects on brain, eyes, heart & mitochondria via oxidative stress & cell death—challenging safety claims for WiFi/cell phones.

• How the Government Stopped the Research
Frey’s blood-brain barrier findings threatened military/industry interests in the Cold War era. Faced pressure from Office of Naval Research & U.S. Army to hide results or lose funding. Pentagon-funded critics claimed non-replication but withheld data; Navy blocked publications. Post-1970s, U.S. non-thermal EMF research funding dried up despite international evidence of harm.

• Why Detoxification is Crucial for Mitochondrial Health
EMFs increase mitochondrial ROS production, leading to oxidative stress, reduced ATP, DNA damage, and dysfunction. This worsens toxin buildup (especially with leaked BBB) and disrupts circadian rhythms. Detox boosts antioxidants (glutathione, SOD) to neutralize ROS; tools like zeolite chelate heavy metals/radiation byproducts, restoring mitochondrial efficiency & reducing inflammation.

Turn off WiFi at night, use wired connections & detox daily.

Click to view the video: https://x.com/ValerieAnne1970/status/2064694072061706654?s=20

The babies were dying at triple the normal rate. One man noticed. They told him to shut up and protect his career.

His name is Stephen Bolsin. An anaesthetist — the person who keeps you alive on the operating table. In 1988 he took a job at the Bristol Royal Infirmary, a big, famous hospital with a children’s heart unit. The villains in this story are the men who ran it: senior surgeon and medical director James Wisheart, and chief executive John Roylance. Hold those two names. They matter at the end.

The unit operated on babies — tiny hearts with holes in them, defects that kill without surgery and are survivable with it. Simple math. Most of these children should have lived.

They didn’t.

Bolsin had worked heart surgery in London. The numbers there were nothing like this. At Bristol, for the youngest babies, the death rate ran close to 30%. Almost one in three. Dead on the table or soon after — at nearly double the national rate.

So he did the one thing nobody else was doing. He kept records. Quietly. Tracked who died. Compared Bristol to everywhere else. The data was clear: something was very wrong in that unit.

In 1990 he warned the chief executive, Roylance. He got a dismissive phone call. Then he was hauled into Wisheart’s office — one of the very surgeons doing the operations — and told, in so many words, that this was not how to “progress your career in Bristol.” Translation: shut up, or you’re finished.

He didn’t shut up. He took the numbers higher — to the NHS, the Department of Health, the Royal Colleges. The people whose entire job was to protect patients.

They ignored him. For years.

Why? Money. The unit’s status as a “specialist centre” came with funding and prestige. Admit the babies were dying too often, and they’d lose the designation, lose the cash, look incompetent. So nobody checked the surgeons’ results. Nobody was allowed to. The operations continued. The babies kept dying.

Now stop and sit with this part, because it’s about you. Before Bristol, no one in Britain monitored how individual surgeons actually performed. Your surgeon. Your child’s surgeon. There was no scoreboard. No one was counting. You walked into a hospital and simply trusted that the man with the knife was good at it — and if he wasn’t, the system was built to hide it, not catch it.

For five years Bolsin watched children die. Five years of warnings. Five years of being told to be quiet.

In 1995 it broke. A boy named Joshua Loveday was booked for a complex heart operation. Bolsin and others said the risk was too high. Don’t do it. Surgeon Janardan Dhasmana operated anyway. The child died.

That was the end. The program was suspended, and Bolsin took everything to the press — the records, the death rates, the years of being ignored. It became one of the biggest scandals in NHS history.

A massive public inquiry followed under Professor Ian Kennedy. Twelve thousand pages. Almost 200 recommendations. The verdict was brutal: a unit “simply not up to the task,” with “an old boy’s culture,” secrecy about how doctors performed, and nobody watching the results. The official count — between 1991 and 1995, 30 to 35 more babies under one died at Bristol than would have at a normal unit. Dead children who would have lived almost anywhere else. The families’ own lawyer believes the true toll across the full decade was closer to 170.

In 1998 the General Medical Council ruled. James Wisheart — struck off. John Roylance — struck off. Careers over. Dhasmana banned from operating on children. The men who told Bolsin to be quiet, finished.

And the unit transformed. With real oversight and real surgeons, Bristol’s children’s heart death rate crashed from nearly 30% to under 5%. One in three, down to one in twenty. Hundreds of children who would have died now lived.

Then it changed everything. The scandal created “clinical governance” — the rule that hospitals must track results, monitor surgeons, and publish their data. Surgeons across Britain began publishing their own outcomes so this could never be buried again. That scoreboard that didn’t exist before? It exists now. One quiet anaesthetist forced an entire health system to start policing itself. If you have surgery in Britain today, your surgeon is being watched because of this man.

So how did Britain thank him?

It ran him out.

He applied for jobs. Doors slammed. Nobody in the NHS wanted the man who proved the system protected itself before it protected patients. He couldn’t find work anywhere in his own country. So he packed up his family and left for Australia — Geelong, near Melbourne — and never worked as a doctor in Britain again. Australia built him a world-class anaesthesia service and gave him professorships. In 2025 it pinned the Medal of the Order of Australia on him. The country that didn’t raise him valued him more than the one that did.

Here’s the part that should make you furious. Bolsin says it’s still happening. That the NHS still punishes the people who speak up. That honest staff still can’t report danger without fear for their jobs. The wall of silence he tore a hole in? He says it’s still standing — which means somewhere, in some unit, the next person who notices the bodies piling up is being told the exact same thing he was: shut up, or you’re finished.

He saved the smallest, most helpless patients in an entire country. And that country’s first instinct was to silence him, and its second was to exile him.

The men who let the babies die were British heroes until a stranger started counting.

Tag the person you know who would have kept counting anyway.

3 Eggs
1 cup/100 g Shredded Coconut
1 Cup/250 g Greek Yogurt

Mix well and bake in oven at 180 C(350 F) degrees for 30 minutes.

Because there is no flour, the texture is closer to a moist coconut custard or baked cheesecake than a traditional sponge cake. Start checking at 25 minutes; it’s done when the centre is set and the top is lightly golden.

Click to view the video: https://www.facebook.com/reel/1406094914654967

The Australian rating for this documentary is MA15+ Strong themes and suicide references

Watch video: https://www.cchr.org/

Johnson & Johnson the company whose baby shampoo is in your bathroom ran a secret bank account to bribe state officials into drugging prisoners, foster kids, and psychiatric patients with its most expensive pills. One man found the account. His name is Allen Jones. He was a state fraud investigator, and they fired him for refusing to look away.

2002. Pennsylvania. Jones gets handed a case that looks like paperwork.

The state’s chief pharmacist, Steve Fiorello, is taking checks from drug companies. In Pennsylvania that’s illegal. Small, contained, boring.

Jones starts pulling the thread.

The checks come from Johnson & Johnson and its subsidiary Janssen. The maker of an antipsychotic called Risperdal. On paper the money is “travel and speaking fees.” But state employees can’t keep that money. So it’s sitting in an unregistered, off-the-books account.

Then Jones follows the money out of the account.

It’s flowing to an official in another state entirely. The director of the Texas Department of Mental Health.

A hidden account. Funded by a drug company. Wiring money to officials across state lines.

He’d walked into something with a name. TMAP. The Texas Medication Algorithm Project.

It looked like neutral science. Official state guidelines telling doctors which drugs to prescribe for depression, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia. It carried the authority of the government.

But it steered doctors to one specific group of drugs. The newest antipsychotics. The ones that cost up to ten times more than the older medicines they replaced.

And the older drugs weren’t worse. A government-funded study later found the expensive new drugs were no better at treating schizophrenia than the cheap, off-patent ones.

So TMAP wasn’t medical science. It was a marketing program wearing a lab coat. The drug companies helped fund the guidelines. The guidelines recommended the drug companies’ priciest products. And the officials who pushed it were allegedly getting trips, perks, and money in hidden accounts.

Now ask who was on the other end of those prescriptions.

People in state mental hospitals. People in prison cells. Foster children who are wards of the state. People who don’t pick their own medication and cannot say no. The exact people Jones had spent his career around. Now he could see the money behind their pills.

So he took it to his bosses. Corruption was his whole job.

They told him to drop it. Too political. One manager said it plainly: drug companies write checks to politicians. Both parties.

When Jones refused, they pulled him off the case. Banned him from investigating. Buried him in menial work. Bury it, or be buried.

Then he learned the worst part. TMAP wasn’t staying in Texas. Pennsylvania was about to adopt its own version and switch patients onto the expensive drugs regardless of what they actually needed.

Jones made his choice.

He filed a First Amendment lawsuit to protect his right to speak. Then he took everything to the New York Times.

Pennsylvania fired him for it.

He lost his career for doing his job. But the truth was already out, and it could not be put back.

His story went national. The federal government’s own mental-health agency announced it no longer endorsed TMAP. The corrupt program was abandoned.

Then came the bill.

The Texas Attorney General used Jones’s documents to build a case against Johnson & Johnson. In 2011, Texas settled for $158 million. Other states filed and settled too. And it kept widening — until the U.S. Department of Justice resolved the Risperdal cases against J&J and Janssen for more than two billion dollars.

In 2012, Allen Jones was named Whistleblower of the Year.

And understand what this really was. This is how drug-company money quietly shapes the official guidelines your own doctor is told to follow. It started with the people who couldn’t fight back. But the system that decides which pills get pushed touches everyone.

The people he protected will mostly never know his name. The prisoners. The foster kids. The voiceless, drugged for someone else’s profit. He fought for them anyway.

One investigator followed one check. He exposed how Big Pharma bought its way into state medicine. They fired him for telling the truth.

He brought the whole scheme down.

And he’s still out there demanding accountability today.