Vaccine Injury of Brian Hutchinson

Didn't have to work for quality of life. Before the vaccine, I was healthy, focused, and thriving—excelling at work, family focused , and full of energy.

12/30/2020 1st dose Moderna
2/5/2021 2nd dose Moderna
2/7/2021 adverse reactions
10/24/2021 Positive for covid 19
10/28/2021 Got way worse
1/11/2022 Moderna Booster
1/14/2022 Got way way worse
6/19/2022 DVT to right leg
7/4/2022 Pulmonary Embolism
Present slow decline

Supplements, deep tissue massages, Family, work and Church support. Body building to include diet workout plan. I have a little less pain.

Doing nothing for exercise. Going to doctors that do not support vaccine injuries. Listening to said doctors that do not want to practise medicine.

Walking Through Darkness: My Struggle and Hope

At 46 years old, I was a firefighter, a husband, and a father. My life had purpose, a rhythm built on service, love, and dedication to those I care about most. I had no idea how drastically things would change after receiving the Moderna COVID-19 vaccine—a vaccine meant to protect, but instead, it plunged me into a personal nightmare.

The first dose on December 30, 2020, seemed routine enough. Other than mild shoulder pain and a headache, I felt fine within days. But everything changed after my second dose on February 5, 2021. That’s when the unraveling began.

Two days later, my wife Jaimie and I were in the shower, talking about my day. Or at least, I thought I was talking. She looked at me with concern and asked, “Have you been drinking?” I hadn’t. But my speech didn’t make sense to her—or to me. My sentences were jumbled, words misplaced or nonsensical. I laughed it off, thinking it was just a weird side effect. But the next day, I couldn’t remember my daughter’s name. That’s when I realized something was seriously wrong.

The aphasia hit hard. I struggled to find the simplest words—what to call a spatula, how to wish Jaimie a happy Valentine’s Day without saying “Happy Thanksgiving Day” by mistake. Words I’d known all my life were suddenly gone. As a firefighter and counselor, my work relies on clear communication. But I could no longer string together coherent sentences, and it was painfully clear to everyone around me. At home, my family saw me falter. At work, my colleagues witnessed me struggle through miscommunications and delays caused by my slow processing speed.

But it wasn’t just my speech. My body felt like it was falling apart. Chronic fatigue, muscle and joint pain, insomnia, and relentless migraines became my daily companions. I woke up more exhausted than when I went to bed. Lying down at night, the pain in my body would wake me, making sleep feel impossible. Physically, I was strong, but I didn’t feel it. Every moment of existence felt laborious, like I was dragging myself through a life that no longer resembled my own.

Emotionally, I hit my lowest point. Anxiety consumed me as my cognitive impairments made even simple tasks overwhelming. Depression wrapped its dark arms around me, filling me with a sense of hopelessness and despair. More than once, I told Jaimie, “I’m not going to make it through this.” I even asked her to help me prepare for my death, so convinced was I that my time was running out.

The hardest part of it all was feeling abandoned. Doctors didn’t believe me. Some outright called me a liar. During the height of the COVID pandemic, no one wanted to admit that the vaccine might have caused this. I don’t blame the doctors entirely; they were under immense pressure to follow the CDC and government narratives. But it didn’t make their dismissal hurt any less. It wasn’t until I found a neurologist who diagnosed me with toxic encephalopathy that I felt a small sense of validation. That diagnosis was a lifeline, proof that I wasn’t imagining this nightmare.

Through it all, I clung to my faith. At my lowest point, I wrote a psalm, pouring my heart out to God. It began as a cry of despair, a lament of feeling forsaken and hopeless. But as I wrote, the light of God’s promises broke through the darkness. He reminded me that even in my suffering, He was there, and I wasn’t alone.

I won’t pretend that things are better now. The uphill battle continues, and every day brings new challenges. But I’ve learned to lean on God and draw strength from scripture. For others who have suffered like me, I know how fruitless words can feel when trying to ease the grief and pain. But I also know this: there is hope. It’s not in the temporary relief of drugs or alcohol. It’s in the eternal comfort of God’s love.

I hope my story serves as a testament to resilience and faith. No matter how dark the valley, I believe that light will always find a way to shine through. And for me, that light is Christ, who has never left my side—even when I couldn’t see Him.