Aspartame Consumer Safety Network (ACSN), along with many journalists, pilots, lawyers, and independent researchers, has tried to reach the public with the truth behind aspartame. It has been a long struggle.
Thanks to my pioneering literary agents, Jeff and Deborah Herman, and my enterprising publisher, Dr. Joan Dunphy, readers around the world now have the opportunity to know the truth about aspartame.
The lack of available information exposing the dangerous side effects of aspartame forced me to dig for hidden truths while I was recovering from a deadly disease. I not only stood firmly against my doctor’s advice, but wearily breached the unknown and stood my ground against the threat of death. All I endured can be sourced to one thing, the lack of information about aspartame—the absence of truth.
If telling of my experience helps others, it will give meaning to the suffering I have endured.
Flames roar over my head. “Get down! Get down” Lieutenant Skinner yells. “It’ going to flash over!” As I crawled along the narrow hallway of the burning trailer home, my left fire boot slid off.
Damn it! How can I fight a fire if my boot won’t stay on my foot?
I can’t see a thing! I can’t wear my contact lenses because they’ll melt in my eyes, and I can’t wear my glasses because then the oxygen mask won’t seal around my face. These things don’t really matter. In a structure fire, everything is pitch black and smoky. All I need to see are the flames.
The fire singes my eyelashes.
Looking up blindly, I greet a massive sheet of orange flame roaring toward me. Its color slides forward like an angry ghost. A tornadic rumble vibrates my body. It’s coming straight at me with a strong force. Suddenly, a blanket of intense heat envelopes me. Flames reach over my head and, boot or no boot, I am fighting this fire.
I’m not supposed to be doing this; I’m not supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be dead. And not by flames.
Two years ago, I was poisoned.
It was a day like any normal day. For me, anyway. I was home with my three toddlers doing my favorite activity, the “mom” thing: playing with and taking care of my children and nursing the baby. I was also doing my not so favorite things: changing three sets of diapers, picking up an endless number of toys and doing laundry. It was almost nap time for the boys and me. With the newborn riding side saddle on my left hip, I walked over to the refrigerator and grabbed a diet soda. Sean, my three-year-old, asked for a bottle of apple juice. We all sat down to watch thirty minutes of Sesame Street on television.
Then a blinding headache struck. Strange, I thought. I never get headaches. Oh well. I must be tired today, I rationalized.
The headache got worse. Sitting quietly on the sofa with the baby on my lap watching Bert and Ernie, the room began to spin. It spun faster and faster, like riding the merry-go-round at the Texas State Fair. It was making me sick to my stomach. I guessed I must be coming down with something. Then I began feeling nauseous. I was going to throw up if my head kept dancing pirouettes.
I let the boys stay up a big longer so I could remain still a few minutes more. Maybe a sip of cola would settle my stomach. I reached for my diet cola. Another sip. I felt worse.
“Sean, honey,” I said to my oldest with a pathetic tone in my voice. “Will you go over to the window and pull the blinds down for Mommy, please. Mommy has a headache. The sunlight is making it worse.” By now, my eyes were throbbing in agony.
Little Sean proudly looked up at me, smiling. His new assignment made him feel so big. Honored, he marched over to the window and pulled the shade down with a force that almost yanked the linen roll off the brackets. I was too sick to care.
The baby started to cry, and Alex, my middle child, cried out for some milk. Sean was now running to every window pulling each shade down with vigilant drive. I felt worse.
“Sean,” I barked. “Please stop pulling down the shades so hard.” My scolding crushed his enthusiasm. He started to cry. Alex was now bellowing for milk, and Brian, my newborn, was so tired he was screaming. The sound shattered my aching head as if it were breaking glass.
“Mommy! Mommy!” Their cries rang in my ears.
“Boys, please!” I squealed. “Mommy is so sick. Help me stand up.”
Desperate to get to my bed, I depended on a three-year-old and a one-and-a-half-year-old to come to my aid. I put the baby in his playpen praying he’d fall asleep quickly.
With gentle help from the boys, I worked my way down the hall. Hugging the walls to keep from falling down, I directed my feet to the bedroom. The house was now spinning round and round. It was becoming harder for me to swallow. This headache was like nothing I’d ever experienced before.
I dropped weakly onto my tidy bed. Circles continued to reel around my pounding head. The headache pierced the middle of my forehead, driving painful spikes deep into my eyes. “Oh, God!” I cried out. “What’s going on?” I wished Chuck, my husband, would come home. I needed some help.
My body trembled and twitched. I started to sweat. The pain in my forehead persisted. “What is this?” I murmured, nauseous and agonized.
The boys slowly shuffled my way. They looked scared. Seeing me must have been frightening to them. “Mommy?” they modestly asked in unison. “What’s wrong with you? Are you going to die?”
Unable to lift my head to comfort them, I replied, “Oh no, boys.” Speaking made my head pound. “I’m not going to die.” I wanted to chuckle at their innocence, but the pain was too intense. Any movement started me spinning like a top. The pain in the middle of my forehead pounded.
“Boys,” I said, “go get Mommy a wet wash cloth from the bathroom.” Sean’s second assignment today. Neither Sean nor Alex was tall enough to reach the sink, but they toddled off to the bathroom full of delight with a challenge that would occupy them long enough to give me a bit of peace and quiet. I heard Sean, the inventor, and Alex, the domineering one, engineering plans on how to reach the sink. I had no strength to arbitrate.
Suddenly, the head pain began to subside. By the time the boys returned from their unsuccessful mission, I was able to shift from horizontal to a sitting position. Slowly, I dropped my legs over the side of the bed and stood on wobbly feet. I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. Creeping down the hallway, I made my way to the kitchen, stopping to peek at my sleeping baby. He was fine, thank goodness. The boys teetered close behind. I got them some milk and myself another diet cola. A cold one. I sat on the sofa and took a deep breath.
Damn. What just happened? I was confused but not yet worried.
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