T
he coronavirus is real. Trust me, it canceled my Christmas. Two days before we were meant to celebrate the birth of Christ, my sensible
drug Ivermectin. The worst I suffered was the sniffles and the mildest of mild flu symptoms. Compared with many others, my experience was trivial. Thank you, Lord. But COVID-19 has done incalculable damage to America and the world, even beyond the millions who have died and the untold numbers who contracted the virus and didn’t weather it as easily as I did – from the shocking CDC statistic that 25% of young Americans have contemplated suicide as a consequence of isolation and of government lockdowns to the more than 40 million
wife decided to get the whole family tested as we would soon be with our
elderly in-laws. Guess who tested positive? Yup. Yours truly. So Christmas was canceled at the Gorka household because of China’s deadliest-ever export. And that infuriates me. But thanks to my great doctor and the blessings of good fortune, it was a nonevent. I took hydroxychloroquine and the wonder
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January 2021
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