The Nurse and the Forest

Cafe Locked Out, on the road

They stopped their bicycles at the Forest of the Fallen, curious about the display. The Bright group didn’t use individual bamboo sticks but rather metal spikes, stringing lines of laminated A4 sheets between them, each with a face and a story. Some were about loved ones they’d lost; others were personal stories about ongoing vaccine injuries.

The couple, both in their sixties, lingered. The man became upset straight away, saying, “I had to take it because I wanted to go out.” There was shame in his tone. Regret.

His wife admitted she took it because she wanted to keep her job.

When I asked what she did, she told us she was a nurse.
“I didn’t want to take it,” she said. “It was too new. We didn’t know enough about it. But I had to keep my job.”

Then, she added, “I have cancer. It’s from the jabs. I know it.”

Initially, it was stage three. But when she was undergoing chemotherapy, they told her the treatment would compromise her immune system, so they recommended she take the booster. Which she did.

“Now my cancer is stage four. It’s all through me,” she said.

She tried to put on a brave face, but it was clear she was struggling to stay positive. The anger, most of it directed inward, was palpable.

“Have you tried alternative therapies?” I asked. “Mel Gibson was just on Joe Rogan, and he said he had friends with stage four cancer who were completely cured because of alternative treatments.”

She grimaced, clearly unconvinced.

“But they were cured,” I insisted.

She shrugged.

I then offered to record her story. “That’s what I do,” I said. “And honestly, telling your story publicly might be the only justice you’ll find. There will never be a true Royal Commission.”

She paused, considering it, and then said, “If you’re still here when we get back from our ride, I’ll think about it.”

And with that, they were gone.

A short time later, an emotionally upset police officer turned up, demanding that the group take down the Forest.

But these planters were seasoned Freedom Fighters, veterans of this kind of resistance. They demanded to know what authority the officer was using to enforce her demand.

On and on the officer went, clearly frustrated because she knew the planters were right.

And then she said it: one person had complained. A nurse.

That old woman, riddled with cancer, was the only nurse we’d spoken to that morning.

Finally, the officer gave in, and the Forest remained, swaying gently in the breeze like an orchard of grief.

Michael Gray Griffith

Cafe Locked Out On The Road