New Zealand's Greatest Doctor:
Ulric Williams of Wanganui
A Surgeon who became a Naturopath
By Brenda Sampson
Mysophobia : Fear of Germs
It is over thirty years since I first wrote that our modern medical system, to the extent of perhaps 80 percent, is nothing but a colossal, cruel, ludicrous, lucrative fraud. Only the money system, because it is even more inevitably enslaving and fatally destructive, and far more transparent, is worse. The reason people don't see through these systems is because they don't look - prejudice, profit, urge to power and propaganda prevent them. But when they've been plundered and massacred enough, they look. Some are looking already.
For example, the official anti-tuberculosis campaign, based on the false belief that the cause of TB is the tubercle bacillus, is being challenged. The bacillus, when present at all, is an accompaniment, usually an effect, and never the primary cause of TB. Healthy people do not suffer from, and cannot be infected with TB (or cancer). The real causes of TB are: dead food, stale air and negative emotional states. Once developed, bugs may spread - in congenial soil.
Some years ago, when a Lay Tuberculosis Association was being started in Wanganui, Dr Taylor, then TB officer in the Department of Health, in the course of an address said: "There are ten thousand notified cases of tuberculosis in New Zealand, but in only 30 percent of cases has the tubercle bacillus been demonstrated." He did not see that this is because in only 30 percent of cases is the bacillus present.
The following example shows how wide of the mark self-appointed bug-wallahs can be. Others as striking could be provided.
When Trix wrote to us she was suffering from tuberculosis of the lower three vertebrae of her spine. Months before, she had undergone an "Albee" operation, in which a segment of bone is cut from a shin bone, and transplanted along the spine in the hope of keeping it straight. Six months later a massive abscess had been evacuated from under one buttock. Now she was worse than ever. The lower vertebrae were eroded and tumbled out of alignment. "There is only one thing for it," the Dominion's foremost specialist declared, "you will have to be put in a plaster of Paris case from your neck to your knees. For how long? Twelve months at least, probably eighteen months, and quite likely two years." And then the shattering pronouncement: "AND THERE IS NO ALTERNATIVE."
In despair Trix appealed to us. But having no means of telling how she might react to us or our ideas we could offer no firm undertaking. Following our suggestion she came to one of our homes. Would we have let her, if we'd known how she was?
Her X-rays showed the lower three vertebrae eroded and tumbled out of alignment. Her pelvis was twisted on her spine. Her back was bent. Her walk was a shuffle of a few inches at a time. And her face was drawn with pain.
When she had been put to bed, I came to investigate. After a while, she raised herself on one elbow, looked straight at me, and "Are you trying to tell me that something in my mind could do that to my body?" she demanded.
"No dear," I replied, "I'm trying to convince you that that is what has happened."
Long silence.
Then, "Very well, I'll tell you something I've never told anyone."
Her people had been small farmers, and she was their only child. She had been her father's special pet, and mother was jealous. This had thrown father and daughter still closer together. At last when Trix was seventeen, mother's hate worked as hate often does (beware of violent emotions!). Her father was attacked by a bull, in his daughter's presence; knocked down, gored, and trampled on. Trix put up a brave show. She beat the bull off with a hay fork. But not in time. Her father died from his injuries.
There was little equity in the farm; and mother and daughter moved to the city, where Trix had to do sewing to help out. Instead of growing more tolerant, mother became more bitter and vindictive than ever. At last, Trix could stand it no longer. She prayed that God would send her some illness that would take her out of it all. And that, she remembered, was when the trouble in her spine began.
"Yes," she reflected, "but what am I to do?" "Write to your mother," I advised, "and tell her you know how the family unhappiness came about. That you realise you were partly to blame. But that when you get home you mean to make up for your share."
Trix could hardly wait to begin her letter. And next day she was walking as straight as I.
She picked up quickly; and before long was walking five miles a day. At the end of six weeks I had her examined by another surgical specialist. After complete investigation, including X-rays, his verdict: "There has been some trouble at the base of her spine; but it is perfectly healed. She can do as she likes."
So for her last two weeks in our Home she did as she liked - press-ups, cartwheels; and hand springs. Plainly, she was wearing silk (not plaster), from well below her neck to a long way above her knees.
She was warned, when she went home, to keep away from doctors and "friends". They can be dangerous.
Eight years later my wife and I were outside the Post Office in Rotorua when a young woman came charging across the road and bailed us up. "Do you know who I am?" she asked; "I'm Trix." When I'd got my breath back, "And how have you been all this time?" I asked.
"Doctor," she exulted, "I've never had ache or pain since the day I entered your Home."
URGENT WARNING: The bug wallahs in the Department of Disease are out to compel everyone in New Zealand to submit to periodic X-rays for TB - they to rule on the films; order treatment, and, at their pleasure, take and keep you (and yours) out of circulation. Worse than compulsory fluoridation.
