Its now been over 2 years since my mother died in agony of cancer at Chelsea and Westminister hospital. It’s been too painful to really ruminate on any connection between it and the 16 year long psychological torture inflicted upon myself by the Met Police. It was a devastating event for me, including the months leading up to it, which I had to cope with in the context of what the police continued to do to me, with no respite or humanity. Now it’s time to reflect on it here, while certain important and disturbing elements are still fresh in my memory.
(*update September 2024 – My brother was recently told his own cancer is terminal and has weeks or months to live. Obviously I am now concerned that the police may repeat their criminality. My brother is hoping to be moved to a rural hospice. For example, will the police psychopaths point me out to the local pub where myself and my brother hope to have some last time together? I also likely have the same genetic disease (currently being tested for it), which would mean I would like develop cancers myself soon and die within the next decade. In which case it’s more urgent than ever that legal proceedings against the police can be begun as soon as possible).
The first thing to be said is that the torture by the police really did impact my ability to enjoy and cherish my last years and months with my mother. Throughout this, she was the one person that gave me a reason to keep going and survive it. She was also completely oblivious to what I was going through, and entirely innocent of anything that the police could remotely have justification for in their vendetta against myself. I never once mentioned any of this to her in these 16 years. She did, however, obviously know that my life had been impacted by paranoid schizophrenia.
Reading back my posts such as /owain-richards-boots-fulham-broadway-waitrose-tss-security-a-rough-day-in-london/, from September 2021, when she was only months away from death, is utterly painful for me beyond words. I remember that day, coming back to her flat in an agitated state, and God bless her, she noticed but didn’t know why. And these were the last days I had with her before she became very ill again and had go into hospital to slowly die in agony from cancer of the oesophagus.
The second thing to say is that it did impact also my ability to care for my mother in those last months and years. A brother of mine was her primary carer, and she had NHS carers visiting her every day. She first contracted cancer in 2020, but after a course of chemotherapy she was given the all-clear. Her normal weight returned and she was back to being independent and active, despite being almost 90. My ability to visit her in both 2020 while she had cancer, and in 2021 was limited by the pandemic and lockdowns. In 2021, she developed a raspy voice and then her cancerous symtoms of feeling sick and not wanting to eat returned. She was not given any scans during this time. I bitterly regret not paying for a private MRI scan. I don’t think she could have coped with more chemo, but I still wonder how I couldn’t even consider that idea. Perhaps if I hadn’t been so stressed with what the police were doing to me, then I would have been able to. As I described in that post from September 2021, and will again below, the police most certainly did affect my ability to provide the proper care for my mother, by continuing point me out to security guards and staff at pharmacies in Fulham.
My mother developed her raspy voice shortly after being mistakenly being given TWO influenza jabs as well as an covid booster jab in TWO DAYs in a pharmacy in Fulham North End Road. She had had her influenza jab the day before, and visited this pharmacy to have her covid booster. She told me afterwards, and her elderly best friend who went with her confirmed this, that the pharmacist was VERY STRANGE AND RUDE with her immediately. She was given a jab without any consent form or information, and then her and her friend asked whether they had been given the Pfilzer or the Moderna booster. The pharmacist then told them that no, it had been an influenza jab. As I said, she had already had her influenza jab the day before. Nethertheless, the pharmacist then gave them both the Covid booster jab.
The day after that, my mother developed a very raspy voice, that over the course of the next few months was given various antibiotics and such for, to no avail.
Now bear in mind that, as I have described here over the years, Hammersmith and Fulham police had pointed me out to shops along the North End Road, as well as pharmacies, including Boots, with instructions to not only security guards, but staff to bully me, and to directly take part in the psychological torture of myself. All the while, of course, not allowing me to know whether they had done this, or I was just insane.
As I have described, in the Boots in the Fulham Broadway shopping center, where myself and my brother would collect my mother’s prescriptions for her medication when she had her first bout of cancer, the security guard would follow me around the store with arms folded, then smirk and walk away the moment I had left. Even the staff there clearly recognize me, and serve me very oddly, the same way I get served in other Boots stores, including Eastbourne and such. It would also mysteriously take days for prescriptions to arrive. Because of this, myself and my brother changed the pharmacy for her repeat prescriptions to the Superdrug in the North End Road. There too, I was served in a bizzarre manner by the pharmacists, who appeared to recognize me.
Now is it possible that the police informed the pharmacy where my mother had those two jabs that day, that she was visiting and that she was my mother, encouraging, inciting, or otherwise causing them to act rudely, and even to intentionally give her the wrong jab?
Throughout these 16 years, it’s been my duty to subject all these thoughts and beliefs to scrutiny and reflection. Even when I fell onto the tracks of a metro platform and became trapped betwen the platform and carriage, after being apparentely followed in a European city, and only saved by a passanger seconds from having my legs ripped off by the departing train, I’m reluctant to associate it with any wrongdoing by the police. But to be frank, there are clearly no limits as to what these psychopaths are capable of, as I describe in ‘What Kind of Sadists?‘. The only moral or legal limit they appear to have, is that they haven’t actually killed me, although they have clearly incited and encouraged hundreds of security guards and members of the public to the point where I could be.
There is also truly disturbing thing that happened a couple of weeks after my mothers death, which suggests there really are no limits to what the police could have done. This involved a member of staff at that Waitrose store in North End Road that I talked about in the ‘rough day in London’ post linked above. According to my mother’s friend, she was handed some flowers by the Waitrose line manager because she had noticed that her friend (my mother) had not been with her when she had shopped there (they often shopped together). I will discuss this again later.
Whether it was intentional or not, having two influenza jabs and a Covid booster in two days, definately took it’s toll on my mother, and made the weeks and months leading up to her death even more painful for her, and difficult for us, her family and friends. However, a couple of monnths after her death, I visited the pharmacy in question, recording discreetly with my smartphone, and asked for some medication for myself. Although the staff appeared a little rude, they gave no indication that they recognized me.
I will add more to this later, this is all I can cope with for one day.
