Victims of COVID-19 Vaccine
Awareness & Remembrance

My story began with something small : a COVID vaccine card.

Soon after receiving my booster shot, I began to feel unusual sensations in my head—abnormal pressure and movement that felt foreign and frightening. Some days it felt like a release, followed by stretching and contraction the next day. At first, these sensations were mild, but they gradually intensified. By mid-July, the contracting sensation had become significantly worse.

In July 2022, I went to the Marin Hospital emergency room, terrified that I might have a brain tumor. I underwent an MRI and many related tests, but everything came back normal. Despite this, the headaches continued to intensify. The constant, debilitating pain became so overwhelming that I began having suicidal thoughts, desperate for relief.

In October, I called my sister while she was traveling in Spain on her first trip since COVID. She had been enjoying herself, but when she heard my voice, she was so shocked that she began to cry. She made me promise I would not harm myself and urged me to stay with our mother so I could receive care and support.

My mother lives in a senior apartment building not far from my home. At that time, I was still able to drive, so each week I stayed overnight in her small one-bedroom apartment. But my condition continued to deteriorate. I was constantly shaking and sweating, and I lost a significant amount of weight. My mother witnessed my decline, and it deeply frightened her.

She is 82 years old, and as my health worsened, her anxiety grew even stronger than mine. One day, while I was not with her, another resident called 911. My mother was taken to Marin Hospital with a blood pressure reading over 200. That was the moment I realized I could no longer stay with her—it was putting her health at risk.

Needing support, I spoke with my husband and told him I intended to apply for medical leave. To my shock, he rejected the idea completely and insisted that I continue working, saying we could not afford to lose my annual bonus. I could not believe his response. I had been married to him for over 25 years. Throughout our marriage, I worked, sacrificed, and stood by him through addiction, unemployment, and even a motorcycle accident that was his fault. I supported him through recovery and even joined Al-Anon to better understand his pain. I did everything I could to lift him up. But when the tables were turned, he dragged me down.

When my sister learned what had happened, she was furious. Shortly after Thanksgiving 2022, she sent a friend to pick me up from my home. From that day on, I never returned.

The winter of 2022 was the hardest time of my life. The sensations in my brain were constant and unbearable. It felt as though a thin membrane—like a web—was moving beneath my skull, tightening and contracting without rest. At times, the sensation became rigid and heavy, like a steel rod or steel plate pressing inside my head.

I also felt intense stretching and pressure around my jaws, which had always been tense, but now felt locked—like something was trapped inside my head and could not escape. The stretching sensation extended through my sinus system. Standing upright made everything worse; lying flat brought slight relief. My neck was painfully tight.

I could not sleep, even with sleeping pills. I experienced additional symptoms: twitching between my jaws, trembling in my legs and wrists, and persistent sweating. My body felt like it was no longer under my control.

On December 6, 2022, I was taken to the UCSF emergency room and later transferred to a mental health hospital in Santa Rosa, where I was prescribed high-dose antidepressant medications. My sister called me every day, constantly encouraging me. During this time, she hired an attorney so we could sign a Power of Attorney, allowing her to manage my affairs while I focused on surviving.

By mid-December, I was discharged and sent to a home that my sister had arranged for me. For the first time in a long while, I felt safe and supported.

In January 2023, my journey seeking medical treatment truly began. Before all of this, I had played tennis for years and was generally in good health. I was active and energetic. I believed that with my family’s support, I would recover.

While I was hospitalized at the Santa Rosa behavioral hospital, my sister was able to secure an appointment for me at Stanford Neurology, thanks in part to my commercial insurance coverage.

January 2023 – Botox and symptom progression

• On January 10, 2023: a Stanford neurologist administered my first Botox treatment. Immediately afterward, my pain increased by about 5–10%, shifting toward both sides of my head near the ears.
• January 11: Pain reduced slightly, by about 10%, but I could not sleep well.
• January 12: Pain on both sides of my ears increased again, reaching about 10% worse than before the injection.
• January 13: Pain decreased slightly, to about 5% worse than before the injection.
• January 14: Pain spread across both sides of my head, running from the top down past the ears. It felt like an electric current traveling from my ears through my jaws and around my mouth. As the sensation passed through my tongue, it burned intensely.

To cope, I had to assume a child’s pose to ease the pain. The back of my neck felt as though a tunnel had been carved into it with a knife. My chest felt tight, as if wrapped in a net. My ears felt squeezed between iron plates. There was constant pounding in my neck, and when I stood up, it felt as though invisible strings tightened from my ears down through my neck.

Emotional and cognitive decline

As the physical pain intensified, my emotional state deteriorated alongside it. I became easily frightened and constantly anxious. Panic attacks became frequent, and sleep felt almost impossible.

During this period, my sister wrote the following notes about my condition:

“She does not drive, does not speak clearly, and can hardly present herself.

She has an appointment tomorrow with ENT, but I am afraid she cannot adequately describe her symptoms, so I asked her caretaker to accompany her.

She did not bring necessary belongings when she left home on November 28, 2022. I purchased a computer and printer for her; when the printer arrived, she did not even know how to turn it on.

She will suddenly tremble, shake, and break out in cold sweats.

After returning briefly to her San Francisco home, she opened emails from her husband, which made her anxious again and unable to sleep. I told her not to open emails, text messages, or anything else.

Basically, she cannot do anything. Even when I offered to order an Amazon TV stick, she told me she could not even watch television.

Under my mother’s supervision, she tried to fry an egg and could not function normally.

I could not believe an extremely smart girl has suddenly become a fragile, frightened bird.”

Impact on my mother

My mother no longer trusted that I could care for myself, even with a caretaker. She stayed overnight with me often, watching helplessly as my condition worsened. The strain on her was visible. She stopped sleeping and quietly began taking sleeping pills herself.

On the morning of July 17, 2023, I woke up and could not find her. I knocked on her bedroom door and found it locked. Terrified, I forced it open and discovered her lying unconscious on the floor. I called 911 immediately. She was taken to the UCSF emergency room and, thank God, she survived. She spent approximately six weeks in the hospital and a rehabilitation center.

Ongoing pain and neurological symptoms

Psychological stress related to ongoing divorce matters preceded and contributed to a severe panic attack on October 6. The panic attack was one of many events during a period of relentless head pain and neurological symptoms.

I experience tremendous, nonstop head pain. My head feels as though it is wrapped in a web of strings. Some of these strings pulse in rhythm with my heartbeat, squeezing my brain and causing intense pain. There is also a sensation like an electric current running through the strings.

The main strings seem to run from the top of my head down both sides, mostly behind the ears and into the neck. Between these, there are parallel strings across the back of my head, and in the front, strings running around the nose. When the pain worsens—usually in the afternoon and at night—it feels as though a steel plate is compressing inward on my brain.

Inside my mouth, I feel an electric current running between my teeth beneath both jaws. The current travels through my tongue, causing burning pain. When my tongue moves away from the sensation, the pain lessens. These sensations move in waves, similar to the waves in my head, and feel connected.

I cannot tolerate lotion on my face, as it causes a burning sensation I never experienced before. My eyes feel dry, sore, and pressured. My lips burn constantly.

Movement of my hands increases the intensity of the wave-like sensations in my head. At times, I experience tingling in my hands, feet, or pelvis. Occasionally, pain shoots from my head down my spine.

I have difficulty remembering words, where I put things, or what I did earlier. This makes me extremely anxious. The anxiety worsens the pain, and the pain worsens the anxiety. I have difficulty concentrating. Reading or writing increases my nervousness, intensifies the pain, and causes eye strain.

Due to the pain, I am unable to sleep at all for days.

Medications and treatments

At Santa Rosa behavioral hospital, I was prescribed:

• Ativan 1mg
• Seroquel 100mg
• Benadryl

These medications allowed me to sleep, but they did not reduce my head pain. After discharge, Ativan was replaced with Trazodone 50 mg, which did not help. Ambien provided occasional relief and allowed limited sleep.

I also experienced burning sensations along my spine and excessive sweating. After receiving occipital, supraorbital, and supratrochlear nerve blocks on January 10, the pain shifted more toward my ears and the edges of my eyes. The intensity remained at approximately 7–8 out of 10.

For head pain, I tried:

• Tylenol
• Excedrin Migraine
• Qulipta
• Medrol 4mg
• Nurtec
• Imitrex

At UCSF emergency room, I was given a migraine cocktail, which did not relieve the pain.

Current medication:

• Duloxetine 30mg
• Gabapentin 300mg three times a day

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.

I received two more rounds of Botox injections at the Stanford Neurology Department. After three total rounds, there was no improvement. The last round, given at a higher nighttime dosage, made everything worse. I could barely walk. Even sitting in front of a computer became an ordeal. The concentration required to read or type triggered waves of nerve pain that pulsed through my head. Anxiety would build as I tried to focus, and that anxiety itself intensified the pain. On rare “good” days, I could sit at a computer for no more than fifteen minutes. If I pushed beyond that, the pain escalated to a level that left me shaking.

I began losing coordination. I burned myself simply boiling eggs. Everyday tasks felt dangerous.

In February 2024, my position as Director of International Tax was terminated. A career of more than ten years ended quietly and abruptly. At the same time, my disability claim was denied by Reliance Standard Life Insurance (RSL). It felt as if the professional world I had built — and the safety net I believed existed — disappeared at once.

My sister filed an appeal for me. She wrote that “the medical illness plunged her into anxiety and depression,” and that “the pain intensified particularly with cognitive activities such as working on computers, reading, writing, or engaging in extended conversations.” She explained that describing me as “independent in activities of daily living” completely failed to reflect the cognitive and neurological demands of my profession.

Still, I looked normal to most people.

My unbearable nerve pain was invisible. Depression has no visible cast. Even though my head trembled at times, most people saw only a woman sitting quietly. They did not see the storm underneath.

I did not know how to make people believe me.

I cancelled gatherings to avoid humiliation. I withdrew from friends. I stopped participating in outdoor activities. Isolation became safer than explanation.

At my sister’s urging, I sought care at UCSF Neurology. My neurologist listened carefully and acknowledged my pain. But there were no new treatments left that seemed promising. The silence after “there’s nothing more to try” was heavier than any diagnosis.

I tried acupuncture and massage therapy. After one acupuncture session, it felt as if every cell in my body had awakened — but the pain surged overnight and became worse.

What began as head pain gradually extended to my neck, shoulders, and chest. It was no longer localized — it felt systemic.

My body became painfully dry — eyes, mouth, skin. My face burned when I applied lotion. Sunlight stung. At times my head felt as though an invisible helmet was tightening, wave after wave. I felt as if strings were running through my skull, around my mouth, down my neck and shoulders — tightening rhythmically. Sometimes those “strings” felt sharp, as if cutting into flesh.

On May 28, 2024, my sister took me to see a neurosurgeon at UCSF. For the first time, I connected the onset of my symptoms to my COVID booster. I remembered how active I had been before — playing tennis frequently. The realization that I might never return to that version of myself was devastating. I began to accept that I might never work again.

My sister, once optimistic, began sounding frightened. I could hear the panic beneath her encouragement. Yet she still texted me every day, refusing to let me face the darkness alone.

By July 2024, the pain had escalated to a level where speaking itself triggered agony. On July 31, during a virtual appointment with Stanford Pain Management, the doctor called my name — and I could not answer. I physically could not speak. She called 911.

I was transported to Saint Francis Memorial Hospital.

Lying on the hospital bed, I felt completely exposed. I could not speak, could not explain the pain, could not make anyone see the storm inside me. I overheard staff discussing my “normal” vital signs and the possibility of “medical fraud.” I did not know whether those words were meant for me, but I felt every syllable like a blade. In that moment, I felt utterly alone, invisible, and humiliated.

I had never felt so powerless.

Pain without visible evidence became suspicion. Silence became guilt. I felt stripped not only of health, but of dignity.

I remember staring at the ceiling and thinking: if they believe I am faking, then what is left of me?

For the first time, death felt like relief from humiliation.

I was discharged on August 14. Days later, I received calls from the hospital and BCBS referencing concerns about “medical fraud.” I was still in severe pain. I politely asked to speak another time.

The experience left a mark deeper than physical pain. When a person is already questioning her own sanity because her illness is invisible, being treated as suspect can shatter what little stability remains.

In September 2024, I realized my sister herself had fallen into depression. I could hear the trauma in her voice when she described her fear while I was hospitalized. Prolonged fear can break even the strongest person.

My mother resumed antidepressants.

The guilt became overwhelming. I felt I had made my mother and sister sick. I questioned the value of my continued existence. Suicidal thoughts returned — not from weakness, but from exhaustion. I felt I should disappear rather than continue causing harm to the people I loved.

Final months

Nonstop pain has been lasted for 3 years since 2022.

 In March 2025, I experienced a brief period of slight improvement after taking a supplement of nattokinose, and maintaining a calm environment with light exercise helped somewhat. However, my nervous system had become extremely fragile. Whenever new stress arose—such as receiving legal demands from my husband’s side or losing my health insurance coverage—any progress I had made would immediately disappear. Weeks or even months of improvement could be undone almost overnight.

The trauma, anxiety, and depression significantly intensified my head pain. As my depression worsened, I became unable to sleep. The lack of sleep increased the pain, and the pain in turn deepened my depression. I found myself trapped in a vicious cycle, sinking into what felt like a very dark valley.

The divorce process has been long and deeply painful. Despite California’s 50/50 framework, my husband and his attorney aggressively pursued alimony, even though my extensive medical records clearly documented my severe depression, neurological impairment, and prolonged disability. The litigation was relentless. Each filing, each demand, became another stressor imposed on a nervous system already pushed beyond its limits.

The prolonged litigation, excessive filings, and constant legal pressure caused overwhelming emotional distress. Each new demand felt like another wave crashing over me, pushing me deeper into anxiety and further delaying my recovery.

At times, I could not eat or sleep. Fear filled my entire body. The fear related to my husband lasted for so long that it continued even though I was no longer living in his controlled environment. I felt so weak that I could barely walk a few steps to the bathroom. My Parkinsonian symptoms became increasingly noticeable. I experienced moments of profound despair in which life felt unbearable.

After the Mandatory Settlement Conference (MSC) on May 24, 2025, my symptoms intensified dramatically. The fear became overwhelming, and the pain escalated rapidly. It felt as though my entire nervous system was in shock, sending constant electric-like pain through my head.

The suffering has been excruciating and unrelenting.

No hours to sleep.

No medication works.

It’s just pure suffering.

I cannot stand anymore.

My mother and sister have cared for me with deep love and devotion. They have given me everything they can. What I give them feels like only hurt—deep wounds. More suffering.

I have been trying to hold onto faith, reminding myself to accept hardship as a pathway to peace—to take this world as it is, not as I would have it—and to surrender to God’s will, hoping that through surrender I may find some measure of peace in this life.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Stella died by suicide on June 17, 2025. She is one of the victims of the COVID-19 vaccine.

Around the world, individuals have reported serious and lasting health complications following COVID-19 vaccination. Many, like Stella, struggled not only with physical pain, but also with disbelief, isolation, and the absence of clear medical answers.

This website exists to make those experiences visible—to remember those who suffered, to support those still struggling, and to advocate for compassion, continued research, and honest acknowledgment of vaccine-related injuries.

Silence should never be the cost of survival.