From Russia with love
Chess as foreplay, a remarkable restaurant, and Sulodexide
PAST
This story takes us back to my adventures with the Brethren Volunteer Service (BVS), as recounted in Hot Mess Express. After my excommunication from the San Antonio Catholic Worker House, I became sick as a dog for a week. Physically recovered, I flew home to southeastern Pennsylvania and stayed with my Nana. For the next week she was loving, but firm and clear that she wasn’t going to tolerate a twenty one year old college graduate who was a failure-to-launch. She had spent too many years watching the shenanigans of the neighbor biker boy Donny who was still living with his mom and dad—in his forties!
In the meantime, the BVS decided to give me a second chance. The High Desert Ranch in New Mexico had decided that I was indeed a hot mess, and retracted their acceptance. But, there was a Church of the Brethren (COB) camp and retreat center in Hooversville, PA which would be glad to have me. Hooversville is a tiny hamlet in Southwestern, PA, and Camp Harmony was miles from the nearest neighbor, a dairy farm. The position was for a Maintenance Director, with on-the-job training.
And so I arrived in the middle of Winter via Amtrak from Philadelphia’s 30th Street station. Philadelphians tend to think that Pennsylvania is, well, Philadelphia. The fact that the state extends at least an eight hour drive westward, and has a snow belt in the southwest to rival midwestern winters was not part of this southeastern Pennsylvanian’s consciousness.
The Winter and Spring were long and lonely. There was a lot of work to do on the buildings and around the camp preparing setting up for weekend retreats and preparing for the summer. During the weekdays, the camp secretary and director would be in the office and available, but at night I was the only person for miles. The upside was seeing the starry sky in all its heavenly glory and without the light pollution from the city. 1992 was also a heyday for country singer Garth Brooks, and considering that the only radio reception I got was AM, and two stations—both country—it was a good thing. I learned to like country music out of necessity.
Sundays meant traveling with the Camp Director, Neal Harvey, to regional congregations of the Church of the Brethren to make a presentation about the camp and raise funds. Neal would play a recording of campers singing the folk standard “The Garden Song” —listen to this version by John Denver appearing on The Muppet Show. It was an ear worm and still lingers in my brain on the occasion that I think of Camp Harmony….
As the snow began to clear, Wednesdays were work days with a group of up to ten retired men. We cut down Black Locust trees to make new fence posts and strung them with barbed wire to keep the neighboring cows off the camp property. We also began clearing land to make way for a planned new retreat center, today known as Faith Hall. All of this involved a lot of work with an old John Deere tractor, and chainsaws, neither of which had been part of my upbringing.
We took care, and no one was hurt during out efforts—except for one incident. Howard Fyock was a retired “coal cracker”, Pennsylvanian for coal miner. Like many old time coal miners, he had black lung. Coal workers' pneumoconiosis (CWP), commonly known as "black lung disease," occurs when coal dust is inhaled. Over time, continued exposure to the coal dust causes scarring in the lungs, impairing your ability to breathe. Considered an occupational lung disease, it is most common among coal miners.
I shit you not that Howard would be out there driving the old John Deere with his oxygen nasal cannula and the accompanying portable tank slung from his shoulders. There was an old gravel pit which we would dump the huge stumps we had dug out as we cleared the land. One day, Howard had the bucket end of the tractor elevated, with a large stump suspended below from a chain. As he approached the top of the gravel pit, there was a little too much swing to the stump, left to right, and the bucket was elevated just high enough that physics took over and the tractor began to tip. What happened next remains a marvelous miracle, and testimony to Howard’s quick thinking and spryness, even at the age of 80. He leapt off the tractor, in the opposite direction from which it was rolling, with his oxygen tank no less, and cleared the moving machine before it could crush him as it cartwheeled fifty feet down into the pit.
Neal and I visited Howard later that day in the hospital, and aside from some extensive bruising and a few broken ribs, he was already agitating to be discharged. The John Deere was also banged up, but after a visit to the shop to straighten out the engine splash guard and replace the damaged hydraulic lines, it was back in action.
I remember Howard and the other men who volunteered every week with a swell of love in my heart. Being a decent cook, I tried to show my appreciation for them by eschewing the basic fare of sandwiches, chips and iced tea, for more complicated and filling meals such as lasagna with garlic bread and salad, or chili with cornbread. Neal raised an eyebrow about the added expense, but that didn’t squash my light. He had a decent appetite himself, so I’m sure that helped.
When summer finally arrived, so did a whole community of staff and counselors, followed shortly afterwards by the campers. I had to surrender my apartment to the camp nurse, and move down to the lodge used for staff; those quarters had women on one side, men on the other, with a common room and kitchenette in the middle. Some of the lodge’s residents were still minors and as a result, even though I was what in Philadelphia street language would be called “a grown-ass man”, I was now theoretically under the nightly curfew watch of the camp nurse, with the young‘uns.
Always on the lookout for love and romantic adventure, I became friendly with one of the kitchen staff, a pretty young lass named Dawn. We managed to have a nice snuggle on the couch in the common lounge without any objections from our peers. What I hadn’t counted on was the late arrival of a camp counselor from Russia. Her name was Julia Samsonova, pronounced sam-Soo-no-va. We had eyes for each other from the start, with hers being dark, penetrating, and conspiratory.
About a week after Julia arrived, we ended up in the common lounge together one evening; she asked if I could play chess. Yes, indeed I could—badly, but I’d give it a go. It was unlike any chess game I have ever played, before or since, with the banter, saucy looks and a rising tension that left me so stirred up that I could hardly get to sleep that night. But what is a guy to do in the middle of a Christian summer camp, under the watchful eye of the camp nurse? Try to behave; try being the operative word.
I would leave you hanging if I didn’t share one last bit. Despite Neal’s generosity of heart in taking a chance on my hot mess and offering me a volunteer position, at the end of the summer I left Camp Harmony, and my volunteer commitment, early. There were a number of factors which, combined, led to this decision. It turned out that this region of the Church of the Brethren was more fundamentalist in nature, and I struggled with that. I also thought that volunteer doesn’t equate to servant, and Neal’s expectation of my position was that I would work 60-80 hour weeks throughout the summer, because previous volunteers in my position did. I have a strong work ethic, but this felt like exploitation of my good -faith intention to serve, and that didn’t sit well with me. I needed to move on.
The morning that I left Camp Harmony, Neal’s wife Karen had come to pick me up to take me to the train station. At the same time Julia was sneaking out of the window of my room and headed around the side of the staff building, Karen arrived at the front door and they made eye contact. Ooops. Karen wasn’t dumb, and put two and two together. I later learned that this news scandalized the COB community and, typical for small town gossip, lead to quite the storm of grandiose stories about how the Devil had influenced me, corrupted Julia and who-knows-else and who-knows-what. After we briefly considered her coming to Philadelphia to join me, Julia headed back to Russia. I wasn’t anywhere near ready for marriage, and the daunting logistics of obtaining an extended visa were enough to end our romance.
RECENT PAST
In 2018, my wife and I traveled to California to visit her father and his wife. Curt and Jane were high school sweethearts, who reunited after more than twenty years, several children each, and divorces from their respective spouses. They had recently purchased a large RV trailer and we took a small trip together to the coast, traveling through the Russian River Valley. On our way to the coast, we passed Russia House #1 and it caught my attention. It was an odd-looking structure which sat near the edge of the Russian River, with a sign advertising traditional Russian food. I filed it away in my head and, on the return trip, I asked Curt to pull over so that we could check it out.
When we pulled into the parking lot, there were no other cars, and when we entered the building, there were no other people. Just inside the entrance there was a room with an eclectic collection of puzzles and games. Further in, there were several large tables laid out with at least a dozen large crock pots, plates, and silverware. After a few minutes wait a rumpled-looking fellow came out from the back and introduced himself as the neighbor from across the street. He was watching over things as the three women who sponsored this culinary experiment were away for the day. He explained that we help ourselves, buffet-style, eat as much or as little as we want, and pay what we think makes sense. Hmmmm. What was the catch? I was both surprised, and a little suspicious, but when I read one of the postcards on our table, I started to understand what this was about.
Russian house#1 is a free cultural space, intentional community and an experiment in new economics. Russian House #1 is a unique Restaurant, where the food is being served like at Home. It means that we do not have menus, nor fixed prices. Our food is being prepared with an inspiration every day, considering our favorite Russian recipes and healthy local produce. We do culinary classes and we love to take best cooking practices from our guests. (Yes! You are welcome to cook with us or to cook for us ))) We have a great puzzle collection, intellectual clubs, meditations and breath work workshops ."
Everything smelled and tasted delicious, and some the food was familiar due to commonalities between Russian cuisine and Slovak dishes which my Baba would make. It was homemade Russian peasant food: hearty soups, stews, blini and salads were presented on a buffet table. Tea, fruit drinks and water were also available. The view of the Russian River Valley was lovely. Yes, I went back for seconds. I was grateful that my travel companions were willing to take a chance and explore this very special place together, and they all seemed to enjoy the food as well. I think I left $100 to cover the four of us.
Researching for this Substack, I learned that Russia House #1 closed in January of 2022, when the landlord declined to renew their lease. I’m betting that the inspired Russian women behind this culinary/intellectual/spiritual/diplomatic experiment will re-emerge in another location to continue their adventure. If you’re interested in more details, Russia House #1 was covered in these 2021 Washington Post, 2022 San Francisco Chronicle, and 2022 The Press Democrat articles.
PRESENT
Besides my Russian love Julia, and the yummy food of Russia House #1, I was inspired to write this Substack by my observations regarding a drug called Sulodexide. The only way I know of to procure this drug is via what I’ll call the “grey market,” as it is not available in the U.S. On websites which change from week to week, using similar graphics but different names for their business, people with names like Igor, Boris, Alexsandr and Dimitri bridge the gap between individual medical needs and the stupid greed of our Pharma-compromised FDA. I mention this at the start, because, as you will see, Sulodexide is not for the faint of heart, pardon the pun, as you will see.
What is reassuring about Sulodexide is that is has been approved by the European drug agencies and has been in use since 1972. When a drug has a long history of use, there has been plenty of opportunity to explore it’s pluses and minuses. Sulodexide is available as a generic medication, which makes it cheaper than comparable drugs such as Eliquis, an anticoagulant which is a factor Xa inhibitor. Eliquis has a good safety profile, and in our use of it to treat micro clotting-for more than 500 of our patients , there have been very few complications. However there is evidence that Sulodexide is safer than Eliquis. I would argue that it being cheaper and safer than Eliquis makes it very unlikely that we will see Sulodexide approved by the FDA anytime soon, as it would threaten the Pharma profits from Eliquis, Xarelto, and similar patented drugs.
Why am I talking about Sulodexide? First, the sheer scope of sulodexide’s clinical effects: it has anti-atherosclerotic, anti-coagulative, anti-fibrotic, fibrinolytic, anti-inflammatory, and endothelium-protecting properties. Second, I have seen noteworthy improvements in the symptoms of two vaccine injured patients who used a one month treatment of Sulodexide with 250LU (25mg) twice daily. I diagnosed the first patient with iliac venous compression (IVC). She took Sulodexide for one month before she had stenting with my colleague Dr Brooke Spencer in Denver, CO. She was noting improvement even before the moderate sedation was wearing off, and, among my growing list of IVC patients, has experienced one of the most rapid and dramatic improvements in her vascular system, chronic back pain, energy, and cognition. The second patient took Sulodexide for one month, and while he didn’t notice any tremendous benefit while taking it, his long-term recovery has been exemplary, as he has steadily improved in his reports re: ease of breathing, absence of chest pain, increased exercise capacity, and overall well-being.
From a 2014 review of Sulodexide:
Sulodexide (SDX), a sulfated polysaccharide complex extracted from porcine intestinal mucosa, is a blend of two glycosaminoglycan (GAG) entities, namely a fast-moving heparin (HP) fraction and a dermatan sulfate (DS; 20%) component. The compound is unique among HP-like substances in that it is biologically active by both the parenteral and oral routes. A main feature of the agent is to undergo extensive absorption by the vascular endothelium. For this reason, in preclinical studies, SDX administered parenterally displays an antithrombotic action similar to that of HPs but associated with fewer alterations of the blood clotting mechanisms and tests, thus being much less conducive to bleeding risk than HPs. When given orally, SDX is associated with minimal changes in classic coagulation tests, but maintains a number of important effects on the structure and function of endothelial cells (EC), and the intercellular matrix. These activities include prevention or restoration of the integrity and permeability of EC, counteraction versus chemical, toxic or metabolic EC injury, regulation of EC–blood cell interactions, inhibition of microvascular inflammatory and proliferative changes, and other similar effects, thus allowing oral SDX to be considered as an endothelial-protecting agent.
So, Sulodexide has two components, or fractions. The low molecular weight of both sulodexide fractions allows for extensive oral absorption compared to unfractionated heparin. The pharmacological effects of sulodexide differ substantially from other GAG drugs and are mainly characterized by a prolonged half-life and reduced effect on global coagulation and bleeding parameters. Translation: with Sulodexide there is less risk of bleeding.
We understand from our study and treatment of patients with post-acute sequelae of COVID and injury from the COVID shots, that endothelial (cells lining the blood vessels) injury occurred when the spike protein entered the blood and circulated. This happened to an exponentially greater extent from the shots, but can also occur in people who have had COVID, or who are experiencing shedding from exposure to vaccinated and boosted individuals. Therapeutics such as Sulodexide, which can counteract this endothelial injury, could be very valuable.
Sulodexide has been studied extensively in relation to venous ulcers, chronic venous disease, and diabetic neuropathy. There was one study of Sulodexide use in PASC patients with chest pain, which had positive statistical and clinical significance. One application which intrigues me, and which I will be exploring with patients, is its potential use in treating tinnitus, because that has been one of the hardest nuts to crack in PASC and vaccine injury. Sulodexide studies showed that when used in conjunction with melatonin, or as monotherapy, it was a viable treatment option for patients suffering from central or sensorineural tinnitus.
I expect that this brief exposition on Sulodexide will raise more questions among readers. Please remember that this is not individual health care advice for you. If Sulodexide sounds promising to you, please do more research on your own, as there are many academic articles to be found, and discuss it with your healthcare provider. I suggest starting with PubMed, the free online search engine available through the NIH. As with purchasing other medicine, such as IVM, from outside the United States, there are inherent risks which the regulatory structure of FDA approval is meant to protect us from (but which can also impede our access to safe, repurposed drugs). Personally, I obtained Sulodexide from abroad for a cost of ~$180 for a one month supply, and when I shared images of the package, medication blister packs and package insert with a Russian-reading pharmacist, he validated that I had the genuine article. Buyer beware, as I can’t speak for the ethics and quality control of the person on the other end of such transactions, and you would be purchasing the drug at your own risk.
P.S. Dr Pierre Kory and I are co-owners of The Leading Edge Clinic, a telemedicine practice. We work with a mission-focused staff of fifteen, including two extraordinary FNPs, India Scott and Laura Bevis. India and Laura also offer care in general medicine, and Laura specializes in geriatrics. We continue to study and learn in our treatment of PASC and vaccine injury. As one of five clinical sites participating in the five year FLCCC study using repurposed therapeutics as adjunctive treatment of cancer, Pierre and I are developing our expertise in this new realm. We will be joined full-time by another physician in August of 2024, who will focusing on cancer and which will significantly expand our capacity to help cancer patients. You can to go to our website at drpierrkory.com and initiate an application to become a patient in our practice.
Fascinating.
fwiw re tinnitus, Naomi Wolf did a video a few weeks ago how her tinnitus was cleared with juice from a cooked onion. If interested that substack title was 'the onion scandal' I believe. She thanked Barbara O'Neill as well , who has several videos re onion juice, and poulstice, as well as the use of goldenseal for it too (which I've not watched yet).