A story of becoming exhausted earlier than normal, and looking for some answers to this.

I think I may have pushed my most recent d.fast too far and I wanted to share the experience both so that I could hear any ideas anyone might have as to what happened for me, and also to help further inform this—to our modern society—relatively new and unexplored practice for everyone. A few months ago I successfully d.fasted for 12 days. I re-fed and went for another one a couple of weeks ago, this time aiming for 14 days. I’ve been inspired by Trevor Stanley who healed himself of a parasite by doing multiple two-week d.fasts and finishing with a long 21-day d.fast—videos of him should be easy to find. But I only made it to 9 days this time. Both during this fast and during my previous 12-day one, a kind-of extreme fatigue set-in for me: in the 12-day fast it set-in at about day 9, whereas in this most recent one it set-in at about day 7 or 8. This fatigue was basically just having to stop to take many deep breaths in order just to move about or go upstairs, and taking a walk meant taking very frequent stops to breath in this way. The fatigue was accompanied by a kind-of constriction of the nasal passageway so it became harder to breath through the nose, but not too difficult to do so—I think this can be attributed to dehydration. Also accompanying the fatigue came a very strong and unpleasant smell from my body, something like rot, which would come back quickly soon after washing. So during this most recent fast, a family member noticed my fatigue and urged me to check-out with the GP. I agreed to do so. The GP was naturally alarmed that I had dry-fasted for approaching 9 days. He took readings for blood-pressure and heart-rate and was having difficulty finding a blood-pressure at all and found my heart-rate to be above 120 consistently. He was anxious that I go to hospital for some thorough checks and blood-tests. I knew that doing so could well mean terminating the fast early because I thought it likely the doctors would insist I stop. But the GP’s pretty-well-informed concern combined with how weak I was feeling—I asked for a wheel-chair to get me back to the car—made me decide that it was probably the best thing to follow his advice. By the time we got to hospital I didn’t feel strong enough to walk more than a few paces anywhere and I was moved about the hospital’s wards with a wheel-chair. I hadn’t broken the fast yet. They took a blood-sample—which was very dark and thick, but we do know that the blood is meant to clot somewhat when we d.fast—and did some other tests including blood-oxygen levels, electrical activity of the heart and nervous-system, skin-elasticity, blood-pressure. Besides the blood-test all the other tests showed that I was alright. But the doctor came to speak with me and was very concerned that I was about to do my kidneys some serious damage if I didn’t stop: he said that creatinine levels in my blood were very very high, creatinine I think is a waste-product the kidneys produce when they are cleansing the body; my low blood-pressure added to his concern that oxygen might not have been circulating the body properly and so not supporting all of the internal-organs, including kidneys, properly. He really wanted me to take intravenous-liquids because he thought that this would be the safest and most quick way to restore the kidneys back to normal balance. But I was definitely sure that, though it looked like the safe thing to do would be to end the fast here, I wanted to break naturally with mineral-water and citrus fruits. They tried several times to persuade me to take the IV-fluids, but in the end they did respect my decision and allowed me to break the way I wanted to. But now I had a race to win: the doctors would allow me to re-hydrate in my own way so long as in one day’s time my tests would show that I had recovered, so I had to re-hydrate quickly if I didn’t want an IV-drip. So with my brother and sister’s help I spent the night sipping lemon-water and orange and grapefruit juice and getting through about 8 litres of mineral-water. It was a crazy time: I’d suddenly drift off into sleep at random times and when awake it was like a waking dream with nurses helping me get to the bathroom or to change beds, or my brother or sister patiently squeezing fruit for me. It felt like a long lucid-dream, and I couldn’t tell when I was awake and when asleep and I would say random things as if I were in a dream that my sister remarked on afterwards—I kept pressing the bell for the nurse all night for some reason and I kept thinking I was constantly wetting the bed. I remember seeing distinct patterns and shapes in the patina of the bathroom floor and thinking these shapes to have a lot of meaning; also as soon as I started re-hydrating many images came to my imagination, it was like all the images I had seen in my every-day and on my iPad while fasting suddenly all came together as a reel which played-back very quickly, like they had all been held-back while fasting and suddenly were let fly. I kept having this nightmare, when I would doze-off, of being trapped inside the Crash Bandicoot games—but I get that one, I hate Crash Bandicoot! This continued until the morning and then came the good news that urine-tests showed that I had recovered. But they wouldn’t let me go yet: I still had the pin in my arm which they had used to take my blood-test and which they had left in there in-case IV-fluids were needed; they actually told me that if I tried to leave with the pin in my arm then the police would have to be called. So though my urine-tests had passed they were still not confident to let me go yet. We had made a mess making all the juice so we had to clean-up the room a bit and we were told that we wouldn’t be able to use the juicers in the room anymore because they hadn’t been power-tested. It wasn’t until the evening that finally they had completed enough tests to be sure that I had re-hydrated and then they let me go. They gave me a jacket-potato before I left which was yummy and they almost forced me to have jelly and ice-cream, but I’m glad they didn’t. There was a complication throughout this of my Asperger’s diagnosis and the mental-health matrons interviewed me very thoroughly several times to try and ascertain just why I had been dry-fasting; if they had thought I was at all confused in my actions they would would have insisted on the IV-drip I think. But I was able to assure them and it was fine. I dry-fast because I have a chronic-illness. I don’t quite know why I become so extremely exhausted before even two-weeks have passed, when Trevor Stanley can heal himself with very long fasts, and it’s this question I really want answering. Maybe I didn’t prepare well enough. Maybe my illness is actually being drawn-out by the fasting and all I have to do is go to about the week-mark each time. Overall I had a very positive experience of the British health-service. I could see that they are very very busy at the moment and have to tolerate a lot inside the hospitals. The doctors and nurses and assistants were very kind and considerate of me and I felt lucky to be treated so well. Overhearing some other patients through my door it sounded like lots of people are in hospital long-term, like they sort-of live there, and I think this places a lot of strain on the service. Oh! and I’m also very glad they didn’t give me IV-fluids because I think if they had they could have easily slipped the spooky corona-virus vaccine into me at the same time without my knowing, phew. Peace.