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I've been buying horse dewormer at Tractor Supply for eighteen months and my wife thinks I've lost my mind. She's not entirely wrong. I'm 68 years old. Retired electrician. Two bad knees and a gut that looks like I'm smuggling a basketball by suppertime. I walk past the saddles and the chicken feed and the dog toys and I go straight to the livestock aisle and I pick up a tube of ivermectin paste with a picture of a horse on it and I bring it home and I squeeze a dose onto a cracker and eat it with my morning coffee. I don't tell my doctor. He'd laugh me out of the office. I barely told my wife. She found the tube in the junk drawer and looked at me like I'd started drinking antifreeze. "Earl. There is a horse on this tube." "I know what's on the tube, Debbie." Here's why I take it. Because for two weeks after every dose, I feel like myself again. The bloating goes down. My brain clears up. I have energy past 2 in the afternoon. I can think. I can work. I can stand at my workbench and actually finish a project without sitting down three times. For two weeks I am the man I used to be. Then day sixteen hits and everything crashes. The bloat comes back heavier. The fog comes back thicker. The tired comes back deeper. Like whatever is inside me got knocked down and got back up pissed off. I've done this eighteen times. Eighteen months. Eighteen crashes. And every time it crashes I lose a little more ground. Like the thing inside me is winning a war of attrition and the horse paste is just buying me two weeks at a time. My buddy Don went the same way. Same symptoms. Same horse paste. Same two week cycle. Same crash. For three years. Don died last November. He was 72. Ninety one pounds. The doctors called it failure to thrive. Which is what doctors write when they've watched a man waste away and they don't know why and they don't want to say they don't know. I was a pallbearer at his funeral. I carried one end of the casket. It was light. Too light. A man who used to bench press 250 pounds and I carried his casket with one hand. I went home from that funeral and I sat in my garage and I looked at the tube of horse paste on the shelf and I thought about Don and I thought about the crash at day sixteen and I thought about how every month I lose a little more and the paste buys me a little less and the gap between who I am and who I was gets wider. And I thought: I'm next. If I don't figure out why this keeps crashing, I'm next. So I did something I've never done before. I sat at the kitchen table at midnight and I opened Debbie's laptop and I started reading. I'm an electrician. I know wiring. I don't know medicine. But I know troubleshooting. And when something keeps tripping the same breaker over and over, you don't keep resetting it. You find out what's pulling too much load. The horse paste was the reset. Every month I was resetting the breaker. But the overloaded circuit was still there. And I needed to find it. What I found in three weeks of reading at midnight changed everything. The ivermectin, the horse paste, the thing I've been buying at Tractor Supply for eighteen months, does ONE thing. It kills the parasites it can reach. The exposed ones. The ones floating free. But there are four problems inside a body with a chronic parasitic infection. And the horse paste handles one. First. The shield. Parasites build a biofilm wall around a portion of their colony. The ivermectin kills everything outside the wall. Everything behind it survives. Two weeks later, when the dose clears my system, they walk right back out. That's my two good weeks. That's my crash at day sixteen. That's the reset that never holds. Second. The eggs. Thousands per day. Behind the shield. The ivermectin doesn't touch them. Three weeks later they hatch. New colony. Bigger than the last because I cleared the competition. That's why the crash gets WORSE every cycle. I'm breeding the next generation by killing the current one. Third. The dead ones rot inside me. The ivermectin kills them and they decompose in my gut. Ammonia. Hydrogen sulfide. Straight into my blood. That's the headaches I get at week two. That's the nausea. That's me feeling worse before I feel better. Because nothing is removing the dead before they turn. Fourth. Bacteria and candida growing alongside the parasites in the same damaged gut. The ivermectin doesn't touch any of it. Even if it killed every parasite, the gut stays inflamed. Four problems. My horse paste handles one. For two weeks. Then the other three rebuild everything it knocked down. That's the circuit that's pulling too much load. And resetting the breaker every month isn't fixing it. It's just buying time while the wiring burns. Don didn't know this. He took the horse paste for three years. Same crash every month. Same cycle. Same slow losing. Ninety one pounds. I found what addresses all four. Seven compounds. Not one tool out of a toolbox. The whole toolbox. Wild Mediterranean wormwood. Same compound family as my horse paste but the wild variety at ten times the concentration. THIS is what that tube at Tractor Supply was copied from. A drug company found this plant in the dirt, pulled out one compound, and sold it. The plant has seven. Clove for the eggs. The piece the horse paste doesn't have. The piece Don didn't have. The piece that breaks the cycle at week three instead of letting the eggs hatch. Oregano oil to dissolve the biofilm shield. So the wormwood reaches the whole colony, not just the ones in the open. Pumpkin seed to sweep the dead out before they rot. No ammonia. No headaches. No "worse before better." Black walnut for the larvae. Soursop for a second kill pathway. Aged garlic for the bacteria and yeast. Liquid drops under the tongue because my gut can't absorb a capsule anymore. Lumvelle Wild Harvested Wormwood Drops. The original. The whole toolbox. Not the one piece I've been buying at the feed store. I took the first dropper the same night I found it. Standing in my garage looking at the tube of horse paste on the shelf. Week one. The familiar settling. The bloating easing. Same as the horse paste. I know this part. I've done this part eighteen times. Week two. Still holding. Sugar at 4 going quiet. Brain clearing. Same as the horse paste. This is where it feels like it's working. This is where Don always felt hopeful too. Day sixteen. The day it always crashes. The day I've been dreading for eighteen months. The day I sit in my recliner and watch the bloat come back and the fog roll in and the two good weeks disappear. Day sixteen. No crash. Day seventeen. No crash. Day eighteen. I'm standing at my workbench finishing a project I started on day five and I realize I haven't sat down once. It's holding. The clove is reaching the eggs. The oregano broke the shield. The pumpkin seed is sweeping the dead out. All four problems at the same time. The breaker didn't trip. Because the overloaded circuit is being fixed. Not reset. FIXED. Week four. Brain sharper than it's been in years. I remembered my granddaughter's softball schedule without checking my phone. Week six. Down eleven pounds. Sleeping through the night. In the garage every morning. Working. Building. My hands gripping tools the way they used to. Week eight. Debbie and I went to dinner. First time in a year. I ate a steak. A STEAK. For the first time since all this started. My stomach stayed flat. I sat for two hours. Debbie looked at me across the table and said, "You're back." Week twelve. Down twenty one pounds. Energy all day. The tube of horse paste is still on the shelf in the garage. I haven't touched it in three months. I don't need the copy anymore. I have the original. If you're buying horse paste at the feed store. If it works for two weeks and crashes. If you're on month eight or month twelve or month eighteen of the same cycle, watching it hold for fourteen days and then watching it fall apart. It's not going to hold. It can't. Because it's one tool and the problem is four. The copy crashes. The original doesn't. Lumvelle Wild Harvested Wormwood Drops. Seven compounds. Four problems. All at once. Drops under the tongue. 90 day guarantee. If it doesn't hold past week three, every cent back. But it will hold past week three. Because the clove is in it. https://lumvelle.com/products/lumvelle-wormwood-drops P.S. Don took the horse paste for three years. Same crash every month. Same cycle. Ninety one pounds at the end. I carried his casket with one hand. He needed the clove and the oregano and the pumpkin seed and the garlic. He needed all seven. He had one. For three years. Don't run the same cycle. P.P.S. You don't have to stop the horse paste to start this. I didn't. I took both for the first month. Then I stopped the paste because I didn't need it anymore. The original does what the copy does and six things the copy can't. You're not replacing it. You're completing it. P.P.P.S. Day sixteen. That's the day. You know it. Your body knows it. You've been bracing for it every month. By day sixteen on Lumvelle you won't even remember to brace. Because the crash doesn't come. The eggs don't hatch. The shield is broken. The dead are swept out. Day sixteen just becomes a Thursday. P.P.P.P.S. The tube of horse paste is still on my shelf. I keep it there as a reminder. Of Don. Of the eighteen months of crashing. Of the copy that couldn't finish the job. The original is on my kitchen counter now. Where it'll stay. https://lumvelle.com/products/lumvelle-wormwood-drops Earl, age 68