I’m a dad who’s been to hell and back. My son, Jaxson, is my heartbeat, my fight, my everything.
But there was a day—a single, gut-wrenching day—that ripped my life apart and set me on a path I never could’ve imagined.
If you’re a parent, you’ll get this in your bones: the moment you realize something’s wrong with your kid, it’s like a knife twisting in your gut.
For me, that moment came when Jaxson was two years old.
Jaxson shortly after his diagnosis, distant and unresponsive—it broke my heart every day.
He’d been a bright, bubbly little boy—eyes sparkling with mischief, babbling nonstop, calling out “Dada!” like it was his favorite song.
Then, at his two-year checkup, he got one vaccine.
Just one.
Two weeks later, my son was gone. Not dead, but gone.
Those sparkling eyes? They wouldn’t meet mine anymore.
His little voice? Silent. I’d call his name—“Jaxson! Hey, buddy!”—and nothing.
Not a flicker. Not a sound.
It was like someone flipped a switch and turned off my kid. Two weeks. That’s all it took to lose him.
Jaxson when things were bad, really bad. Notice his teeth began to decay. He had a cavity on nearly every tooth. He had to have 4 or 5 pulled.
I’ll never forget the day my then wife told me sitting in that sterile office, facing a developmental pediatrician who didn’t even have the decency to look me in the eye. “Your son has autism,” he said, like he was reading a grocery list.
Then came the sledgehammer: “He’ll never walk. He’ll never talk. He’ll get violent when he’s older, and you’ll have to put him in a home.”
I wanted to scream. I wanted to grab that smug jackass by his white coat and shake him until he took it back.
Never walk? Never talk? Violent?
This was my son he was talking about—my little boy who used to giggle at peek-a-boo and chase me around the living room.
I was holding Jaxson’s limp hand, feeling like I’d just been handed a death sentence.
But I wasn’t going to let it end there.
No way in hell.
The “experts” wanted me to shrug and say, “Oh well, that’s just how he is.” Accept it. Give up. Let my son waste away in some padded cell somewhere.
Screw that.
I’m not wired to quit. I’m the kind of guy who’d rather claw through a brick wall with my bare hands than sit back and watch my kid suffer.
So I dove in—headfirst, no parachute—into a relentless, obsessive search for answers.
Natural treatments. Real solutions. Anything that could bring my boy back.
I didn’t just sit around googling. I got dirty.
I started working for a functional medicine company out of europe, soaking up every shred of knowledge I could.
I dragged my exhausted body to hundreds of medical trade shows—those soul-crushing hotel ballrooms with bad coffee and fluorescent lights—because I had to.
I had to find something, anything, that could help Jaxson.
I wasn’t some passive bystander in this fight; I was a warrior, armed with desperation and a dad’s unbreakable love.
I tracked down the best doctors in the U.S.—the ones who didn’t just parrot the same old garbage.
Doc Ketover, MD and his wife, an retired anesthesiologist looking to helps kids without drugging them death
Anju Usman, MD, a brilliant mind who saw beyond the labels. Jeff Bradstreet, MD, a fearless pioneer who dug into the messy truth of autism—until he died under suspicious circumstances that still haunt me.
Dietrich Klinghardt, MD, a German physician with a knack for making the impossible-possible.
Dan Rossignol, MD, another trailblazer who gave me hope when I had none.
and many more...
These weren’t your average clipboard-wielding hacks; they were rebels, fighting for kids like Jaxson when the system wouldn’t.
Jaxson starting to show signs of improvement—those small victories felt like miracles.
We tried everything. I mean everything. Buckets of supplements—pills and powders
I’d measure out at 3 a.m. with shaking hands.
Magnetic e-Resonance Therapy or TCMS - that sounded like sci-fi but I’d have strapped myself to it if it meant helping him.
Stem cells in Ukraine—yeah, I flew my kid halfway across the world, clutching him on a rattling plane, praying it’d work.
Homeopathy in India, where the air smelled like spices and desperation.
Shark cells in Mexico, because when you’re drowning, you’ll grab any lifeline.
Gluten-free diets that turned our kitchen into a battlefield. Chelation to pull the mercury and lead out of his little body—every drop of sweat was worth it if it meant cleansing him.
We even owned a hyperbaric oxygen chamber—parked it right in our house like some crazy sci-fi movie, because I’d have lived in it myself if it brought him back.
You name it, we tried it.
I’d wake up every day with my heart in my throat, staring at Jaxson, begging for a sign—please, buddy, just look at me.
Some nights, I’d collapse on the floor next to his bed, sobbing so hard I couldn’t breathe, because it felt like I was failing him.
My wife and I fought—God, did we fight—exhausted, terrified, clinging to each other like shipwreck survivors.
But we kept going. Because giving up wasn’t an option.
Not for Jaxson.
Jaxson growing and progressing...
Then, slowly—agonizingly, beautifully slowly—he started to come back to us.
It wasn’t a Hollywood montage. It was a war, fought inch by bloody inch.
First, a flicker in his eyes. Then a sound—not a word, just a hum, but it hit me like a freight train.
I’d sit there, holding my breath, watching him, waiting for more.
And more came. Little victories that felt like miracles: a step, a glance, a smile.
Each one ripped my heart open and stitched it back together stronger.
Today? Jaxson is thriving.
He’s not what the world calls “neurotypical”—and honestly, who cares?
He’s Jaxson, and he’s a freaking force of nature.
This kid, who that jackass doctor said would never walk,
can ski down a black diamond slope like he owns the mountain.
Jaxson skiing in Park City
Jaxson and his Sister at the Beach
He rides a skateboard with a grin that could melt steel. He’s run a 5K—a 5K!—legs pumping, chest heaving, while I cheered so loud my voice gave out.
Jaxson on the middle school cross country team
And dancing? Oh, man, he loves to dance—spinning, grooving, pure joy radiating from every move.
I watch him, and my chest aches—not with pain anymore, but with pride so fierce it could burn down the world.
Most of all, he’s happy.
That’s the gut punch that gets me every time.
My boy, who was supposed to be locked away, violent and lost, is happy.
Whether he’s sipping a drink at Starbucks or laughing with friends, his joy is infectious.
Everyone loves him. He’s a light—a wild, beautiful, unstoppable light.
Strangers stop us in the street just to say how much joy he brings them.
He’s not a burden or a tragedy; he’s a gift, a kid who’s taught me more about love and strength than I ever thought possible.
Jaxson today at 20 years old.
Here's the thing:
I didn’t just stumble into this.
I’ve spent twenty years—two decades of blood, sweat, and tears—hunting down the best of the best.
Then, I’ve integrated everything I’ve learned into how I approach autism treatment today.
If you’re thinking of trying something for your kid, I’ve probably been there.
I’ve tried it, rejected it (for damn good reason), or mastered it so well I can tell you exactly what to expect.
I’ve sifted through the snake oil, the hype, the heartbreak, and come out the other side with what works.
I wasn’t about to sit back and let other so-called “experts” fail these kids like they failed Jaxson at first—no way.
I decided to take matters into my own hands and got my license to practice acupuncture and chinese medicine, because I knew I could treat these kids better than most.
That license would give me the flexibility to practice with what these kids needed. A natural, effective approach, not a damn psychiatrist who wants to drug them for life.
I predominately use homeopathy to treat all my autism patients where we can get at the root cause of troubles instead of just managing symptoms like most other docs.
But we can utilize anything and everything I've used with Jaxson on his journey if needed.
I worked for a cutting-edge functional medicine company from Europe, soaking up every bit of knowledge they had, and I hit the ground running—
attending over 300 trade shows and conferences for chiropractors, naturopathic doctors, medical doctors, Defeat Autism Now events, and functional medicine summits.
I became an expert, plain and simple, and I’m not afraid to say I know things other doctors just don’t.
Combine that with my personal experience—twenty years of fighting tooth and nail for my own son—and you’ve got someone who’s not just book-smart, but battle-tested.
I’ve lived the desperation, the late nights, the tears, and the victories.
I’ve seen what works and what doesn’t, not from some sterile textbook, but from the front lines of this war.
That’s why parents trust me:
I’m not just a practitioner—I’m a dad who’s been through hell and came out the other side with real answers.
I’ve been you—scared, angry, desperate, broke, but ready to move mountains.
I’ve felt that pit in your stomach, that fire in your chest.
And I’m here to tell you: there’s hope.
Real, tangible, grab-it-with-both-hands hope.
Jaxson and I riding the train.
Jaxson’s story isn’t just mine—it’s proof.
Proof that you don’t have to accept the script they hand you.
Proof that the “never” they slap on your kid isn’t the final word.
We went from a silent, staring toddler to a boy who dances through life, lighting up every room he’s in.
It wasn’t easy.
It was brutal, messy, and worth every second.
So if you’re reading this, clutching your coffee, tears stinging your eyes because you’re scared for your own kid—listen to me.
You’re not alone.
You don’t have to surrender.
There’s a way through this, and it starts with fighting like hell.
I did it.
Jaxson did it.
And you can too.
Take my hand, take my twenty years of scars and wins, and let’s get your kid back.
Because every kid deserves to dance.
Nick Fransen, Licensed Acupuncturist
Functional Medicine and Autism Specialist
Instagram - @nkfransen
P.S. If you’re done trying to navigate this nightmare on your own, your gut screaming
that something’s wrong while your doctor endlessly writes scripts and the therapy crew shrug and say there’s nothing biologically off with your child—screw them.
Stop listening to the liars who don’t get it.
Don't get me wrong, they have good intentions, but in the end he/she is not their child.
They don't understand what you're going through.
Book a 15-minute free appointment with me right now.
We’ll dig into your child’s symptoms, lay out a real plan, and if you like what I have to say, we’ll start working together—
I can help you remotely, anywhere in the world.
When I tried new treatments for Jaxson, I had a rule: 90 days.
If I didn’t see worthwhile changes in 90 days, I moved on.
I extend that same challenge to you—give me 90 days to show you measurable, noticeable improvements.
The road is long, but there should be wins along the way, and
I’ll fight like hell to get them for your kid.
Book a call now.
