PART II: Mr N

Last I blogged in 2016, Mr N was in high school and doing very well academically, socially and health wise. After grade 7, we decided to move him not to a public high-school, but a private one. It's a very unique school that tutors in our home-language, but offered the Cambridge exams. He enjoyed high school a lot, did very very well, had so much fun and made life-long friends.

Unfortunately, around age 15-16, he started to notice absent seizures during class. It was confirmed as such via an EEG (later on only, at first not), and since then he has been back on his medication. So it was just a nice 4-year break for him, before having to go back on the meds. Still, we cannot complain. The medication controls it well, and he functions well on it. And relatively speaking, he's on low doses comparing to others with his particular type of epilepsy. (Unfortunately we had to up his doses to more medium-levels. It has worked well to contain breakthrough seizures, and maybe we can get him free enough to be able to get a driver's license and still be a safe driver.)

He completed his IGCSE exams age 16, and thereafter also his A- and AS-level exams through Cambridge (UK) when he was 18. We were so proud of him.

After school he entered into an on-the-job training program based on his excellent A-level Computer Science knowledge. Once he completed the year, they offered him full-time employment as a programmer (IT software developer). Only those living in our country would know how exceptionally rare it is to get a job directly out of matric. Let alone precisely what you want, and at a good salary. It was a true gift from God.

He has started his degree part time at a private university as well. So not only has he a full-time job in exactly what he always wanted to do, he is also completing his degree in it, via online classes on weekends, and so far it's going very well. Very good marks and he's enjoying it, and coping well with a full-time job and studying. As he is saving his money for studies, he still lodges with us.

I'll continue with Boeboe's update here.

PART III: Boeboe

 

Where to begin. When we moved Mr N, we took him to the open day for his new high school. While we were there, we noticed an advertisement for the open day for their primary school as well. So we took the younger kids on the spur of the moment, and they absolutely loved, loved, loved it. And we realised. God opened a door for us, so we walked through it.

So Boeboe started her grade 6 year in a new, private Afrikaans school. It was awesome. Precisely what she needed. Small intimate classes, less stress, less homework, less pressure, teachers who had the time to care. Age 13 we moved her over to the high school which were on the same grounds, where her brother was also attending. So almost no adjustment needed, except that the handbooks were now in English (though classes in Afrikaans) due to the Cambridge curriculum they follow.

The first year was wonderful. She did very well. Unfortunately, during the 2^nd term of her 2^nd year, in April, a new girl started. Within 3 months, Boeboe turned from a happy child to a suicidal, unhappy, angry person. We found out the new girl was bullying Boeboe. First she pushed a wedge between Boeboe and her best friend, who then became friends with the new girl. Then the new girl bullied Boeboe with words, then emotionally, socially and in front of the boys in the class, of course, all of this when the teachers were not around. Lastly, in August, it became physical. Shoving, pushing, shouldering her out of the way.

Until that point, the school did absolutely nothing, due to the cold war between me and the headmaster at that point, which I'll discuss later. I begged for help. I pleaded. I even cried. My husband begged, asked and pleaded. Promises were made, but absolutely nothing was done.

The psychiatrist saw Boeboe beginning of that September in 2018, for her regular check-up. She called me in afterwards and told me in no uncertain terms, to take Boeboe out immediately. Not even wait a day or a week or a month. Not even making other plans. Take her out NOW, today, were her words. Or suffer the consequences. Which would be dire. She made sure I only left when I realised the imminent danger my child was in, if I didn't act and protect her immediately. I would forever be grateful to this doctor.

We went home. I was shell shocked, helpless, frustrated, sad, alone. Me and her dad discussed it later the day, and told Boeboe that she can't go back to school again. Not ever. Not even one day. She was happy about it! Relieved. She knew what the psychiatrist said, but it was still dependant on our decision as parents. But she was just tremendously relieved. I'm forever grateful that the psychiatrist noticed, realised what's needed, and made sure I perfectly understood. We had no choice. But even more grateful that Boeboe already realised it too.

She only asked to be able to go back and explain herself to the friends she had there, and say goodbye, on the Friday of that week. Under my supervision, as a civilian, not attending school. Just explaining, hug everyone, thank her teachers, and say her goodbyes. I agreed. It helped to give her closure.

We explained to the school, without accusations, that Boeboe's doctor told us to homeschool her immediately. We didn't point fingers, but they knew. They knew.

During one of the previous conversation I had about the bullying, it was blamed on Boeboe's autism by the headmaster. I was shocked to my core that day as well. They protected the bully and blamed the victim for a condition she couldn't help. I told the headmaster that I was honest before entering Boeboe into the high school. I never hid her autism or any of her important diagnosed conditions. I told them everything they needed to know and asked them pertinently are they sure they can handle it? I was assured over and over that it would NOT be a problem for them. 

And then. Boeboe was blamed. Her autism was blamed. That day, I lost it. I cried. Desperately so in front of the headmaster and the owner of the school. But on the day we took her out of the school, I lifted my head. The psychiatrist showed me the truth. My child was the victim, as we knew. And now, the school also knew. They failed her.

What saddens me to this day, is that nothing was done about the new girl. She was still there many years later. Boeboe's friend who was later the new girl's friend, also left the school a few months later. I can only guess and wonder at the why. A few others also left the class. So was that worth it to the school? Not only did they loose several students, but the bully was never given the help, guidance, support and limits that she clearly desperately needed. A bully that is taken to task and then helped, can turn things around. But if left in that state of darkness, what becomes of them? As a teacher, this saddens and horrifies me so much. As a mother, I feel so very very sorry for that lost teenager. There was still a chance for her, if the school only took it seriously. My child was helped. The others that left probably found their way, but what happened to her, the bully?

Maybe I should just explain a little bit, because it sounds very strange, doesn't it? How this could've happened? You'd need to have met the new girl, to understand. She was relatively pretty, and blond. But it was her personality. She was an extrovert, and reminded one of sunshine when you saw her. Always smiling, always energetic. Warm. And a force to be reckon with. Always extremely helpful. She would go to every teacher and help them in small, little ways. She was very talkative, and always in an upbeat, optimistic, happy and energetic way. Very fast. She had good manners and was very intelligent, so she quickly received good marks with all the teachers.

So the teachers absolutely adored her! Such a lively, happy, helpful, kind and sweet child, they would say. Because that was exactly the image she portrayed whenever a teacher was around. The older kids, like Mr N and his class, saw right through her, and they steered clear from her. Which I found extremely interesting. But the younger kids looked up to her, so she was popular amongst them. And extremely liked by almost all the teachers. I hope this help people to understand, in some way at least, how the shy, quiet, introverted autistic child who couldn't clearly communicate was blamed, and this bully given a free pass for what she did. When the teachers do not SEE the bullying, they sometimes struggle to believe it. I find it sad. So very very sad.

Boeboe was doing so badly those first weeks after everything, that I basically told her to just rest. The rest of that year.... she just rested. She slept late, read, and spent hours with her new kitten, to help her cope with the trauma, loneliness and rejection. It took her about 4-5 months to recover from the shock and heartache and sadness of it all. To accept what couldn't be changed any more. To adjust to all the losses. And to refocus on what laid ahead of her. Her future.

During those 6 months, a lot happened with and to Monkeyman, Peanut and me as well, so in the end, I settled on homeschooling the youngest 3 children from 2019.

The first year, 2019, I unschooled all 3 of them. Due to my stint as a teacher myself, which I'll get into later, I now realised the extend of the horrors happening in school. The worst is in public schools, but private schools clearly were not exempt. I was shocked many, many times as a new teacher, to realise what's going on. With teaching. With education. With the curriculum. With the propaganda. With the workload. With the agenda. With the politics. Etc. Parents actually have NO idea what's truly happening. It's sad. I got to experience it all first hand and I was horrified. So when things pushed us all into the homeschooling direction, I was ready. I had the fortitude, the understanding, the knowledge, the experience, and now, the courage.

My 3 youngest were all overworked, stressed and unhappy. That was one of the reasons I went the “unschooling” route for 1 year. We focussed on certain areas and had an informal routine. They slept a lot. Played outside and with each other a LOT. They relearned how to socialise in a well-mannered, moral and fair way. I taught them integrity. Courage. The ways of our Lord. We had formal Bible lessons and group Bible study. I retaught them their history of their country and their people. Something I did not realise how much was lost in the propaganda of the day. I read old literature, poems and historical stories to them.

I taught them again how to enjoy books and reading. How to stop hating exams and tests and studying. How to find information for themselves using the computer. How to love maths again and not fear it. How the world is still a beautiful place, if you look for the peace and love and happiness in it. How one can forgive bullies and unfairness and move on. How one can make new friends in the place of those lost. How one can enjoy spending time with one's siblings. It was a healing year for us. Necessary. And it worked better than I could believe it myself.

During 2020 we started a more focussed routine. A more standardised curriculum. This is also the year of the pandemic and lockdowns. I was immensely grateful to God for pushing us in this homeschooling direction before all of that. With Monkeyman's heart condition, home was the safest place for him. And as a teacher, I would've hated the whole masking thing. 

Boeboe finalised most of her senior education work during 2020, and wrote her final schooling exams in February 2021. With her, we decided to go the American route, since she did not need the vigorous British qualification for what she wanted to do, like her brother did. She studied hard, through an online school, and achieved amazing marks in all her subjects. Passing first time with flying colours. We were all so very, very proud of her! She was finished with school. She had a matric certificate in her hand. It felt so surreal. And she achieved it a whole 9 months BEFORE the rest of her peer group did! She was only 17 and done with school in February already of her matric year. What an achievement! For a child they couldn't assure me would ever even be able to finish school, let alone excel.

The rest of 2021 I employed her as a paid assistant to help with her siblings' schooling and taking her little sister to the park regularly for socialisation with adult supervision. And in 2022, this year, Boeboe started as a first year student at a local private college, in graphic design. It suits her like a glove! She has learned so much and enjoyed every second so far. She achieves excellent marks and passed all 6 her subjects in June with flying colours, despite their high standards and difficulty level.

So how is it going with all her issues, which were the focus of this blog for so many, many years? Good. She is back on the medication that she was on as a little girl, and it's working well. She still have all the gain of function she got back after the untethering operation. It kept on improving for a few years after the surgery. I think she stabilised around 2015-2016, which was about 4-5 years after the operation, when she was about 12-13 years old. Until then, she just steadily continued to improve in minute little steps.

Though she still has some permanent lost function, unfortunately. She's not how she would've been if she never had the tethered cord. But she accepts that and lives well with whatever hand she was dealt. She has not had any regression at all, and the difference is incomparable from what she had before to after the operation. It was so so so so worth it. It gave her back her life. She is now almost like every other young adult. She has matured. All the areas she needed to catch up on, has been caught up.

She still have to compensate for her autism and everything that goes with that. Unfortunately there's no operation that helps for any of it. But she accepts who she is, with all her limitations and all her strengths. She does not always see what we see when we look at her. After the first 10 hard years of her life, the past almost 10 was such a change. Despite the “hiccup” in Grade 9 with the bully.

She grew from an angry, demanding, special-needs, difficult child into a beautifully controlled, compassionate, kind, sweet, generous, empathic mature woman. We are in awe. Of who she is, what she overcame, what she's achieving, and who she's clearly going to be. A human being that's worth knowing and loving, who gives more than she takes, who loves generously and compassionately, who's passionate and stubborn and fiery like her mom, but much kinder, sweeter, more innocent and faithful. Loyal to a t, exceptionally hard working and conscientious and even a bit ambitious. She doesn't take no for an answer if it doesn't make sense to her. 

She's methodical and think things through in a way I couldn't do at that age. It's as if she took everything bad in her life, and channelled it into her future as positives. It astounds us every day and again, me and her dad can just look at each other, shaking our heads and think.... how? But this time, in awe and in wonder. We have boundless respect and love for this strong, amazing, wonderful woman she has turned into. And simply cannot believe this is our daughter. That fiery, strong-willed, exceptional little girl with the wild curly hair and big dark eyes is now this beautiful grown-up person. We don't deserve her. And we are truly grateful that she has overcome so much in her life, and made it a strength. Even if she doesn't see or feel it. We can. It still amazes me when I think back over the past 20 years. Just absolutely astonishing, how far we all came.

I'll continue with Monkeyman's story here.

PART IV: Monkeyman

So the last blog entry I made in 2016, was basically about Monkeyman's final diagnoses. SSS. Sick sinus syndrome. The enlarged adenoids that was only found and removed age 5, caused the heart to enlarge, as well as pulmonary hypertension. With time, the heart and pulmonary arteries shrank back to almost normal size, but it all left his heart damaged. Particularly the sinus node. This causes bouts of tachy- and bradychardia all throughout every day (heart beating way too fast and dangerously slow). This causes the severe tiredness and the sudden paleness that was witnessed by several doctors. There's no medication that can help, since medication either reduces tachychardia or fasten the heart rate. Thus, in his case, it would be useless or even dangerous, as the medication cannot distinguish when it needs to slow down the heart or cause it to speed up. Obviously, giving a too fast heart meds that cause it to speed up, is extremely irresponsible, and vice versa.

So no medication, no operation, nothing really can help him at this point..The only “cure” is a pacemaker, which they want to stave off until it's absolutely necessary to keep him alive, since it comes with many drawbacks, especially for a child. It can even worsen his condition and cut his life thus shorter quicker. They just don't know, since this condition almost exclusively only happens in people age 70+. Not young children. So data is scarce and they tend to err on the cautious side.

So our only solution ended up being to keep Monkeyman comfortable until he worsens. When he was grade 1, he started at the new private school we moved his siblings to. He absolutely LOVED it. He adored his teachers, the new curriculum, the smaller school and made lots of friends.

Unfortunately, by grade 3, he was worsening slightly. I was scared about grade 4, as it's a taxing year in our country, with exams and added workload. His grade 3 teacher told me how he truly suffered in school. Turning pale, having to lie down regularly, not coping with the work, etc. His intelligence and will carried him through, but both me and she knew it was just a question of time. She was exceptionally good. A good person, good mother and a good teacher. And even though she had terrible things happening in her personal life, she still was always there for my son, kept an eye on him, and supported him. But what I appreciated most about her, was her honesty. She didn't minimise it, and told us straight out that this child will not complete his formal schooling. He just cannot physically do it. She supported him (and me!) throughout the year, to preserve his energy but still get the best education he could for that year.

Unfortunately, during grade 4, it became clear. He couldn't keep up any longer. It became so bad that we had to end all after school activities. We did the bare minimum of homework, etc. Still, it was too much. He turned into a zombie. Waking up tired. Coming home tired. Lying down all day and evening. Then rinse and repeat. That's not life.

This all happened the same year that from April, Boeboe was bullied and from September, ended up staying at home. Thus I realised.... again, God is showing us the way. I fought it as long as I could, but it was clear what I had to do. So I pulled Monkeyman from school too. We let him finish the year though, which ended beginning December, and from 2019, he too homeschooled.

Like I mentioned, we first unschooled. I let his body rest and recover for a whole year, doing minimal formal schooling. Like I explained under Boeboe's recap. This changed him from a barely functioning little boy into an almost-normal boy. He regained his mischievous nature that got lost along the way. He was smiling again. Asking to play with a ball outside or cops and robbers with his little sister. He was interested again in different hobbies and didn't complain if we had to go somewhere, like visiting family. He enjoyed it again. Taking him out was the right decision, that was very very clear. Even though he did miss his friends tremendously, as well as his teachers.

During 2020 and 2021, we caught up and finished Grade 6 and 7's work with Monkeyman, to complete his primary education. He received top marks, so I'm very proud. In 2022, we started him on the Cambridge education his brother also did. Six of his subjects is through an amazing online school, and the others I teach him. He's doing so well, that we can push all the work into 4 days, only some hours every day. So he gets to sleep late, then work for a while with a break in between to have lunch and a rest. Then he complete the day's work and gets to play computer games or read or watch video's or whatever. He socialise with people online, as well as little bits outside the house. But mostly, he just sits somewhere, doing his thing. Which suits his body well.

With this approach, we were able to stabilise and even improve on the function he had in grade 3 and 4. He looks good, his heart is handling it all well, and he's academically fine. On par and excelling. I'm amazed how God lead us to what Monkeyman needed, at the moment he needed it.

So today Monkeyman is a 15-year old, almost-normal teenage boy. He's mature for his age, he's empathetic, sensitive, loyal, intelligent, with a sharp wit and humour, he's competent, somewhat competitive, but mostly calm, peaceful and sweet. He loves his life. We gave him the option to start with a normal high school, or the same high school his brother went to, or online from home like now. He chose the latter as he just did not want to suffer through school again. It was really, really hard on him, the last year in school, he still remembers it. And he remembers it as being lonely, because he was too tired to join in anything any more, even playing at break time, PT periods, sports, fun-days, etc. Always sitting on the sidelines, watching. So he prefers being at home, though I do see a longing to have a closer friend his age. So I'll see what we can do about that.

Next up, our last little one here!

PART V: Peanut

 
Our baby. Not a baby any more! She's now a 10-year old, very active, amazing little girl. She's spirited, fun, talkative, strong, sweet, caring, compassionate, kind, hearty, energetic, optimistic, intelligent, a thinker, and quite lively! So different to the others. One day, she cried. I queried her why? She said... “you're all weird, and I'm not. I also want to be weird”.

Bwahahahahaha.

That basically sums our family up! We “jokingly” use the word “weird”, so that the children realise it's not a heavy label, but something to embrace. Yes, our Daddy is “weird” because he's the epitome of what's called a “Nerd”. Yes, Mommy is “weird” because she's typical of an autistic – obsessive, impulsive, homebody, etc. Yes, Mr N too is “weird” because he is also a nerd and has epilepsy, which causes physical problems and medication side effects. And yes, Boeboe is the “weirdest” of us all, because not only is she also autistic and has physical birth defects, she is also artistic!!!

Me.... having an artistic and creative child? I would've cried with laughter if anyone saw that coming! But here we are. My daughters can both paint and draw and create animations and online art and labels and logo's and all kinds of amazing artistic things. I look at Boeboe's creations and designs for uni and I can again, just shake my head. How does she do it? I have no idea!

Then there's Monkeyman who's also “weird” because he's ALMOST boundary autistic, thus extremely shy and introverted, and also a little bit nerdish, and with this ever-present heart problem around which our household sometimes revolves.

And then there's little Peanut.

She's not “weird”. In no way, shape or form can or will anyone be able to label her with that. She's absolutely NORMAL. In every way. She looks normal. She acts normal (no social awkwardness). She has no defects. No physical problems or little “tells” like the others. She's not hugely extroverted, but MUCH more so than any of us. So to us, she's an extrovert. She loves socialising!! Unlike all of us.

And she NEVER gets ill, or when she does, it's a slight cold for a day or so. Apart from once for teeth, she has never had antibiotics!! She's 10 years old and has never needed to see a GP (General Practitioner or house doctor). NEVER. NOT ONCE. (No, I'm not lying!)

So she's a normal, healthy, happy and perfect little girl of 10. She socialise normally with other people and can even play with or talk to strangers without a second thought. She has very little autistic signs. No physical defects or signs except probably also the thin left heart wall (the cardiologist diagnosed it in Monkeyman, Boeboe and me, she did heart sonar’s on all of us as she suspected a familial gene) and of course, the diagnosed GERD and Gilbert's disease (tiny liver defect).

Peanut does suffer from insomnia. And that's about my only complaint about her ever! She's intelligent. Not hard-working. She's not outstanding in anything yet that I can pinpoint, like the programming for Mr N, the art for Boeboe, and the engineering mind for Monkeyman. She's more of an all-rounder. Talented in all areas. Nothing particular clear just yet.

Peanut is really, really, really different from us in her NORMALNESS. It's so strange, after having 3 special needs children, to then raise this absolutely FINE little girl. It was WONDERFUL. AMAZING. I cannot explain how grateful me and her dad is. For this normal, healthy little girl. Neurotypical and NO special needs. To NOT having to go to doctors with her. Not even a GP. Not even, ever, laryngitis or tonsillitis or flu or measles. Nothing. Oh, just scarlet fever, but like always, she was sick for about 24hrs. We didn't even take her to the dr because she was already feeling fine the next morning! She just doesn't get ill. And no signs of spina bifida, no signs of epilepsy, no signs of pulmonary hypertension. Absolutely amazing. She was diagnosed with the same non-working valve as a tiny baby by the pead and GE, which does leave her with regular feelings of nausea. And the tests showed the same liver-enzyme problem we all have, but it causes no problems for her.

Oops. I forgot. She gets nosebleeds. Badly so. Every week a couple of times, but fortunately it doesn't take longer than half an hour or so to stop. I find vitamin K helps, so I give her extra veggies that contains that regularly. Fortunately, she loves eating peppers, lettuce, cucumber, etc.

So for about 4 years now, we have not been to doctors much. No need! Monkeyman is stable, Boeboe is stable and on meds that just needs check-ups now and then, Mr N is stable on his meds and only sees a dr about once a year or more. And Peanut needs no doctors at all!! No meds!! We even stopped all reflux meds for a bit, to give our bodies a chance to recover from the side-effects of it all. So for a while, we just rested. RESTED from all the doctors and medications and enjoyed this last baby of ours and time as a family to all just LIVE. To breath.

And now Peanut is 10 and it has been a wonderful, wonderful 10 years. She's in grade 5, and we're homeschooling her as well. Why?

And this is what will lead to the next parts, now that the updating on the kids is done. In the May and June of the same year that Boeboe was bullied and Monkeyman's tiredness and heart caught up with him, things fell apart for Peanut as well at her school. Her teacher ended up leaving during the July holiday of her Grade R year. (Which in our country, means right in the middle of your very first formal school year.)

Peanut started at this school when she was 2.5 years old. She only went a few hours on most days. It was a playschool at the same school all the other children went to, so she basically saw her brothers and sister regularly throughout her day there. She immediately made friends and absolutely loved it. She also loved loved loved her teachers. There were 2, one for the youngest ones, and one for the grade R's, but the kids as a group played together regularly and both teachers watched them. So moving on from playschool to Grade R was absolutely no trauma at all. It was the class right next door with the teacher they were very familiar with. By then, she has been with these 2 teachers for 4 years, so they meant the world to her.

Then, something happened during the 2^nd term between her teacher and the owners of the school, and she ended up leaving during the July holiday's. Halfway throughout Peanut's year.

The new teacher was awful, and Peanut hated her, which caused severe friction and heartache. Here's a small example of the why. The teacher believed grade R's should be little robots and control their bladders. So even when a child stuck up their hand and asked to leave the room, the teacher would refuse until “break time”. Small things like that, but it added up, and was so very very different from the extremely compassionate and loving and kind teachers Peanut were used to. It was such a shock to her, that she started to hate school itself. Then, due to all of this, a few of her friends also left the school (the parents took the children out). Which just made things more sad in Peanut's life. She lost her teacher. She lost her innocence and trust in teachers. She lost friends. So she became sad, withdrawn, depressed. Slept badly, ate badly and was clearly a very unhappy little girl.

So when Boeboe homeschooled from September, and we realised that I will have to homeschool Monkeyman as well, I succumbed and took ALL 3 my youngest children out at the same time. So from grade 1, Peanut homeschooled. I know eventually she would've been fine again in school. It wasn't an urgent need with her, like with the other 2. It just seemed like the logical thing to do at that point in time.

She immediately turned back into her happy, funny, lively sweet self. So it was clearly the right decision for her. At the end of that year, almost all her classmates also left, due to the same problem we had. Such a pity. But the right thing for us, and I guess, them too.

We left Mr N in school though to finish his matric (last year of schooling) and write his exams in 2019. So he's the only one who never homeschooled. In 2020, he started working, so it turned out perfectly for him. And us, as that was the year lockdown happened. And we were all out of school already, and companies asked workers to work from home. We thus were safely cocooned in our house during the whole mess. We were not touched by what was happening in the world. We easily fell into a routine, working and schooling at home. We created separate little areas for it in our house. And only went out to buy groceries or visit family. This has basically been our life the past 3 years, as in our country lockdowns only recently lifted, and companies decided to keep workers that could, working from home.

So for those who did not register this through my ramblings. In May 2018, something happened to cause severe unhappiness for Peanut. Monkeyman's tiredness took a turn for the worst that same year and it became clear he would have to leave formal schooling. End August of that year, Boeboe was physically bullied and we were told to take her out immediately. All of that in the exact same year, within months from each other. After an extremely happy and good 4 years before that at the same schools for all of them. And Mr N was now approaching his final year of schooling during all of it.

Anyone realise that this was all just a little TOO coincidental?

The exact same year for all 3 the youngest, months apart, and Mr N only 1 year left. Now, to add to this “coincidence”, I'll continue my story in the next parts starting here.

PART VI: My road

So before I explain, I have to go back to 2014. But first, let me apologise. I do not like writing much about myself. About my feelings and my children, yes. But happenings in my own personal life? Not so much. Unfortunately, this is exactly what I have to do, for it all to make sense in the end. The next parts will thus all be about me. Don't worry, eventually I'll move onto what it truly is about, it won't stay about me forever. Please thus bear with me. If you can't, skip these parts or skim over it. 

In 2014, we were looking at different high schools for Mr N for 2015. We decided on one, a public high school, but then my friend asked why don't we attend the Open Day for the high school attached to the primary school she was working at. They were just starting it from 2015, thus a brand new high scool. She wanted to apply as a teacher there. She was already teaching maths at the primary school for a year by then, but were more interested in teaching the older children. And it being a totally new curriculum, Cambridge, was an intriguing challenge for her.

As mentioned, we attended, fell in love with both schools, high and primary, and moved all 3 children to start in 2015. After we were approved end 2014, my friend mentioned to the headmaster that I had the qualifications they were actually looking for, even if I didn't particularly have teaching experience. They wanted someone to teach Computer Science at their new high school. So they invited me for an interview. I have an Honours degree in Mathematical Sciences with Computer Science as a major. But haven't worked in 14 years.

I was flabbergasted about the interview. Anxious. Unsure. Torn apart.

I wanted it with everything in my being, but Peanut was just 2.5 years old!! Then they told me, but she can come along, they have a playschool for little ones up to the year before grade R, and there's about 6 or 7 kids already there. It seemed too perfect. On top of that, they asked if I'd take my friend's primary school maths over as well, while they move her into the high school. I only had to teach grade 7 maths with the grade 8 Computer Science class. Since this wasn't a lot, as there were only one class in each grade, I was employed part-time, with NO extra-curricular responsibilities, and could come and go as I please. Not full day or full morning. Only a couple of hours a day. As long as I was there to teach my subjects at the required times. About 7-8 hours a week.

WOW.

Tell me you don't see God's Hand in all of this?

Because WHAT did I do to deserve that?

My salary wasn't large, but big enough to cover all school fees, especially since we received a discount because I was a teacher there. Again, WOW. So financially we were better off, with no school fees. AND I get to do a part time job of about 10 hours a week (I tended to spend some more on preparing and marking, etc. but basically it boiled down to 10-15 hours a week). On top of being on holidays at the same time as my children, always off on all afternoons with them. They even gave me a desk in one of the offices where I could spend time preparing or marking, and allowed my children to come find me there as or when needed. How perfect it all was.

And a new challenge for me. Just as my last baby was becoming independent of me. I couldn't say no, even if I never intended to put Peanut into a school age 2.5. If it was Monkeyman, I would not have been able to. But Peanut absolutely LOVED it. She was such a social child from the start. She did cry a few times, but since it was such a relaxing environment, I was even able to take her with me to class on such days and just put her in a corner and keep her busy with my i-Pad or colouring or such. The kids adored those days I brought her into class with me, they loved her. Mostly though, she wanted to be with her friends, and her teacher. It was a few meters from my classroom and I could even watch her play from my window when they were outside. How awesome!

It was absolutely, heartbreakingly perfect. And thus, I could only thank God for it.
That was 2015. They pulled me more into the high school for 2016, with then 2 grades to teach, and gave me one of the high school maths classes. So I left the primary school teaching. So me and my friend worked very closely together that year, and I learned so much from her. She was also only employed part time, as she too was actually a SAHM with 4 little ones. 2017 I had 3 grades in the high school to teach, and in 2018, there were 4. Mr N's class was always the oldest class, the icebreakers.

Oh, how I adored teaching. I loved every minute. Especially the Highschoolers. And would ALWAYS be grateful to everyone who made it happen for me. The school. The owners. The headmasters. The teachers. The kids I taught. Their parents. I was in my element. When I was a little girl, all I wanted to do, was teach and be a mommy. Both my parents and grandparents on one side were teachers, as well as some other extended family and forefathers from at least 100 years ago. It's in my blood. But my parents refused to let me study as a teacher. Teaching was an ungrateful job and with my intelligence, they believed I should do something “more”. I listened to them. But when I became a teacher eventually, I realised how wrong they were. THIS was where I belonged. Teaching. I was made to teach. I do not regret studying Computers instead. I also love and adored programming, and would always be grateful that my parents gave me an education after school. Without it, I would not have gotten this perfect teaching job in the end! 

I need to interject here. When I was around 16 or 17, my very good friend made a bet with me. She said I'm going to become a teacher one day. By that stage, my parents had long already said no to that, so I laughed and said no way. She said she will bet me a bottle of champaigne that I will. We made the bet, and after my studies, when I started working as a computer programmer, I always thought, Sisca, you still owe me a bottle of champaigne!! And then... here in my 40's, without even studying it, I became a teacher. Just like she prophecied. Sisca, I was wrong, you were right, and it is me who owes you a bottle of champaigne! I hope to see you some day, to hand over (and hopefully share!) that bottle. 

I quickly became very good friends with the other teachers, from 2015 when I started, even though I don't normally befriend people that easily. Since I worked in both the high school and primary school, I made friends amongst both. But the high school took more time and meetings and working closely together since it was a new start up. We thus became a core group, quite close to each other. We had to figure it out together, with a brand new way of doing things, a brand new curriculum, a brand new school. And brand new high school kids. One of them my son, Mr N.

Peanut most days refused when I was done with my classes, to leave, so I would spend time working in the office until either she was ready to go, or the day finishes for all kids at lunch time. Except Mr N, their day only finished at 4pm, because sports and study classes were included in the day, so my hubby fetched him after work while the rest of us went home around 1pm.

Then, about 2 years after I started working there, the one primary school teacher had a falling out with the headmasters or owners, I don't know the story. She resigned. Then another teacher. She also resigned. And a third. Then, the primary school headmaster itself resigned. Then, it was one of my friends at the high school. Also resigned. Thereafter, in 2018, it was Peanut's teacher. Also resigning, causing Peanut to spin into this spiral of depressing and heartache and hurt. One of Boeboe's teacher's thereafter.

Then, one of my very, very close friends at the high school. He too resigned, with his wife who was also a teacher on the primary school side. I was so sad to see them go. At this stage, the pattern became clear. And he begged me, asked me, please, not you. Don't let them get to you too. I assured him I'll toe the line.

We had a get together outside of the school and some of the old teachers who resigned also came. Peanut's teacher was one of them, and she and another of those who resigned in the beginning also came to me and begged me to keep my mouth, put my head down, don't make waves, don't call out anything, and just be quiet. They were so sad, so broken, so hurt about it all. I cried with them. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. But again I said I'll be quiet. They moved on. Got new jobs. But pain like that stays with a person. We were all so happy there!

But then the target fell on my closest friend, the one who got me the job there. She saw the writing on the wall, realising it was too late for her, and again, she too begged me and told me what NOT to do, and what TO do, to not be “the next”. After her. She too resigned shortly after. Refusing to drag it out, to make it painful. She had other job opportunities and didn't need to stay in a toxic environment. But before she left, she told the one owner exactly what is wrong, who is behind it all, his part in it as she saw it, and what he should've done. She did not keep quiet at all, but spelled it all out. And then she left. Unfortunately, he dismissed all she said. And soon after another one of us left.

And so I was one of the last ones there, after almost 4 years, of our original core group. Three years of absolute wonderment, enjoyment, fulfilment and happiness there. And one year of complete devastation of it all. Like a mountain breaking up, stones falling until just a heap of rubble left standing. Almost all my friends were gone. It was so so sad and devastating. It hurt. Badly. The last 9 months there were a haze of one awful thing after another.

I did try to keep my head down. But then the targeting started. At first, I didn't even recognise it for what it was. The little remarks. The lies about me. The rumours. Things told to parents. To the owners of the school. To other (newly appointed) teachers. The looks I started to receive when walking into a room, knowing they were just gossiping about you, believing the lies told to them.

Then the refusal to help my daughter when she was bullied. And then. This person said things to Boeboe in class that affected my daughter herself (she was one of Boeboe's teachers as well as the newly appointed headmaster of the highschool that year). That was the day I too realised. The writing is also on the wall for me. Touch me, and I can ignore it. But touch my kids, and I turn into a mama bear. I'd rather loose my job than let that slide.

So I threw my toys out of the cot, knowing I was burning bridges this time. It was too little too late, and the end result was the psychiatrist telling us to take Boeboe out IMMEDIATELY. Which removed her as the object of manipulation for this person. It took the wind out of her sails for a bit.

But by then, I knew the road ahead. Which I'll elaborate on further in the next part. I knew my time there was coming to an end. I did not make it easy for them though. ;-)

Unlike my friends and colleagues, I laughed and decided to refuse to resign! ;-) I knew I would loose my job. For a fact, I knew it. I even told my husband around October of that year, that he must be prepared, I'll be lucky if I see December there. But they won't break me. They'll have to kick me out. ;-) Unlike all the other teachers, I refused to resign. I held my head high, knowing after seeing the pattern, that it wasn't me that had anything to feel embarressed about. I did a great job with the kids. the parents were vocal about their thanx and appreciation. 

And I had nothing to loose see? I already took Boeboe out. And I already told them we're going to homeschool the youngest 2. And if needed be, I was prepared to homeschool Mr N as well, and ask his teachers to tutor him weekends, paying them. I was certain it'll all work out. I was friends with most of his teachers, and those who left, and he only had 1 year left. Basically, 6 months of classes before exam preparations started.

It left them floundering. When I didn't resign like a good chastised little girl. :-D
They did not know what to do, at first. But then, on the day the school closed for the year, for our summer holidays, on December the 3^rd, my last day there, I was told my contract will not be renewed. Quite cowardly, don't you think? LOL. On my very last day, within a few hours before we were leaving the city to go to the coast on holiday. What absolute cowards.

But I accepted it. Said goodbye, and decided not to take them to the CCMA (our labour law courts) even though I had a strong case. Reason being? They said they want to keep Mr N in the school and at his current school fee rate (that was already reduced because I was a teacher there).

You may wonder, why leave mr N in such a toxic environment? Well, it was just the 1 person who was truly toxic, but she had the owners wrapped around her finger, up to that point. During our last talk though, the owner said some things, and I realised.... he was waking up to what was happening. It was too late for him and my relationship to recover. We hurt each other too much during the time I was fighting for Boeboe when she was bullied and he believed the other person instead of me, and when he believed that she, that teacher, was “dealing with it” when in fact she was doing nothing about it. So many of the little lies she told, he believed. It destroyed any trust I had in him. My time there was done, we both realised it was for the best. But I could see, he was coming around. He wasn't happy with her that day. At all. And she was loosing some of the responsibilities (and thus power and control) she had, for the next year. Which I knew would offer her less chance to pick on Mr N.

Also, the new teachers in the place of my friends were also good people. Good teachers. And one of them in particular promised to look out for Mr N herself. I knew her mom, she was Monkeyman's one teacher at his old playschool. And she and I were also friends that last year there. She's good people. I knew I could trust her to really look out for him. She understood what happened, and she herself was keeping her distance from the toxic person.

Mr N was also never a target, never a problem, and actually their best candidate. Even that teacher's best candidate in her subject... hahaha. Lastly, he would soon after turn 18. An adult. He was capable of fending for himself, with me keeping a very very very close eye on things. And it was just 10 months left of schooling, then he was done. I believed it would be fine. I spoke openly to him about it all, and also gave him the choice. He wanted to stay.

And despite how it all ended, I remembered what they gave me. I'm, to this day, grateful for the opportunity, for the experience, for the care of my children, for the wonderful environment it was until that last year. I'll always be grateful for the 4 years I worked there. Always. It overrides the ugliness at the end. I loved it all. I loved the kids. I loved the parents. I still miss them!! I left on good terms with the kids and the parents. Almost none of them actually fell for the lies the teacher tried to spread about me, which felt good. I knew I did good by them, the kids in my classes. Their results showed it. But more than that. They did good by me. I learned more from them, than they from me. And for that, I would always be grateful to the school and the owners who gave me a chance, when I didn't deserve it.

And it did turn out fine for Mr N. He had a very good last year with his friends. He wrote his exams (it's external, so not under that teacher's control), got excellent marks, said his goodbyes and moved on with his life. Very successfully.

Shortly after.... things went pear shaped for that woman. From the titbits I heard, it became increasingly obvious to them who and what she were. And in the end, about 2 years after I left, she too resigned. I couldn't feel anything accept a fatalistic: “what you sow, you mow”. It was done. They were out of my life. 

I have long since forgiven them now, because I can clearly see God's Hand working through it all. Making a new way for us. Helping us to find a new, better path ahead. So when the whole lockdowns and mask-mandate happened in 2020, me and my children were completely unaffected as we were long gone from the formal school environment. I was so very very very grateful they weren't in a school during that time, nor were I a teacher during that time. So again I could only be grateful for the years I had there, but also the fact that it came to an end when it did. God's timing is perfect.

To continue here...

PART VII: Babytalk

Before I continue, there's one titbit I need to fit in here. This is only for a very select group of people, so anyone else can just skip over this part onto the next, if they so choose. You won't miss anything of importance. The select group will know who they are, from the title. Though, I will write it as if I'm talking to a wider audience, so as not to exclude anyone that may be curious.

When I became pregnant with my third child, I felt a keen interest in finding like-minded people. So I joined a few pregnancy forums (message boards) which were quite popular those days. Facebook wasn't that big yet, Twitter non-existing, whatsapp non-existing, sms's still severely limited, no Telegram, etc. People like me sought each other out on forums. I joined a South African one as well. It was a small group, about 100 people, thus private, intimate and people who understood parenting in our particular country.

The first few years were amazing. Fun, lively and supportive. We grew so close, that we started to have “get-togethers”, where we'd meet up somewhere in real life. At restaurants, but later also houses. I myself hosted one such get together and it was really good. I loved those people. They were my friends.

Unfortunately, most people tend to go off in different directions throughout their lives, which is why most friendships don't survive too many decades. As people lost interest in babies and talking about their children, they lost interest in the group as well. Even though we were long past only being a baby- or toddler forum. Most had primary school and even high school children too. But people moved on. It was natural. But as few new people came in, our numbers dwindled. Down to 80, 70, 60....

In the end, there were only about 40-50 active users still left. Conversations became stale and repetitive. Some formed separate smaller groups which left them with little to no desire to converse with the rest, which left even less conversations for everyone to join in. It became a little bit of a sad place. So I too, started to “wean” myself off of it. I saw where it was heading. I kept in touch, of course. These people were my friends and I loved them. But at that stage, I still needed more. I was a stay at home and needed conversation in my life (at that point). So I went out and made connections outside of my home and the online world.

So days would pass where I wouldn't speak up on the forum at all. Then later, it would be that a week goes by. Almost always, relentlessly, someone would notice I was quiet and ask me about it. Reason, I was one of the moderators and used to be a very prolific chatter with a lot of daily posts. So obviously, when I grew quiet, it was quite noticeable and people would query it. Being autistic, I have this innate INability to not answer a question. I almost always answer ALL questions. It's too hard not to. So I'd answer the queries about me, apologise for being busy, and then grow quiet again.

During that time, I was dealing with a lot of other things in my life too. I had huge family problems (not with my children or husband, but my own side of the family) that I rarely discussed much. Out of embarrassment, mostly. Not because I was embarrassed about them, but being ashamed (I was the black sheep of my family).

On top of that, we were only about a year or two after my daughter's huge back operation. Things have not completely “settled down” on that front, and we were still in the midst of having a special needs child. With all that that entails. Every parent of a special needs child will tell you it's not something that just one day gets taken care of, and then it's all over and dealt with and sorted. It's ongoing. And other people obviously get tired of the never ending “issues” in the life of a special-needs parent. So I tried to not speak up about some of it any more, as I noticed that “tiredness” creeping in amongst some in the group.

At that point the psychologist asked us to see a geneticist and a psychiatrist. For several issues, one being that they thought it's time to look into my daughter possibly being autistic. Something that was mentioned regularly by therapists throughout her life at that point. As was my habit, I thoroughly researched each investigative diagnoses of the specialists. So I was busy researching autism at that point. It was clear for me that it's a family problem. I have several family members that had the same traits and characteristics and I also noticed it in myself too. 

I should interject here. I thoroughly research something, I don't just jump to conclusions before investigating. And part of researching autism, is to do the online psychological tests, that's accepted by the Psychology Board as very indicative. These tests all showed my daughter as autistic, but it also showed me as having even much worse results than she did. I had more severe traits and the tests all said we were both most likely autistic. We also tested my eldest, my husband and even 3-year old Monkeyman even though the children-tests are less conclusive. All of their tests showed they're definitively not autistic, though they are all introverts and thus might have similar traits here and there. But it was clear, in our family of 5 then, both me and Boeboe were autistic. As the psychiatrist, psychologist and geneticist later all agreed on.

Before I got that diagnosis (about my daughter being autistic), I was thus thinking and researching about all of these worries of the specialists. Boeboe was eventually given a host of other diagnoses as well, with the autism, which we had to deal with one after another for a number of years thereafter.

At the same time though, we were facing another horrendous process with my son, who was diagnosed with heart disease age 5. Once he was cured from it, they realised more was wrong and we tried to find the cause for another 2-3 years. It ended up being heart damaged, either congenital or due to the initial heart problem. This damage was permanent, irreversible and untreatable at this stage and slowly progressive.

At that point though, we just knew that something more was still wrong, we did not know what, and were sent from doctor to doctor in a wild goose chase. With the resultant madhouse it usually creates for such parents and family. I was thus highly strung and stressed out, not knowing if my son would even live another year or not, as he was clearly deteriorating at that point, instead of improving as they thought he should. Having had a mother that died from heart failure didn't make it any easier on me.

So when someone on the Babytalk group asked me again why I was so quiet, I realised I've been quiet for over a month and I felt guilty. I was reluctant to reply though. Truly, deeply reluctant. Because I knew. My time there was coming to an end. But I owed the people on there. They were good people. Good friends. I still loved them.

So I thought. For one last time, I'll answer in full detail. Telling them what's happening in our lives, and what's on my mind, all my feelings about things, and the research I was doing and why. The suspicions of autism. For both my daughter and me (since we realised it was clearly a genetic problem on my side of the family). At almost 40, it wasn't easy to come to terms to being autistic myself at the same time as accepting that my daughter indeed was. It explained a lot, but it takes time to work through. I should've waited until after the diagnosis from the psychiatrist (which did came shortly after), but I didn't. So it was still assumptions at that point when I described everything going on in my life.

It blew up in my face.

One person got fed up (with us always having a new medical “issues”) and made some scathing remarks on Facebook. And a typical cat fight broke out. I didn't know how to fix it. So I apologised, said my goodbyes and tried to move on. But I had some really good, loyal friends still on there, and they blew a fuse because of the unfairness of it all that resulted in me trying to leave. It created a huge, clear divide and caused the whole forum to split up, blew up, and then died. Completely.

I was devastated that I was the cause of this. It was never, ever my intention. I didn't know how to fix it. I begged, pleaded, apologised, screamed, cried, was angry and frustrated, sad and apologetic and pathetic. I tried it all. Nothing helped. No one listened. They were all done. Some felt betrayed. That someone could take knowledge from the closed private forum community and splash it malignantly on an open environment like Facebook. They lost the trust they had discussing private things on the closed forum.

Some of the best friends I had on there created a whatsapp group and invited me. I joined, and this turned out to be such a blessing. For many years after this was perfect. We were a small group of friends. We again had a few get togethers. We loved, lived, cried and laughed together again. Daily. It was perfect. So very very good. It perfectly filled the void I was feeling. I would forever love those on that group, and be grateful for those years spent together.

During the final throes of the forum though, some things happened, which is the reason I want to add it in here (as part of my testimony). Many messages were sent to me. Openly, as well as privately. On the forum and on facebook (even though I never was really active on facebook much). Most of the messages were supportive. Many were not. Some were vicious. Some malicious. Some confused. Some sad.

But a few stood out for me, in particular from one person, living in New Zealand at that point. She basically embodied a certain small group's feelings, which is why I remember her. I think she was the “face”, their “spokesperson”.

They believed, and she thus accused me of having Münchhausen’s by Proxy and said I needed urgent psychiatric help before I cause more harm to my children. That's where a mother causes or wishes illness, disease or defects on her children and subject them to unnecessary medications, hospital stays and operations, tests and procedures, because she craves attention. And mothers of special needs children do get lots of attention from doctors.

To this day, I struggle to comprehend the accusation. Very few things, ever, hurt me more than that did, that day. Of all the things, they chose THAT to hurt me with. I was barely hanging on by a thread throughout all those difficult years from 2006-2016. Until we had all our “diagnoses” and could finally live our lives free of doctors and appointments and operations and new issues. I could barely cope with it all, especially not that year, when my son was so very, very ill and we didn't know why still. 

And then they used THAT. Accused me of THAT. The one thing all special need children's mothers say hurts the most. When people accuse them of that. When the very opposite is true. They hate, HATE, that their children have any medical problem at all, and would offer up much to change it all. 

I still sometimes wake up, drenched in sweat, because of some of the procedures I had to put my children through. Things they went through, that I can't even describe because I burst out in tears because it was so painful, so raw, so hard. 

I hated every operation, every doctor's visit, every test, every procedure. I hated seeing what the side effects of the different medications did to them. I feared the long term effects, and STILL do. I loathed to the point of being nauseated, giving them pills and medicines daily. I cried with them. After some tests, I stayed with them, watching them wimper in their sleep from the trauma they had that day, silently crying with them. 

So I despaired about all my children had to go through. I cried. I screamed. I yelled. I even showed God my fist at times, asking Him WHY? Why God? Why them? Why this? Why me? Why us? Why so painful??? Why so much? 

I never, ever enjoyed any second of it. Not when doctors sympathised with me, nor when they laughed at me or ridiculed me themselves. Not when nurses hugged me because they had no words to give, nor when they pushed tubes down my babies' orifices while they screamed in terror. 

I didn't like the hundreds of therapy visits where I had to sit outside while a woman I didn't know away from that office, was treating my child. I didn't like the thousands and thousands that we spent and that cause my husband more stress than anyone can ever truly realised. 

I disliked all of it. So to accuse me that I, personally, was the cause of it all, that I CHOSE to do this to my family... I still can't comprehend how little they truly knew me. And not one, not even one of that little group, ever came back and apologised to me. 

Worse even, was the fear that gripped my heart. We all saw movies or tv-shows where authorities were notified of a mother that was suspected of having this, and her children were taken away from her. Usually it turned out that it was a false accusation. So fear took hold of my heart... what if one of these people, who seemed to hate me so much now, phone Childcare? One phonecall and I could loose my children. I was dealing with a lot of hardships those days, and they just added one of the worst ones ever, onto me. It took me at least a year to stop fearing that. The fear of getting that phone call or visit from a social worker because of a complaint. It was a valid fear, from the way this woman from NZ structured her one message, of how she feared for my children's lives and well-being.

Which is one reason I wanted a testimony of it here. So that one day, they would know and understand how very wrong they were, but also what their actions did. The pain and rippling effects it had.

No. I do NOT and never wished ANY ill on any of my children. NEVER. EVER. And I never will. And Boeboe is the testimony today of that. She was validly diagnosed with what I were discussing in that last fatal post of mine. The treatment for it worked beautifully, and she received much needed help in a lot of areas in the years following. By age 16 she was finished with all of it, and concentrated on getting her matric, which she did with flying colours. She enrolled into a college and passed her first year with some honors, made friends and has turned into a beautiful, well-functioning adult woman. She still lives with us, and she and I are as close as any mother could wish to have her daughter. She's also exceptionally close to her siblings, and still helps to take care of her little sister, which she waited so long to have. She's also a typical daddy's girl and does nothing without his approval. She was thus never harmed by anything we did, just helped, and to this day she's grateful for all we've done, not angry. 

Another reason why this is part of my testimony, is so that people would be much more careful of doing this to the parents of special needs children. You would be surprised how many people use this as a stick to beat such parents with. How often this happens. I struggle to understand the "why's". Why would people do this to such parents, who are already on their knees daily. Fighting, crying, broken beyond understanding. Who kicks a wounded animal? Who kicks a wounded parent like that?

Then also, as I mentioned, this is part of God's assignment for me, to write my full testimony. The good and the bad, and for some reason, this must be included. Somehow, I guess He needs to reach someone through this, somewhere in the world. Someone, that went through something similar. To know they're not alone. And that it too, can be overcome.

So to get to the point. If I remember correctly, I wrote about 3 issues in that last fatal post of mine on the forum. That we believed Monkeyman still had something undiagnosed wrong, that Boeboe was autistic, and that she may have inherited it from me.

After the forum broke up, it indeed turned out Monkeyman had a secondary heart defect. My daughter was indeed diagnosed with autism, as well as with a host of other things she then had to deal with. The autism was diagnosed by a psychiatrist and psychologist and confirmed by a geneticist. It was determined she most likely inherited a genetic condition from me, causing the autism and many of the other diagnoses she received in her life.

So the final 3 things that broke the camel's back and caused them to accuse me of something as vile as Münchhausen’s by Proxy, was real, and not fake "wish fullness" on my part.

And if anyone still doubts, we have all the proof you may ask for. We have the medical reports that prove our eldest was diagnosed with epilepsy. We have the records that our daughter was operated on for an occult tethered cord, and diagnosed with autism, a communication processing disorder and a host of other things I'd rather not mention, as she's now an adult in her own right. We also have the printouts of our 2nd son's EKG's that proves the tachy-bradychardia and before that, the results of the sonar that proved pulmonary hypertension.

What we had and have to deal with, was and is real. And it never was Münchhausen’s by Proxy. It still makes me want to throw up, to just think about it.

So why this post, here, now, and so publicly? When the shame is still real. The embarrassment still felt, even 10 years later. Because I was asked to write my testimony and include it as well. And because I needed to mention something about it, as part of it being my testimony of what God is doing and has done in our lives.

And to prove God's work, I need to point out something strange.

Why was my eldest son diagnosed with epilepsy at age 5, when that type is usually only diagnosed around age 12 or 13?

Why did they diagnose my daughter with a physical, congenital problem age 5, regarding her bladder, that lead to the much needed occult tethered cord operation?
Why was our third child diagnosed with pulmonary hypertension, an extremely rare disease, at guess what...... age 5?

The ages it started for each child. 555. The number for mercy, in triple format. Because that's what God is pointing out. It was all His doing. To show HIS mercy to and through our family, for HIS purposes. It was all God.

Guess when I was called through my very first prophetic dream by God? When I was: age 5. Coincidence? No. God!

He marked me and my oldest 3 children by the mark of His mercy. The reason why, will become clearer as time goes on, but what's needed now, is for people to realise I wasn't crazy, I never meant harm to any of my children. We were on a journey laid out by God's own Hand.

Even though I greatly rejoice in His Plan for my family, it also saddens me that I was scorned and maligned for it, and that I lost friends through it. But even more so, that my friends lost friends and were ostracised for standing by me. They did the right thing. And God will remember their acts of love and kindness and support. Because His Word declares when you've done it to one of His Children, you've done it to Jesus Christ Himself.

So what about our 4th? To me, it's proof that I never wanted to harm my children. Because we had one baby that had very few diagnoses. Apart from the family Gilbert's and GERD (with resultant bad teeth), and her father's migraines, she's perfectly healthy and normal. No autism. No epilepsy. No heart disease. No tethered cord. Just a normal, happy and extremely healthy little girl that has never even seen a GP in her whole life of 11 years. Healthier than any other child I know of. Never had an infection that needed treatment, not even when she had suspected strep throat. Never needed antibiotics for a sore throat or pneumonia or gastro or any such thing. An absolutely astonishingly healthy child.

Why? My guess is that God completed the process after 3 cycles. 5 and 5 and 5. Triple mercy. He took the age 5 that my dreams started, and tripled the mercy through my children. And with little Peanut, our fourth, He has very different plans that He has shown to her and me through dreams and visions already.

Time has now proved my accusers wrong. My name can now be cleared from their false accusation. I wasn't wrong about my children, and I wasn't wishing any of it on them. I only ever wanted what was best for them, to do good by them. Now, 2 of them is amazing adults, fully functioning in the adult world. My third is a teenager and well on his way too, with the "baby" almost done with primary school.

I can now let it go. The hurt, the pain, the false accusation that almost cost my son, because I wanted to stop looking for answers. Only by the Grace of God and the encouragement of my husband did I go on and found the answers he needed, as to what was still ailing him.

I can now forgive them. It's done. Water under the bridge. And I won't let it hurt me any more. I don't wish harm on any one of them. Quite the opposite. I hope they live in peace and happiness and that God will bless them and their children with health and love and safety.

To the rest of the people who shared my life on and through Babytalk:

I want to thank you. I'll always cherish those years in my heart. I still miss you guys in some corner of my heart, and always will. Because you were all special. Thank you for the support and love you showed me and my children.

And especially for being part of my journey with Boeboe, and carrying me through the struggle to get a diagnoses, and then her operation. For the fund raising you did and the gifts you gave her and my other children with that money. To this day it is precious, golden memories for ALL of us. I can never, ever thank you all enough for the love and care and support. I will always love each and every one of you and remember the GOOD that came from it all.

And thank you for those that shared with me on the whatsapp Babytalk group afterwards. It was incredibly special years. I sometimes miss you guys so much that my heart physically aches, and I hope you will all one day understand why I had to leave. It wasn't my choice or my will, but what was needed at that point. I love you all.

May God bless each one of you and yours abundantly. May His Light shine brightly on you, and may His love and peace always surround you and your loved ones.

Continuing here...

PART VIII: Walking with God

So this is the point where anyone who's not a Christian, or cannot handle any tolerance towards my religion, should thus be kindly warned. From here on, this is what this blog will be about. The updates about all my children are done, relaying our lives for the past 10 years is (mostly) done, and I said my peace about some events. We're now starting with the reason why I had to pick up blogging again and it has everything to do with my religion.

This will be my testimony.

It will thus not only be a testimony of the years with Boeboe, but I'll also delve into my childhood years, and then the ultimate reason, the past 5 years, as well as future events. Everything that lead up to what's coming. So as a reader, you have reached the end of my story as a mother to a special needs child with an occult Tethered Cord, and there will be very little updates or information on that or my children any more.

This will now totally focus on my road, walking with my God, the Lord Jesus Christ. If you're interested, please continue. If not, then I thank you for having been a part at one point or another of my journey by either reading or following this blog and I bid you a warm goodbye. May your journey be as blessed as mine.

For those interested, this is now all going to be about who I truly am, and will be, and have been. Not as a mother. But as a person, a woman, and especially, a Daughter of the Most High God, the only Living God.

So I'm going to start at the very beginning and work my way back up to 2018, where everything truly started for me.

When I was age 5 (yes, FIVE!!), I had a dream. It was about lions, and terrifying for a 5-year old little girl. I told my mom about it, and she dismissed it as “just a dream”, of course. But a few nights later, I had the EXACT same dream again. It started at the exact same point in time, played out exactly the same, and ended at the exact same point like the first time. Everything was the same. The conversation, the environment, the emotions, the event, the people in it, everything. It was short, but intense.

I ignored it, but it happened again. And again. At some point, I remember telling my mom (again) and my brother was there too. He laughed and then taunted me on how I thought I was so special, getting this “dream”, and who do I think I were? How it was just all in my imagination and I'm basically lying.

It devastated me. As the youngest, I had a bit of an unhealthy hero-worship of all three my eldest siblings. I was a rule-abider, a follower, and a weakling. I didn't know how to stand up for myself at that point. I was unsure, uncertain, no self confidence and of little self worth. We were all very close in age, and as the youngest, it left me as the one always dragging behind, always falling behind, always the one picking up the crumbs left by the others, always trying to reach them but just never getting there. I was always too small, too slow, too thin, too weak physically, too this or too that. It left me with just about zero confidence. So being told I'm imagining things and there's nothing special about me, hit me hard. My mom didn't deny it.

So I took on that label. But deep inside, I knew this dream wasn't my imagination. I wasn't the one initiating it. I didn't even want it, because it was terrifying. A nightmare. So repeatedly dreaming the same terrifying nightmare about lions who want to eat me, is not something that I would “make up” or wish for. But being told I was imagining it, made me realise.... I could not share it any more. They don't believe me.

So I never spoke about it again for almost a year. For almost a year, I dreamed the dream most nights. At least about 3 or 4x a week. Sometimes even more. Always the same dream. Exactly the same. Until it was branded into my brain.

Then I turned 6 and as I blew the candles, I realised. I'm now 6. And I STILL dream this dream that started when I was 5. So I told my mom that night or soon thereafter. That it was now just about a whole year of it happening over and over again.

So my mom stopped what she was doing, immediately, which was so unlike her. She sat with me at the kitchen table and asked me to tell her the dream, which I did. She said nothing. Just stood up to continue her cooking. But I saw her face. It was contemplative. She believed me!!

That night, I did not dream it again. Nor the next, or the next. It disappeared completely. Until I was 18 or 19 years old. I was in University then, and out of the blue, I dreamed it again. Exactly the same dream. I was flabbergasted. And almost scared, because I did NOT wanted to start it all over again. But it didn't. It only happened that once, and then never, ever again.

This, as well as some awful things (no, not molestation) that happened to me when I was about 6-7, caused me to turn to my Bible. I was taught to read around age 5-6, and the Bible was one of the first books I read, around age 6-7. First it was “children's Bible stories”. Then my mom bought me my own, “real” Bible. I can't remember when exactly, I believe around age 8 or 9. I clung to that and got very very close to God. I adored Him. Whenever I was sad, angry or upset, I would open the Bible and a verse would jump out, giving me courage, comfort, hope or showing the way. I realised that God truly was speaking to me through His Word, and I held on to that as a lifeline. It made the sad things in my life okay, and the hard things bearable.

During those years, there was something else I wondered about. It's too personal, I won't divulge it. It was just about my own past, and something I felt as a little girl. And I always queried God. For years and years I wanted to know why I felt it. One day, it overwhelmed me, and I cried and called out to Him. This time, He answered me personally. Not through His Word. But in His voice, through His Spirit. I heard Him inside my head. You can almost call it telepathy. Except that I immediately knew it was Him speaking. He answered my question, and gave me a command about it. Only 2 small sentences. Acknowledging my heartache and that it was true, as well as what I must do about it. (Again, to reiterate, this was not about molestation, just about a loss I experienced years and years before that moment.)

I was flabbergasted. I did not know God in this way. I never heard of anyone (at that stage) talking about God speaking to them in their heads, like that. I sat there stunned, almost not even blinking, for what felt like hours. Then stood up, went to my bedside table, picked up my Bible and opened it up at a random verse, asking God.... was that you, God? I can't remember at which verse I opened it up, but it basically said “It is I AM”.

God spoke to me.

I can still feel the wonder that caused me. And then I knew. I couldn't tell this to my family. I could not share this and let them defile this memory. It was too special. Too real. Too pure. Too Holy. It was mine, and mine alone. So I told no one. Not even my mother. Never. 

Until a few months ago, age almost 50, when I told my sister. In a letter. She ignored the letter, apart from acknowledging that she received and read it.  (That basically summed up what my life as a child was about. Being ignored was still preferable to being mocked about it.)

From that moment that God spoke to me in my head/heart/spirit at age 10, I knew that everything else I always felt was from Him, was true. The dreams, the repetitive one and others that I now knew were from Him, the knowledge He gave me about my mother, as well as the fact that His Return was not too far off. At that moment, I trusted everything He told me during that first 10 years of my life. Oh, how I begged that His Return could come sooner. Especially during my teenage years when I went through much heartache. But I was told not yet. So I put it all on the back burner, realising I had to live my life in the meantime. Which I did.

Continuing with some more history here...