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...

PART IX: My history

So my road continued as a Christian. I never dabbled in other religions or belief systems. I never followed other gods as my Saviour. I was never interested in the occult. I've never touched tarot cards, did a reading, attended a séance, seen a crystal ball or did anything with crystals or figures or such. I stayed away from it all. I did not read other “holy” books or prayed to any other gods ever in my life. I followed Jesus Christ, no other, all of my life. My parents, grandparents and forefathers were all Christians. I lived in a Christian town, attended a Christian school, had Christian friends, married a Christian man, and until around that stage, we had a Christian government. So I grew up in a country with Christian rules and values and morals. I did not know anything else, and had no desire to.

During my university days, I grew even closer to God, through hard times. I got married about a year after I started working. We decided to have a family, but then the whole endometrosis diagnoses happened which I described in Mr N's pregnancy files on this blog. At that point, we decided to go on holiday to make some decisions. It was end of 1999, and we found ourselves watching the firework show as the New Millennium arrived. As I was watching it, I was thinking about the doom sayers. I was working as a Software Developer, so I intimately understood the possible problems of the whole “y2k” issue, and how it really, truly was NOT the End of the World scenario people painted. I knew it wasn't a big deal and everything would be fine. But, I also knew from my understanding from God, that it wasn't time yet. YET is the keyword. Since I was 5, I knew the End was coming. But not yet. Not in the year 2000. So I was watching the fireworks in peace, went to bed and knew we'd all wake up fine. And that the computers would all just continue doing what they were programmed to do. At that point.

About 6 months later though, God's Spirit called to me, and I was tasked to look at what was happening in the world. What I found, shocked me to the core. I suddenly realised the extend of the evil workings. And why so many people thought it would be the end at the turning of the Millennium. I delved deep and learned much. By then, I also fell pregnant. And it all became too much.

Towards the end of that year, 2000, I went onto my knees and cried and told God I cannot cope. I'm pregnant. I'm a young, new mother. I want the best for my baby. And learning about the evil, and their plans and who they are and what they do and will do, was destroying any hope I had left as a new Mommy, to raise my child in a safe and sound and good environment. I just wanted to be a mommy. The best mommy I could be. But I felt so guilty, and torn in two.

So I cried and asked God to help me. To give me time, as only He is capable of. That I understood from I was 5, that I had a calling. And I WILL follow Him and answer my calling. And if this truly is now, in the year 2000, the beginning of the end, and I misunderstood, that He would keep urging me forward in learning all I must. But, if I understood it correctly, and we still have time, to lend me a bit of it to just be a mommy. To cope with that was already hard. And I wanted to do right by this baby, this gift from God. And I couldn't do it with the sword of “End of the World coming SOON” hanging over me.

So I asked God. If we're out of time, urge me to go on. If we're not, if He grants my wish and I can concentrate on the baby, would He please remove that urge from my life and show me I can concentrate on my baby. With the understanding that it's just a reprieve, and at the moment He deems it necessary, that it's getting towards the true real “End”, that He'll call me again, and urge me on again. And when that happens, I promised at that moment, I will give it my all, my everything for Him, and the calling He has placed on my life. If only at that moment, I could first be a mommy for as long as we still have time.

Immediately the urge disappeared. I was given peace and freedom. It was confirmed by Him in His Word thereafter. And I understood, God wants me to be a mommy now. I have His blessing. And that is what I was. Knowing I have a future promise to fulfil. One day.

So for about 16 years thereafter, I concentrated on being a mommy. I excelled in it, I loved it, I was as happy and contend as I could be. Even with all our trials, which is penned throughout this blog from Mr N's birth, right up until 2016 and beyond, I was a happy mommy. I had my life's wish. To marry a good and kind and caring man, and have many babies. What more could I ask?

I've only highlighted some of the events during my childhood and later years. There were many peculiar things that happened later on as well. I blogged about a few of them previously. Like when I fell pregnant the first time, I immediately knew it was a boy, and I knew he would be fine. Even despite the odds, when even the doctors despaired that he'll pull through, I knew he would be birthed alive and well. How? I don't know. I just knew it.

When I was pregnant with my 2^nd, I knew that it was a little girl, and I also knew how she would look around the age of 2. It is all catalogued in my pregnancy journals on this blog. I "saw" her in a vision one early morning. I saw her dark curly, unruly hair. Extremely curly. I saw her huge, dark eyes. Abnormally huge and abnormally dark for brown eyes in a Caucasian. I saw her tiny body. Extremely small and tiny, but in proportion. Tiny arms. Tiny hands. Tiny legs. Tiny head. I also saw her being "dirty". 

When she was born, she had a head full of black hair that started curling by age 1. By age 2, it was extremely curly, falling in "locks" of curls all around her head, impossible to comb or contain in elastics. Her eyes were dark and huge. She was tiny. And one day, she played in the sand, becoming all "dirty" from head to tow, muddy and dusty. Covered in sand, looking up at me with the adorable "dirty" face. And I realised. There. There's the little girl I "saw" I was going to have. EXACTLY as she was on that day, I saw her 3 years before. I was amazed. And humbled.

With my third, I knew I was pregnant the moment conceiving took place. Again, I knew it was a boy and again I knew how he would look, as I had a dream of a little boy, with a mischievous attitude, smiling, sparkling greenish eyes and reddish lips. He was about 3 years old in my dream. When Monkeyman turned 3, he one day did something mischievous, then looked at me, laughing, and I saw what I saw in my dream. That exact moment. That exact little face.

 
When I was pregnant with my 4^th, I thought it a girl during the first term, but Boeboe's constant yearning for a little girl made me worried and anxious, and I started to doubt myself and said it's wishful thinking. Preparing myself that it might be a boy. It turned out to be a little girl. So with her, she was the only one I was never as sure about. I never "saw" her in a dream or vision either. She was a mystery!

I also "saw" other things happen during my schooling years. Things like friends that would move away from the town. Things someone will tell me, then it happened like I saw it. I also "heard" some information. And this all came true, every time, as I was told.

I have to admit, I became lazy, during the early years when my children were little, and our lives were settled into an easy flow of love and happiness, I didn't diligently read my Bible, though I still prayed regularly, and we still attended church. So I slid back a little. I never fell away from God. I didn't stop loving Him or believing in Him ever. I just turned occupied and thus lazy and lacking in my worship. This all changed drastically in 2017, which I'll continue in a new part here: My Promise.

PART X: My Promise

Here is a quick recap for those who skipped some of my history parts or those that starts reading from here. 

I was given prophetic dreams, and a "knowing" of certain things, like how long my mother would live, from the time I was age 5. At age 10, God spoke to me for the first time, outside of His Word or through people, events or dreams. Direct sentences to me personally.

In the year 2000 when I was 26, I was called by God, but since I was pregnant, I made a covenant with Him. That if He allows me to just be a mommy until the End is approaching and upon us, I will give my everything to my calling then. God accepted my promise, though looking back, it is easy to see that He used me being a mommy, to already start training me for the skills I would need. 

Shortly after the birth of my eldest, my mother passed away after an illness. It was just like I was told as a child, at the age I knew she would leave us. A few months after her death, I was sitting with my baby of around 6 months old, watching the twin towers fall in New York, USA, on that fatal day in September 2001. And again, that day, God spoke to me. It was glorious to hear His Voice again. He gave me intimate knowledge about my mother's death and why she had to leave earth. This of course eventually gave me peace. I understood. As best as was humanly possible, I understood. But I was also acutely aware of how strange this was. God very, very rarely would comfort someone with such knowledge. Today, I have a clearer understanding of why He had to do it, and why then, as it is actually intimately linked to my calling, and also answered part of the "why me" question. But we'll get to that one day, not now.

So for 16 years I was just a mommy. Then during 2017, towards the end of the year, I felt the same calling, the same pull as in 2000. But this time, it was gentle. Not propelling me, but like a leaf on a river, just slowly taking me along the Path on which I had to step next. I slowly got back into my research. Learning about what's going on behind the curtains. Under the ground. The evil. The plans. The future events. The horrors. The darkness.

 
It took me a few months, probably about 2 or maybe 3, before I realized what was happening. Before I realized and saw God's Hand in it, and noticed the calling again. Around that December of 2017 or maybe January 2018, I fell down and asked Him to please reveal Himself if it was indeed from Him and the calling. If it was time.

 
He did.

 
And I accepted. Loudly and in my heart. As promised, I accepted full heartedly.

 
So you might be curious. How did He reveal Himself? 

Firstly, in His Word. He gave me relevant Scriptures. Confirming that I was called, what my mission would entail and that I'm indeed hearing from Him. 

Secondly, He then proceeded to confirm this by sending several prophets and messengers, confirming the same thing. It's the End, I have a calling, and it is from Him, my God.

And lastly, the most important 2 confirmations which took away all my doubts.

During February 2018, the Lord called me. On my name, shortly after I woke up one morning and was lying in my bed, just thinking about the day ahead (it was a school holiday or my off day or such, and I got to sleep late.) I was called through His Voice. Not in my head. Not in my Spirit. Not in His Word. But with His Voice. Aloud. Hearing it with my ears. Thus, audible.

First, I thought it was my husband or someone else that called me. I looked around, but the room was empty and the children still quiet, presumably asleep. I contemplated this, and remembered that I woke hours earlier when my husband left for work, and fell asleep again. I thus knew, that it couldn't have been him. I also realized the Person called me on my real name, my full name, with which I was Christened. Only my father, sister and brothers call me by that name. All other friends and family call me by a shortened nickname. 

Curiously, I realized that I wasn't afraid. This puzzled me. It wasn't a warning shout or a call for help, it was just as if someone wanted my attention. And I thought, well, a burglar would most likely not know my christened name! I laid down again, and told myself I must've imagined it.

Then I was called again. Aloud, on my christened name. It most definitely was IN my room, the sound coming from the foot end of my bed.

My head snapped up and I scanned the empty room, this time shocked, as clearly it wasn't my imagination. Then, I realised, it was God! And I immediately understood. He was answering my request, to reveal Himself to me, if it was Him calling me. 

And I accepted. I said yes. I guess it happened exactly as it did for Samuel of the Bible. Except that I was much older, not raised as a prophet, and only called twice, not 3x as Samuel was.

Thereafter, about a month later, He gave me another confirmation. I'm not going to describe the message or the whole event, just yet. But it was the Angel of the Lord that came to me. Physically. And Spiritually. Again, I accepted.

I always wondered how it felt when the Angel of the Lord appeared to someone in the Bible. What did they feel? What did they say? What were going through their minds? Were they scared? Frightened? Did they know Who it was? Did they guess? Did their bodies react? Did they stumble over their words? Were they unsure or in awe? Did they know or realize the momentous occasion and how millions upon millions of people would one day read about that exact moment in time? And know about them?

I can answer (in a small way) part of these questions today. Eventually, I will add more detail.

How did I feel? Loved. Very, very, very much loved. Impossible to describe.

What did I say? I asked questions pertinent to what was happening. I found the process curious, fascinating and my scientific mind wanted to understand. 

What was going through my mind? I felt peace. Calm. Curiosity. Wonderment. Awe.

Was I scared? Frightened? Not at first, then only for half a second, when I realized that I wasn't, and logic dictated that maybe I should be! Then I was told not to be scared, and I just wasn't.

Did I know Who it was? Or Guessed? Not immediately, but yes, shortly after I was told not to be scared, I knew.

Did my body react? Yes. It did exactly as it was told to do (for ex. not to be scared). (One day I'll elaborate on this.)

Did I stumble over my words? Our conversation was telepathically, so no.

Was I unsure or in awe? Very very much so. Even just thinking back, I want to tremble.

Did I know it was a momentous occasion? No. Only much, much later. Months, even years later. And still I did not truly believe it until about 3 years later. Even after many confirmations were given. In some way, I don't know if I'll ever fully believe or accept it.

Do I believe other people will one day read about it? Only now, yes. Because of what I'm doing. Writing a testimony that includes that moment...

Do I believe other people will one day know who I am? I don't care. It was a perfect, private, momentous occasion for me. An intimate moment between me and my Lord, and had very little, at that moment, to do with other people. Now that I needed to share it so openly here, and it may somehow become known one day, then so be it. But I have no desire, to be honest. I'm just a scribe, absolutely no Bible character or such. And to be honest, I would've much rather kept all of this private. As it is, I've told very few people. Only my husband, daughter and sister, and my son guessed it from one conversation. And it was years before I was able to talk about it at all. And only my husband and daughter knows all the detail.

 
Shortly after this, all the troubles of 2018 started. I was diagnosed in May 2018 with an autoimmune disease, my youngest daughter had a difficult year at school, my son's health was deteriorating, my eldest daughter was bullied and had to be pulled from formal schooling, and around September of that year, I was told by God through a messenger, that I was going to loose my job. Which is why I knew for certain that I would loose it and told my husband in October already. This of course, then became true in December 2018 when my boss informed me that my contract would not be renewed for 2019.

So during the whole sordid, difficult, awful 2018, some of the most beautiful things also happened to me. God spoke to me, prophesied over me, called me and visited me. He even made the most beautiful, most amazing promise to me during the visitation. An unbelievably good promise. Something I didn't deserve, and nobody would believe me, even if I told them. 

Something momentous beyond my wildest dreams, so much so, that I have trouble believing it myself. Though it was a promise, made to me, by the One that cannot lie and always, always, fulfill all His promises. And if anyone doubts, I can assure them that I do too at times. How can I not? But I'm convinced it's from God Himself, as nobody but God could make me feel so much love, purity, peace, acceptance and light. And He did it exactly as it was described in the Bible. 

It was so much to take in. So overwhelming. Like always, I wondered.... why me? This time, not because of the bad that was happening in my life, but because of the beautiful. Why me? I didn't yet know. I couldn't grasp it all. I still struggle with it, so how can I blame others, if they don't believe?

 
It was around that point, beginning 2018, that I came to learn about the 23 September 2017 sign. I wasn't aware at the time, nor part of the whole “rapture-watching” crowd, etc. I wasn't formally called yet, so I had no idea. Same with when 21 Dec 2012 happened, and everyone claimed it to be “the end”, because of some Mayan tablet. I also then shook my head and said it can't be. Because I knew God will call me BEFORE the “so-called” End, as I still needed to do what He has called me for. 

But clearly, this 23 September 2017 was significant and filled with meaning. And, it was around that time that I actually DID experience the pulling again, slowly, softly, calling me to start the research again. As the “event” appeared in the sky, God's Spirit called me softly. Even though I only realized and noticed what I was doing a few months later! And only questioned God around Dec or Jan 2018. And was only formally called in February 2018 and visitted around end of March 2018. It was all starting. The job I was called to do at that point. Beginning with research.

 
So I delved right into it, as journaled here.

PART XI: The Research

Here, I have to move a little back in time again. When I worked at my 2^nd job as a Software Developer in the late '90's, we were given free reign of internet usage, as long as it didn't interfere with our jobs. It was so exciting! Very few people in my country at that moment, had that priviledge. The Internet was still newish and expensive to access. So during lunch hour and after work, I could spend as much time on it as I liked. Wow. A new world opened up for me. I joined groups, learned how to use a search engine and accessed libraries previously hidden from me. I'm a bookworm, so libraries, reading, books, research papers, it all has a very special place in my heart. 

In 1999 I was diagnosed with endometrosis and I knew where to go for answers. I joined forums on Endo, and became part of “the community”. The people were wonderful. The stories inspirational. And it contained a wealth of information. For the first time, I didn't feel despair, but empowered to make my own decision. The doctor wanted to do a major operation, similar to a c-section. And the newest research on it was that a laparoscopy is much better. Especially if the woman still wanted children and wanted to try for a normal birth instead of having c-sections. Which I did. 

I thus realised something on that day. Something others, many times since, both friends and doctors, maligned me for. But it came from that point in time. When I realised, I can search on the internet, and prove a doctor to be in err. 

The people in the forums were completely shocked that this doctor wanted to do a laparotomy on me, something that haven't been done for years anymore in cases like mine. It was old school and considered bad practice at that point in time. They were also shocked that he did a laparoscopy on me to diagnose the endo (which was good practice because it's undeniable proof, I even got photo's, eek!), but then closed me up without "zapping" the patches and wanted to operate again via a larger operation (not good practice).

I used “Doctor Google” and  proved a doctor wrong.

You have NO idea how empowering and strange and shocking and amazing this realisation was for me. I grew up in a conservative country, amongst people regularly taunted as “backwards” by other countries, as we tend to hang onto the past ways. In small towns, the words of the Doctor, Principle, Pastor and Police Chief were law. NOBODY contradicted those handful of people. Ever. So to now find people who actively encouraged me to do JUST that..... to contradict my doctor... to NOT do as he told me to do. To refuse to do the operation that was already scheduled for January 2000.... it was mind blowing in those years, amongst my generation. 

That's why we went on the holiday end December 1999 (where I watched the fireworks ringing in the New Millenium). So that we could clear our heads and make rational decisions instead of rushing into a major operation. I spoke it through with my mother and she encouraged me to listen to the advice of other women “who've been there”. Who understand. Who tries to share their knowledge out of the kindness of their hearts. Not to be malicious or lead people astray. But to help. So I decided to see a 2^nd doctor. 

He was just as shocked as the women on the forums, that the first doctor wanted to do a laparotomy. It truly was horrifying in his opinion, and he urged me to rather try either a laparoscopy or hormone injections. After research and following his recommendation, I started the hormone injections. The rest is history as they say. I recorded it in the “Mr N's Pregnancy and Birth” posts on this blog.

The point is, I learned something so valuable that day. That I have the right to make decisions over my own body. That I have the know-how and opportunity to seek my own answers. And that I have the common sense to look for the best for me. That doctors cannot be trusted on face value alone. That they're not all powerful, all knowing nor necessarily the best decision-maker over me or my body. And as an extension, later over my children. And that forums can be invaluable. Precious. Others can mock and scoff them as "Dr Google", but nothing beats the personal experience of thousands of women who collectively share it freely.

THAT's why it angers me when people maligned me for "seeing Dr Google”. They maligned people who helped me, for no other reason other than to want to help. And they did help me, it wasn't lies or wrong, but they steered me wisely.

Why is it wrong to empower oneself with knowledge? I'm intelligent, I can learn, I can gather information through what doctors share in books and research papers, and through the personal experiences of other women or mothers. Then still listen to my personal doctors' recommendations and advice based on their own experience and knowledge, which is also invaluable. And I won't be so presumptions as to say I can do their job. Not at all. They have the practice and know how and degrees. 

But I gained the practice and know how in how to research and gain information. And together, we could either be a team or I could be berated as a fool that trusts “google”. As if I read the first article that comes up and base all my decisions on that. When in fact I read at least 10-20 articles, sometimes hundreds. I read several websites from organisations working with that particular condition in people. I read personal doctor's recommendations in their practices. Then I usually read tens of personal stories, sometimes literally hundreds. I'll download books and read the relevant chapters. I look for different studies from different countries, usually at least 3-5 countries, and compare the different methods, recommendations and results and statistics. Then I look at what's considered old practices and modern practices. I'll compare stats of different methods or medications or practices or natural methods or plants or whatever was tried for the past 100 years. And then I'll catalogue all that I learned and summarise it for my husband. I'll list the options, the benefits, drawbacks and possible risks for each, and the stats on it all. Then we'll together make a decision.

Are other people as thorough? No, I doubt, so I understand there indeed ARE people who only look at the wikipedia entry and believe that's all there is to consider about a certain medical problem. But that's not me. I'm thorough, I spend hours and hours, and I know how to work with large quantities of data.

So I learned how to research during those days after I was diagnosed with endometriosis. From there it was a short step to do the same with Mr N's epilepsy in 2006. Quickly I found moms of children with epilepsy. I joined forums and learned of the different types of seizures and epilepsy diagnoses. What to do and what not to do. How to deal with the side effects of the medication. How to prepare the child for MRI's and EEG's. It was invaluable. Extremely invaluable. Till recently, I received the monthly newsletter from Epilepsy.org. 

Then Boeboe happened, and my research started really in earnest when she was 5 in 2009 and we realised there truly were many little things up with her. In the end, I diagnosed her with Occult Tethered Cord and took it to the Pead around 2010, who quickly googled herself, and realised. Yes. It fitted perfectly. And with her encouragement, we ended up finding the one that operated on her. She also worked WITH that doctor as they were in the same hospital, and visited Boeboe every day during her stay in hospital after the untethering. Making sure she was as pain free as possible and stable and doing well from her pediatric perspective, since the surgeon was an adult neurosurgeon. Not pediatric. All for free. The medical aid didn't pay her, as she wasn't the registered doctor responsible for my daughter. Still, she checked up on her twice a day and spoke to us daily. It was wonderful to have doctors that believed in “Dr Google” and not maligned a mother for it, but supported her every step of the way.

I didn't just google and diagnosed Boeboe after one search. I spent more than a year, working until early morning hours, researching. Comparing studies. Reading loads and loads of blogs of moms with children that have occult tethered cord, tethered cord and spina bifida. I downloaded books on anatomy and the spine. I watched video's on such operations. I joined forums and message boards, and one particular one was absolute worth gold. They had ALL the knowledge I wished doctors had. They knew everything inside and out, because they LIVED it, daily. They were actually the ones that told ME in no uncertain terms that they were pretty sure that's what my daughter has, and that I HAVE to delve into that possibility. I would forever be grateful to them. And for God for bringing them over my path when I needed it.

It was also shortly after I learned how to successfuly navigate the Net, that I was called the first time to start researching into the evil running our world, in 2000. Then around 2011 and recently in 2018, I was also urged by God, to study our country and my people's history, and politics. It was hard for me. Oh, I LOVE history and have always read a lot of books about it. But until about 2007/2008, I refused to have much to do with politics. In our country, it's a very hot potato. But I did. First from around 2008. 

Unfortunately, it caused me much despair. So much so, that a few years later we started to get the ball rolling to even emigrate. I despaired for my children's future in this country. But that wasn't why God wanted me to research, and He put a stop to those plans. First only gently, by His Spirit, but I rejected it and wanted to follow my own way. So He used a more effective way. Both me and hubby came to the realisation at the exact same time.... we're staying. For better or for worse. 

So we closed that door. But I kept an eye on the politics, the country and events here. Knowing it's a pressure cooker. That WILL blow off steam or spill over.

My research on the rest took off from where it left off in 2000, and just continued when I was called again in 2017. I knew how to research. How to gather massive amounts of information. How to Google for answers. How to find the truth and sift out the unnecessary. I had so much experience now. I was practiced in the "art" of researching. God prepared me extremely well. He gave me the skill set. The experiences. The knowledge. The know how. What He needed me for, suited me perfectly. I could research. I knew how to research. And... I love researching. Have always, but with the advent of the Internet, enjoyed it even so much more. And now I have had decades of experience in it, with the successes to prove that I know what I'm doing. 

In 2017, God wanted to introduce me to another media of information sharing. I was called to Youtube. My children had a good laugh about that. I registered around 2012, I think, but never used it. I found it boring. But the kids all loved it. So when in 2017, I out of the blue went onto Youtube and started searching for very specific information, they found it hilarious that I was now watching “Youtube video's”. :-)

It had a purpose though. God called many people from around 2005, it seems. Some later, some a bit earlier. To start preparing. Many were called to make video's of the information they themselves gathered. Others did interviews with people to share their knowledge. Some read books or letters and recorded it as video's. Others relayed dreams or visions or prophetic words God gave, in a video. Many sermons were also posted on Youtube. Even some of Pastors who lived long, long ago. Many teachings were shared of His Word, and the deeper meaning behind some verses, in video's.

So I started watching these video's, listening to podcasts, audio books, interviews, etc. in 2017. God told me several times (much later only) that every video I was lead to, was carefully prepared by His Spirit and chosen for me to watch, at a very specific time and everything had an order and a reason. Because everything I was studying, was training. He was the teacher, I the student. He was training and preparing me, overseeing everything. Every tiny detail. Making sure that I was taught and shown everything I needed to know.

I wasn't alone. There are many of us that were called to train in different ways and for different reasons. Many were called to share, others were called to learn. I was called to learn. And I did. From many, many, many people. I listened to thousands upon thousands of video's. Literally. Some I listened to twice or 3 or more times even. Some a few minutes long, others an hour or even longer. I loved learning and has always been open to people teaching me. I watched the video's and listened to interviews, audio books and podcasts for hours and hours and hours on end. In 2017, I was still working part time, but afternoons, evenings, weekends and all school holidays were mine. I spent most of it on my research. Somedays only about 4 or 5 hours, other days easily 16+ hours. I didn't go to bed before 1 or 2am. Weekends or holidays, I would go to bed as the birds started singing around 4 or 5am. I learned and learned and learned. Every waking moment I wasn't at my job or busy with one of the kids or cooking dinner. Though, I usually had my earphones in while cooking dinner!

Quickly, it turned into my new obsession. I learned and studied as fast and as much as I could, about history, theology, mythology, geography, physics, politics, other languages, etc. Many many topics. I soaked it all up. I read the books I was pointed to. I delved into the histories I was shown.

And thus I kept my word. My promise of 2000. Faithfully doing all I can, in the time I was given. Giving it my all, when I was called again. I studied and studied and studied. I refused to take a break. Even when we went on holiday end 2018, I took it all with me and studied some more there. Every day.

Until in March 2021, I was told.... It's almost done. I can stop the incessant studying. I knew I didn't need to prove myself, but God understood I had to feel like I accomplished my promise to Him. To give Him my all, when He calls again. But then in March 2021, I was thus told, I can now slow down. Still study, but it would be more like part time. Keeping an eye on things, but also start scribing. I was given specific things to scribe. 

So I did. It was a nice change. And I felt the peace. I started to relax and slow down my incessant studying. I took some days off. Just to read a normal book for a change. Spend time on myself. Clean the house better instead of always hurrying. Spend more time with the kids again. It was good. Especially for little Peanut. Things normalised and stabilised a bit after a very hectic almost 4 years. It was still very busy, the workload actually increased, I just spend a few hours less on it per week.

In fact, one day in September or October 2021, I was looking at the mountain of projects I had to scribe for God. For His people for one day. And I despaired. I specifically looked at this one project that contained over a thousand pages that had zero editing. No punctuation. No capital letters, paragraphs or sentence structure. And I felt like crying, at the magnitude of it all. And I wished, couldn't someone help?

Just then, my daughter came to me to ask if she could stop working as a school assistant for me. She did it for about 6 months, but it wasn't what she was interested in. She wanted to move on to a few art hobbies before starting her full time studies (in art). I said yes, of course. But as she walked away, I thought to myself... wish she could help me with the scribing, since she will have a bit of free time now.....

But I didn't call her back. It wasn't my project. I wasn't the Leader of it. I wasn't the Project Manager. I had no business appointing people to work for Him. That was His decision, His job. So I prayed and asked: “God, if you put that desire in my heart, that she just chose that moment to come and talk to me, as I was despairing about the mountain of work... if it was all your working... please, guide her. I'm not going to ask her and interfere when it's not your Plan for her. Please, let it come from you. Not me. Let her come to me, then I'll know it's from you.”

A few weeks later, my daughter approached me and asked me. Is there any of the things I'm doing, that she could help me with? Not the school stuff, but the “prophecy stuff” as she called it.

I was flabbergasted. Amazed. Astonished. God heard my prayer? And granted it! It has happened before. But still. Each time it amazes me. Wow. How amazing. One day, she'll realise what a monumental thing happened to her, but I was just so very grateful for the help. 

So I gave her some of the workload and it made a HUGE difference. Middle January when her classes were to start, I told her to rest for a week or 2, and then concentrate full time on her studies for at least the first 6 months or first year. It was too expensive, too hard, too important to screw it up because she was distracted with other work. She wasn't someone that could easily have multiple pots in the fire. She needed focus and clear boundaries. She herself got a confirmation that God approved, she could now concentrate on her studies first for a while.

I continued for another year, until this day, August 2022. Scribing, still studying “part time” and preparing everything I could. But much much more relaxing now. I was even urged in March this year to join the Kindle Unlimited library and get back into reading fantacy regularly. Not just for the enjoyment and relaxation I get from it, but it actually too teaches me some things, which I'll get into later on. Oh, how wonderful this was. To search for a book and get that all exciting feeling. Even if you don't hold the book in your hands, can't smell it and feel the pages with your fingers. Still, it is one of the best feelings in the world for me. So these days, I'd easily take a whole day off and read. And most nights, I only work until about 3am, and then read an hour (or 2!) before going to bed. I then sleep mornings as that's easiest on Monkeyman and Peanut with her insomnia. Then we do schooling.

So this was my life the past 5 years, and especially since I stopped working again about 3 and a half years ago. I'll get more into what the research was about in time, but for now, I just need to touch on one last aspect of the past 5 years, unfortunately. Because it too, needs to stand as part of my testimony. It's the one subject I actually hate talking about, because I hate feeling "weak". It's about my health, recorded here.