PART VII: Babytalk

This is only for a very select group of people. Everyone 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. One South African one was a small group, about 100 people, thus private and intimate.

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. Unfortunately, most people tend to go off in different directions throughout their lives, which is why most friendships don't survive too many decades. Our active numbers dwindled. Down to 80, 70, 60.... It became a little bit of a sad place. So I too, started to “wean” myself off of it.

Days would pass where I wouldn't speak up on the forum at all. Then later, it would be that weeks goes by. People noticed I was quiet and asked me about it, because I was one of the moderators and used to be a very prolific daily chatterbox.

During that time, I was dealing with a lot of other things in my life too like extended family problems that I rarely discussed. We were also still in the midst of having three special needs children. With all that that entails. We were asked to make an appointment with a geneticist. So it wasn't nothing, or imaginary, or one or 2 issues. It was complex and multi-disciplinary.

At the same time, we were facing another horrendous process with my son, who was diagnosed with heart disease age 5. Once he was operated successfully for it, they realised more was wrong and we were trying to find the cause for another few years. It ended up being electrical damage to the heart, probably from the initial heart problem. At that point though we were still searching for that answer. Having had a mother that died from heart failure didn't make it any easier on me. So I was quite stressed out.

When someone on the Babytalk group asked me again why I was so quiet, I realised I haven't posted for over a month and I felt very guilty. I was reluctant to reply at first. 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 and understood and valued their care for me. So I thought. For one last time, I'll answer in full detail. All that's happening, the hanging diagnoses over our head and our ongoing search for answers.

It blew up in my face. One person got fed up with our never ending new medical issues cropping up. She made some scathing remarks on Facebook (where I wasn't active).

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 and felt like I was the cause. It was never, ever my intention. I didn't know how to fix it. I begged, pleaded, apologised, 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 many 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. 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 time. She basically embodied a certain small group's feelings, which is why I remember it. I think she was the “face”, their “spokesperson” for all that felt like her.

They believed, and she thus accused me of having Munchhausen's by Proxy and said I needed urgent psychiatric help before I caused more harm to my children. That's where a mother inflicts deliberate illness or harm on her children and then subject them to unnecessary medications, hospital stays and operations, tests and procedures, because she craves attention from doctors and nurses.

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. As a family, we have a list longer than my arm of the different things we have been diagnosed with during the past 25 years, things like auto-immune diseases, heart defects, autism, tethered cord, epilepsy, hypermobility, etc. It's clear that we're not the typical family, even though we live typical lives.

Then they accused me of that. That all of those diagnoses were basically all “in my head” or worse, “caused by me”. 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. We hate, really hate that our children have any medical problem and would offer up much to change it.

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. After some tests, I stayed with them, watching them whimper in their sleep from the trauma they experienced that day. Silently crying with them and asking why, God? Why these innocent, beautiful, precious babies of mine.

I never enjoyed any second of it. I disliked all of it. Except the positive results my children got from being diagnosed and treated. 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 or understood 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. But still, fear took hold of my heart. What if one of these people, who seemed to dislike me so much now, phone Childcare? Believing they have the child's best interest at heart. One phone call 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. They made the heavy burden I carried, doubled in weight. It took me at least a year to stop fearing them and what they'd do.

The problem wasn't that they noticed I was drowning in stress and worry, or that things were going haywire on my side. But that they diagnosed me, without any true understanding of all the facts, and thus falsely accused me.

I do not and never wished any ill on any of my children. And I never will. Never.

What I discussed in that last ill-fated post on the forum, was confirmed and diagnosed by several specialists since in the following 3 years, and we received the help we needed for it. If anyone would like to see proof of this, we have all the reports that the school requested the doctors and specialists compile. Because yes, some conditions needed school concessions and special treatment for my children. So it's all black on white and signed.

None of my children was thus ever harmed by anything we did. Quite the opposite. It helped. To this day they're grateful for all we've done to help them. The tests, the appointments, the operations, the therapies. It all brought them to a point where they can look back with gratefulness so that they could have a full and fairly normal life today. They only ever expresses profound gratitude. To us, to the doctors, therapists and nurses, and most especially, to God.

So why this post, here, now, and so publicly? 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 has to be included. For healing for myself probably, but maybe also to reach others in similar situations.

And to prove that it was all about God's work in our lives. To give Him the honour.

My eldest son was diagnosed with epilepsy at age 5. The type he has is almost always only diagnosed after age 12, by which time it then present much more serious.

My daughter was diagnosed with a physical, congenital defect age 5 (which lead to more diagnoses by age 7). About 1 in a million people are born with this condition.

Our third child was diagnosed with pulmonary hypertension, an extremely rare disease, at guess what...… age 5. This usually lead to death, except in a handful of cases where it is secondary and not primary, of which he was one.

The ages it started for each child was 555. The number for God's mercy, in triple format. Because that's what God showed me. It was all His doing. To show HIS mercy to and through our family, for HIS purposes that will all be revealed later. It was all God.

Guess when I was called through my very first prophetic dream by God?

You guessed it. Age 5.

Coincidence? No. God!

He marked me and my oldest 3 children by the mark of His mercy.

Even though I greatly rejoice in His Plan for my family, which He has since revealed in bits and pieces to all 6 of us through dreams and visions, 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 ostracized for standing by me. I can only pray that God will remember their acts of love and kindness and support. Because His Word declares that what you've done to one of His Children, you've done it to Jesus Christ Himself.

So what about our 4^th child?

Apart from the family Gilbert's disease, GERD and her father's migraines, she's perfectly healthy and normal. Age 5 came and went with absolutely no problems. A normal, happy and extremely healthy little girl that has never even seen a GP in her whole life so far. I don't think my GP of almost 30 years even remember I have a fourth child, as he only ever see the eldest 3.

Almost as if God completed the process after 3 cycles. 5 and 5 and 5. Triple mercy and then poured that mercy out on the youngest to confirm His Plan. For our family, and our destiny.

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

It's done now. Water under the bridge. I've forgiven all. I don't wish harm on anyone. Quite the opposite. I hope they all lived peaceful and happy lives, and will continue to do so. That God will bless them and their children with health, love and safety through the times coming soon onto this world.

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

I want to thank you. I have and always will cherish those years in my heart. I still miss you guys in some corner of my heart. Because you were all special. Brought together by a Higher Hand. 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 diagnosis, and through her operation. For the gifts you sent her and even to my other children as well. 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 showed. I will always love each and every one of you and remember the GOOD that came from it all.

A special thank you for those that shared life 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 when I did. It was what was required of me at that point, for my journey with God for the times to come. 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

When I was age 5, 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?

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. I was always too small, too slow, too thin, too weak physically, too this or too that. So being told I'm imagining things and there's nothing special about my dream, hit me hard. My mom that was present, didn't deny it.

But deep inside, I knew this dream wasn't just a normal dream (those I still got every night). This dream was special. I wasn't the one initiating it. I didn't even want it, because it was terrifying. So repeatedly dreaming the same scary nightmare about lions who want to eat me, is not something that I would “make up” or wish for. Being told I was imagining it, made me realise.... I could not share it any more. They don't believe me. And I cannot let anyone taint this with their unbelief.

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 around the same age as the dream, 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. 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 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 (until now). Not even my mother.

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 and decided to have a family a few years later. 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, 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. 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. I was sitting at my computer, typing something, when I just "felt" the spark. The connection. It was like a little light flashed, but in the spirit.  I immediately knew what just happened and I was amazed. 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 years before. 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 God gave me some information about my mother. 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 with this physical life 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 whole 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.

Were 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.

Were 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 a condition that could interfere with pregnancy and health, and I knew where to go for answers. I joined forums 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. And the newest research on it was that a smaller one is much better. 

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 doctors can err. 

The people in the forums were completely shocked that this doctor wanted to do such a big operation 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 diagnostic smaller operation on me, without treating the condition as per procedure.

I used “Doctor Google” and they proved the 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. It truly was horrifying in his opinion, and he urged me to rather try either the smaller operation or some medicinal treatments. After research and following his recommendation, I started the injections. The rest is history as they say.

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 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 make a decision together.

Are other people as thorough? Maybe not, since not everyone has the time for it. 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. 

So I learned how to research during those days after I was diagnosed. From there it was a short step to do the same with my eldest son's diagnoses in 2006. Quickly I found moms of children with the same condition. I joined forums and learned of the different types there is. 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 and others tests. It was extremely valuable. 

Then Boeboe happened, and my research started really in earnest when she was 5 in 2009 and we realised she had a congenital defect but the doctors were stumped as to the cause or treatment. In the end I took my research to the Pead around 2010, who quickly googled it herself, and agreed. Yes. It fit perfectly. With her encouragement, we ended up finding the surgeon that operated on my daughter. She also worked WITH that doctor as they were in the same hospital, and visited Boeboe every day during her stay in hospital afterwards. 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 that condition. I downloaded books on anatomy. 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 certain that's what my daughter has, and that I had 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 successfully 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. Later on, I was to use this training in practising sessions with others, on the "battlefield" of Twitter.

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 until this day. Scribing, still studying “part time” and preparing everything I could. But much much more relaxing now. I was even urged a few years ago 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 taught me some things as well, 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.

After the change from only studying, I not only had to scribe, collect, store and organise data, but also had to start practising what I learned. As mentioned, most of this took place on Twitter/X. And other social media, as well as in real life. The first part of studying was 3.5 years long. The 2nd part of studying and being tested on that studies, took another 3.5 years. And recently, God informed me, that it will now change again as I approach the end of that second 3.5 years. I do not know what it will be, but it sounds like a larger change than what happened between the first to the second 3.5 years.

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 8 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.

PART XII: My Health

I need to interject this part here, as it's also part of my testimony. I need to point to all the different areas God worked in, to demonstrate how He takes care of every little thing. In His time. How He works all things together for a GOOD outcome in every individual Child of His's life. The story of my health isn't finished yet, so I'm just laying the groundwork here, for people to see where the eventual road lead. For them to understand, and have hope.

When I was 13 years old, I started to get severe stomach aches and cramping and pain. My parents ignored it. In those days, you had to either loose a foot, turn blue or die to be taken to a doctor. (Joking, but you get the point). The pains started only as short bouts monthly. Later weekly and eventually daily. Age 16, I fainted from the pain in class one day. I was out for several minutes, and thus my dad took me to the doctor, who said “low blood pressure” and “hormones”. Their answers ranged from hormones to blood pressure and stress in those days for anything they actually “did not know”. They could rarely admit “I don't know”.

Age 19 the tummy aches got so bad, my mom took me to a Gastro-enterologist, who diagnosed Spastic Colon or IBS. None of the meds he prescribed helped much. I found the only thing that truly did, was to have a hot water bottle on my tummy. So I basically just lived with the pain and controlled it best I could with heat. Everyone told me for IBS I had to “calm down”. That “stress” causes it. Yeah right. (Turned out, they were very very wrong. Just like I tried to tell them, but were never believed. <*eye roll*>)

Since my teenage years, I also struggled with anemia. It's something many endometrosis sufferers have to deal with, so nobody really took it very seriously. I were regularly given 3 or 6 months of iron supplementation. Sometimes even a whole year.

Then after Peanut's birth, things took a turn for the worst. The fainting and pain increased. Then, it started in my hands. I struggled to use my fingers, bend my knees or walk or I'd feel pain in my hip joints, ankles, etc.

Around the end of 2014, I started craving lettuce. It became so bad, that I ate between half a head and a full head every day. Then popcorn as well. I would eat a bowl of popcorn and a head of lettuce every day, plus at least 1 meal a day. A very very strange diet. So I knew something was terribly wrong, but I couldn't stop. I was later diagnosed with Pica by the internist, and told I was “lucky” that it was lettuce I crave. Most people in my position craved the dust around their car tires, ground, even rocks or tree bark or plants. Others craved ice.

When this continued for 6 months, and I started to experience severe weakness in my arms, unable to lift them above my head to hang washing without extreme pain and effort I went to the doctor. I was diagnosed with such severe anemia, that he sent me straight to the hospital. Not only were my iron low and stores depleted, but I had a hemoglobin level of 6. I was given a blood transfusion.

Only for the anemia to reappear later the year. This continued an up and down road of iron infusion (I since the first always adamantly refuse to get more blood, it made me feel too ill), just to be back to dangerously low levels within 6 months. So eventually, I was admitted into hospital again. I think it may have been in 2017, I can't remember for sure. But I believe it was shortly before my research started up again that year. So around beginning September 2017.

This time I spent a whole week in hospital. :-( It was hard. Lonely. Depressing. They ran many tests that week. I also had a bone marrow biopsy, that was horrific. They assumed I must have leukemia, but the results showed not so. I had severe malformation of red blood cells, and extremely limited numbers, but not cancer. They were puzzled. I had many blood tests. An iron absorption test. A colonoscopy and a gastroscopy. Everything (except the blood cell problem and some immune system markers) were normal.

They were flabbergasted. I had sonar’s and scans and medications and transfusion. They just couldn't find the problem. So I was referred to a rheumatologist, who said she think it may be rheumatoid arthritis. But she wasn't 100% sure as I didn't present with all the symptoms. I was put on medication which didn't help.

So then she referred me to a new Gastro-Enterologist with a long letter to explain how she believes it's an autoimmune disease, but not rheumatoid arthritis or Lupus, and he has to help the search. Around May 2018, I was given a little capsule containing a camera that takes pictures. Many pictures per second, and send it to a small computer strapped to the body, very similar to a holter EKG. It cost R20 000 for that one “pill”. That's about $1200. Fortunately, we had a medical aid (insurance) that paid most of it.

It was invaluable. It took thousands of pictures as it travelled down the throat, then into the stomach, and then through the small intestines down into the colon, and eventually get expelled. All the while sending the pictures it took to the little computer. From there, the doctor downloads it and look through it on his computer.

He didn't have to search. It was quite easy to see. My throat and stomach were red like always, from the GERD, but nothing too serious. The beginning of the small intestine was just a blur. Instead of 3 hours, the pill bypassed that area within 17 minutes. He said that's where many nutrients were taken up, which now explained my severe weight problem all my life. I got about a tenth from my food when it passed there than what other people got from theirs. And then, once the camera pill entered the long, middle part of the intestines, he saw the multitude of tiny, bleeding, inflamed sores.

After 30 years of suffering with stomach ache I was finally diagnosed. It was never IBS or Irritable bowel syndrome or stress related or any such stupid thing. I had Chrons. An autoimmune disease. Something damaged the intestine (probably during my early childhood years) and the body started to see it as an invader. Attacking the lining of the small intestine over and over and over again. All the time. Every day I had new wounds. And every day the old ones would just continuously bleed and ache.

So of course, this is not “normal” average Chrons. (Grrr.) Most people get the inflamed sores in their colon which is rather “easily” diagnosed through a colonoscopy, which is why I had so many of those in my life. My colon was always perfectly normal. But the small intestine were riddled with the sores. It was severe. It was bad. It was all over. From top to bottom. 6 meters of inflamed little sores. They couldn't operate. When there's a patch of it in the small intestines, they usually operate and cut that patch out. They literally cut a piece of the small intestine out, because 6m is more than enough to loose a few bits here and there. But mine literally had sores from the top all the way to the bottom. They couldn't take out the whole small bowel. Nobody could live without it completely. So there wasn't much they could do for me. I had answers, finally, but basically it meant nothing. Just understanding and acceptance. Which still was worth it all. To know why I had tummy ache for 30 years, was still valuable. To know that everyone who mocked me about it, or who said I should “calm down and stress less” were wrong, was invaluable. To know I wasn't lying (as I was accused of as a child) or imagining the pain (to gain sympathy or something).

I was put on steroids and anti-inflammatories and such meds for a year. And other meds there after for a few more years. It made no difference to either the pain, nor the continuous blood loss, causing the severe anemia. Every 6 months my HB still falls to about a 7, and I get a few packets of iron IV. I'm not allowed oral iron any more, as the doctor explained it's part of the problem. All the normal “solutions” actually exacerbated things for me.

I hate what this disease has done to me. To my family. With such anemia, I have scaled down a LOT since around 2015. As I just couldn't cope with all normal tasks of daily life any more. From about 2019 it got really, really bad. Chrons is an autoimmune disease, and about 30% is unlucky enough to also have the joints involved. Of course I'm one of those “lucky” third. I have stiffness and aches and pains in all my small and large joints, and the markers are in my blood. Which is why the rheumatologist at first thought it might be rheumatoid arthritis. So it's basically Chrons with a side of rheumatoid arthritis thrown in. And no medication that helps, except ibuprofen, which I do take at times, but refuse to as a daily medication. Recently the joints in my neck has become involved, which is really really awful, as it causes pain to the adjacent nerves which in turn causes migraine-like headaches. :-( I knew this would be a slow decline disease, but I hoped it would only truly decline once I'm a little older and my “baby” is out of school at least. And I never realised how hard it can be to just accept a new symptom you have to “live with”. Just add another one, why not? What does it matter when you have daily tummy ache, pain in the hands and hips, to add a daily headache as well?! :-( At least the research I then got into, kept my mind busy, and did not need a healthy body really. I could just sit or relax somewhere, while doing my studying.

I don't know who caught onto the date of the year in which I was diagnosed. Again. The year 2018. So right before my research started in Sep 2017, I was in hospital. And this lead to eventually being diagnosed around May 2018. One day, this will turn out to be extremely significant dates, but suffice it to say that 2018 was also the year Boeboe was being bullied, Peanut was unhappy, Monkeyman's tiredness worsened, and end of that year, I also lost my job, and started homeschooling them all. 2018. Such a significant year. It's truly impossible not to see God's Hand in all of it.

Continuing in the next part here.