continued working as a dental assistant until I went into labor and gave birth to our first child, Kevin Craig Ford, on October 19, 1975.
Late at night, as my labor progressed, we were met at the hospital by a group of anxious hospital staff. Craig phoned ahead alerting them that Susan Ford was on her way to the hospital. They thought I was Susan Ford, the President's daughter. I guess this was understandable due to the fact that Nixon had stepped down and Gerald Ford was now President. They thought I might have twins, since I was so huge, but after an intense natural childbirth, Kevin was born and was immediately taken away from me for what seemed like a very long time. They told me it was standard procedure despite the fact that there were no complications. But later, suited men came into my hospital room. One man took a syringe and some type of drug out of his briefcase and, while he was readying the injection for me, I began screaming, 'Where's my baby? Where's my husband? What did you do with my baby?'
As he injected a drug into my arm, he said in a calm, emotionless voice, 'You see me but you don't see me. You can't see. You can't see me.' Waiting a moment for the drug to take effect, he said, 'You need to calm down. just calm down. down. down. down. down… one …two…three…going down …deeper now …going down. You're in the well, next to hell, and everything that happens there, oh well, or is it oh hell? You're there.'
Taking my pulse, he continued, 'This is our baby. Don't ever forget, it belongs to us. You will hand him over when cued. You will not react. You will simply hand him over, like he is a sack of groceries. Do you understand? Nod your head if you understand.'
I nodded.
'Good, very good. This way no one will have to get hurt, we don't want that do we?'
I shook my head no. I felt very drugged.
'Good,' the man said hypnotically. 'Bad things happen if you don't obey. Very bad things.'
I felt very sick, very tired, and very terrified. I couldn't breathe, I was too scared. 'They'll take my baby,' I thought, terrified beyond words. Frantically I worried, 'Who will watch my baby, what are they doing to him? Help, I can't get help. No one can hear. I can't talk, I can't tell. THIS IS hell!' Afterwards, of course, I couldn't recall or think about any of this traumatic event.
After a brief hospital stay, Craig and I brought Kevin home and began trying to parent this baby who would not suckle at my breast and cried non-stop.
I was programmed not to lock the doors to our home in Agoura and often men in suits let themselves into our house. They always had guns and sometimes a knife. These men usually came in threes — one to handle and torture my baby, one to torture me, and one to guard the door. The men said they had a 'little treat for the baby.' They went to Kevin's room and took him out of his crib, where he was sleeping. They held Kevin in front of me and threatened me, with a gun pointed to my temple. They said that if I didn't cooperate they would cut his penis off, or slit his throat. At times they would cut him and make him bleed. Watching helplessly, as they hurt my baby, was the single worst nightmarish feeling and experience. I wanted my husband to help me. I wanted him to protect us, but he never did. Now, I understand that he never could.
The men did different things each time they came to harass us. At times they took Kevin into another room and while they had him, another man restrained me. I stood silently and helplessly while I tried to listen to what was happening to my baby. The agonizing silence was intensely painful and was always followed, after what seemed like forever, with the screams of a crying baby in excruciating pain. God, the screams and the torturous crying were nearly unbearable to listen to. I was so helpless. I could not help myself, nor could I help my son. Another time they asked me if I wanted to see a 'blue baby' and then one of them proceeded to stick his thumb down my baby's throat until he turned blue. The lead man always said that if I cooperated and did a better job, they would not have to subject my son to this. But they tortured us no matter how well I did my job.
And, it is said that America is the land of the free and home of the brave. Where oh where have we strayed, so far from the ideals set forth for this country?
One day my infant son was swinging, peacefully sound asleep in his wind-up swing, when they came. They threw a glass of water into Kevin's face to wake him up. He cried and the suited man picked him up and carried him around the side of the garage out of my sight. Dying inside, I waited anxiously, hoping they wouldn't hurt him again. After the silence came the horrifying crying and screams. The suited man carried him back, his baby bootie was off and blood was dripping all over. Holding a razor blade up to me, he said, 'Solve this problem my little cutie.' He handed me my screaming son, who was dripping with blood. When they left, I took Kevin into the house and sat with him on the couch, sobbing, rocking him, and trying to stop the bleeding with a towel I wrapped around his little foot. He cried so hard that he was sweating and sniffling, gasping for air and sobbed himself to sleep.
Our neighbor, Ron Peters, was one of Governor Ronald Reagan's bodyguards. He was usually around when I was used with Reagan in California, but didn't appear to be the lead man. I never knew when these men would barge into my home. Sometimes they even arrived in the middle of the night. When this occurred, I was programmed to walk to the front door and open it, and the men in suits would push their way in. They often pushed me into Kevin's room and closed the door. Craig always slept and never woke up to protect us. It was always the same torture, horror and threats to both my baby and me, and when they were finished they would leave. These hellacious experiences happened over and over and over again. At times, in those early years, there were instructions given over the phone in the middle of the night, but later on there was programming done that paired tones on the phone with different instructions. I responded robotically to the different tones I heard on the phone. A programmed part of me knew the instructions that matched the tones and knew just what they meant and how to respond.
As my programming dictated, I robotically delivered my baby to my father's welding shop where I handed him over, probably for further trauma programming, and left.
This kind of trauma, tied to my maternal instinct, was enough to keep all the programming intact. It kept hidden the awareness of my use in high security work for the government and other secret criminal activities I was involved in without my knowledge, consent, or awareness. In my conscious waking state as well as my sleeping hours, I was unable to think about what was happening to me and my family, but after Kevin was born I began to have excruciating migraine headaches. I also had stomachaches, colitis and constant pain in my female organs. My body was expressing what I could not.
My husband graduated from dental school and immediately set up a dental practice on Topanga Canyon Boulevard in Woodland Hills. I continued to work out of our house, doing dental lab work, so I could stay at home with our baby. I also began working part-time at Craig's office. During the hours I worked away from home, Kevin was left at a babysitter's house in the old neighborhood where I grew up in Woodland Hills. When he was out of diapers he filled a long-awaited slot at Little Oaks Preschool, in Thousand Oaks, California, where he, and later, the rest of my children were further ritually abused. The fact that I had put my baby on a preschool waiting list just weeks after he was born was not a detail I could reflect on. Nor, did the fact that I left him at the home of this babysitter who gave me a very dark, gnawing eerie feeling that wouldn't go away, ever hit me mentally. I could not, due to the mind control I was under, consciously think about any of this.
Each year my husband and I would attend the American Dental Association's annual convention, which was often held in Anaheim, California. In addition to the regular dental convention agenda, I was programmed to switch and then slip off to side rooms where I presented the latest in mind control technology for the dentists who wanted to own the best assistants money could buy, complete with all the latest enhancements available. Then at night we went to Disneyland. On several of these nights the park was closed to the public at large, in order to entertain the dentists and their families. Our controllers never missed an opportunity to combine functions so that they could accomplish two or more things at once. Of course, at Disneyland my family and I were reprogrammed and reconditioned in order to preserve our high level programming. Nothing was ever what it seemed and often there was an alternate agenda, a parallel reality going on at the same time as a publicly acceptable event.
Back in Agoura, there were nights I was triggered to walk out of our home on Valley Heights Drive to the waiting car of Secret Service agents or other men in suits in order to be flown to many different destinations. Clothes were always provided and were kept separate from those I wore at home, lest I gain access to my memory by the sight of clothing I had worn on a 'government mission.'
My husband's dental training came in handy, as he was adept at injecting my arm with drugs that our
