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 controllers wanted me to have. There also were flat, round, chalky tasting tablets, the size of Rolaids, that he gave me at times before I was taken away by the Secret Service agents. There were lots of drugs given to me orally and intravenously over the years and I never knew what they were, I simply dissociated and complied when they were administered.
Around this time, my husband announced that he had located a beautiful piece of property in an exclusive area of Agoura, called "Old Agoura." Wanting to share his find with me he drove me down a little one-lane country road that led to a secluded dirt road. We entered a beautiful rural area, dotted with huge oak trees everywhere and there was a beautiful stream that went through the land. Craig introduced me to Aaron Funk who was the owner of one whole side of the street. This stranger announced that he was hand-selecting his neighbors for this exclusive area, and we were to be among them. This property was located less than a block from the entrance of Bob Hope's 2,324-acre Jordan Ranch. Within days, an agreement was struck, and although my husband was fresh out of dental school, and our funds were extremely limited, he made a financial deal with Mr. Funk to purchase the acre of land for $78,000. This close proximity to Bob Hope's property factored into my family's abuse, heavily. (See appendix for map.)
When I was to be used at parties — like at the Queen Mary the night of a supposed dental party we attended where I was later taken away to service Bob Hope and Alan Cranston — first Craig put some liquid drug into my drink and I drank it as instructed, "Drink it like a shooter, one gulp and it's down." Then Craig gave me some drug from a plastic bag that he pulled out of his suit pocket. He took the white powdery substance and wet it on a mirror, put the liquid into a syringe and injected it into my arm. At different times, he gave me shots in a variety of places — my arms, thighs, hip and buttocks. Sometimes he tied a rubber tourniquet very tightly around my arm before he gave me the injection. These injections hurt sometimes, especially the ones in my lower arms near my wrist. Sometimes he would try to use veins there and the shots really stung. My husband was an expert in laying out this drug paraphernalia in preparation for readying me for an event. He knew my arm like a road map and where to hit the good veins.
A man in a suit frequently delivered a supply of the drugs to our house, intended for me. He left it high in the top corner of the garage, taped to the wall. I saw Craig retrieve it from that location on a number of occasions.
My husband also injected me before porn was filmed. They were still using me in porn in my 30's. Craig injected me, just before my use, oftentimes when I was in someone else's car ready to be taken to my assignment. If one of the kids came up at that time, he would yell at them to get back in the house. Sometimes there was a certain smell to certain drugs, almost like sulfur. When porn was filmed in the dental office, "Dr. Ford" injected me or gave me some tablet or wafer to eat, beforehand. I don't know what the deciding factor was as to whether the drug was given interveniously or orally, but I sat in the dental chair and watched as my husband mixed up the powder on the dental tray, liquidized it, placed the liquid into a syringe and then shot it into my arm. Only then could they start the porn. I was always drugged before filming pornography.
As our children grew older, they also were drugged before they were used.
While retrieving some of these drugged memories, I didn't feel any emotions. It was as if I was just a «doll» and not real. Rag doll is a very common program theme among female slaves. Bob used to refer to me as his doll.
It took two years after retrieving these drug memories before I could actually begin to feel the pain and betrayal of this act performed, unconsciously, but still, by my own husband. And, until I had a sufficient amount of memories of our early cross-programming, I could only see my husband as a perpetrator, and not as the victim of the same evil system that he truly was.
In 1977 we decided, or it was decided for us, that it was time to have a second child. I kept saying I wanted to go to Maui to conceive this second child after dental school. Actually, our controllers had planned it all. Craig and I arrived on Maui and he told me to dress for dinner. Being in the mood to celebrate, Craig made us a Hawaiian cocktail in our hotel suite. It tasted like a combination of a Mai Tai and a Pina Colada, and it must have been drugged. I drank the drink as we watched the beautiful Maui sunset from our balcony. Then I went into our bedroom and dressed in a beautiful clingy, long purple dress and we went out as my husband had told me I thought to dinner. Instead of what I thought was going to be a lobster dinner, I ended up staying in a hospital for a few days. In fact, I was flown from the island in a helicopter, with a facemask on through which I was breathing some kind of drug, to a hospital where they did something to me (I believe Kelly was genetically engineered) and I was in this hospital for awhile. The doctors wore green surgical scrubs and did something to me vaginally. I don't know exactly what. They had test tubes, the glass kind that were very long and slender, and they looked at each other over their green facemasks. They didn't speak out loud but their eyes looked very serious. I had an IV in my left arm that was tied to a board with cotton and gauze around it. After that night I became deathly ill, severely nauseated, and I don't really remember much else that happened on that trip.
When Craig finally picked me up after they finished with me, they had me dress once again in my purple dress, and then Craig took me to the awaited lobster dinner. At that time there was a switch in my personality system and I didn't (couldn't) consciously know what had transpired. But that is how I really got pregnant with Kelly. Craig and I weren't allowed to have sex for awhile, but were allowed to as they said, "enjoy it in your mind." Kelly was the classic blonde, blue-eyed prototype, with large cheekbone structure, and all the right things they wanted for her to be sexual. Years later, Sylvester Stallone would comment that Kelly looked to him like a little 'Bo Derek. The UCLA doctors were in correspondence with other doctors on Maui. When I got pregnant with Kelly on Maui in June of 1977, they monitored this conception heavily. When we returned to the mainland, I found out I was actually pregnant. I began spotting and my doctor recommended I go to bed, which I did for a few days until the spotting ceased. Kelly has a personality named Papaya, in honor of, and use for, Hawaiian experiences. As I remembered this experience, in obedience with my programming, my heart started racing and I felt like I was having a heart attack.