Our daughter, Kelly Suzanne Ford was born on February 23, 1978, and from then on Kevin wasn't always the main focus of the torturous trauma — Kelly was.

The torture and trauma began right after her birth. While we were still in Valley Presbyterian Hospital in Van Nuys, California, three men in suits came into the hospital room and closed the door. They took my new baby girl out of her bassinet, held her up and put a pistol to her head. Another man put a gun to my head and the third man stood guard at the hospital room door. The man holding the gun to my head said, "If you fail to follow our instructions, just one time…" he clicked the gun, but nothing happened, "we will just have to kill this precious little one." Then the man holding Kelly took a wad of Kleenex off my hospital tray, wadded it up and put it into the glass of water on my tray in order to wet it. He held my precious baby girl faced downward and forced the wad of wet Kleenex into her mouth, interfering with her ability to breathe.

With a gun to my head, I watched in absolute horror and terror, as my baby girl choked and gagged and then went limp in the man's arms. I thought she was dead. Then he said, "That's all it takes. It's as simple and easy as that." He took Kelly into the bathroom and did something to revive her because she was breathing again, and began crying loudly. The man literally threw her into my arms and said, "Mama, your baby is crying, maybe she's hungry." Then, they forced me to breastfeed her in front of them while they watched and then they left. The hospital nurse never knew they were there and since I was programmed, I was unable to think or remember it had happened so that I could get help. That was one of Kelly's first life experiences — one of her first birth traumas.

As an aside, I will share with you the reader, that as I sought recovery and understanding of what was wrong with me, I attended groups for people suffering with Multiple Personality Disorder. It was an enlightening time of new understanding as I met and shared with other Multiples, some who were RN's, intensive care nurses and therapists also attempting to heal. It leads me to wonder if some of the nurses and doctors in the hospital who attended the birth of my children were themselves programmed and controlled? In one particular Christian group I attended for Multiples who had been ritually abused, in the opening prayer, an MPD'd, ritually abused nurse prayed for the Lord to heal one of us so we could expose this atrocity and get help for the others. As she made her request, I knew it would be me that would heal and go for help. I healed as fast as I could, but help didn't come as quickly as I would have liked.

When Kelly turned three months old, our family moved into a large doublewide portable home on the recently purchased Chesebro Road property in Old Agoura, where we began life as «chosen» neighbors. Soon we had an architect draw up plans to build a large two-story home. The open, undeveloped area provided access to our family in many ways. Aaron Funk moved away and we were left on the street with only one neighbor. Helicopters could land in the adjacent area, and Bob Hope's Jordan Ranch would later be used for countless encounters; none of them were pleasant.

Our lives went on and, as programmed, I dutifully delivered my little daughter to Point Mugu Naval Weapons Base in California where military men took her from my arms wrapped in a beautiful pink blanket my mother knit for her. They kept her for a long while and then brought her back out to me. Sometimes when they needed to have one of my children for programming I was instructed to park my car on Las Virgenes Road, just past Agoura Road, and the men in suits picked us up and drove us the rest of the way to Point Mugu.

As Kelly grew a little older, at around age two our programmers laid her by my side on a gurney where we were both hooked up to sensors all over our bodies — head, chest, and pulse points (wrist and neck artery), in order to monitor something. What exactly, I don't know. The men working on us wore surgical greens so I assumed they were doctors. Kelly and I were drugged and totally out of it. I watched as my little baby daughter's eyes rolled up in her head like she was convulsing. Sometimes they put a mask over our faces to further drug us or injected drugs into our forearms and sometimes there was even an IV bottle left to drip for us both. There was one IV bottle, with the tubing split into two, one for me and one for Kelly. They also hooked us up to sounds delivered through earphones and often added bright lights. It felt like they programmed Kelly and I through sound and light by hooking us both up to wires. It seemed like we were getting a blood transfusion, but we were connected to wires instead of tubes and there was no blood.

There were also water experiments. They put me into a metal ball with a door and plunged me into the water, spun it and immersed it deeply. It was hard to tell what was going on from my position inside. It was very dark and very confining. I just pretended I was somewhere on the beach until it was over. If I had to guess, I would say they were doing experiments and research on the mind and the brain. Sometimes we were encapsulated and were weightless. There were all different sorts of chairs; some were for electroshock. One had a headrest with a band on it and straps for our wrists and straps for our ankles. They would zap me, and Kelly would be in the same kind of chair facing me and then they would zap her. It was horrific to watch her being tortured. They would have to almost carry her off when it was through because she was so out of it. The electoshock was usually the last thing they did. But before the electroshock, sometimes we were subjected to virtual reality machines, like moving rides we entered with a video screen showing pictures with lights and sound. After we were in it for awhile, they took us out and tested us with EEG and EKG equipment and asked us to fill out questionnaires, or they would ask us to write down the answers to questions they casually wrote down. The questions were related to what we had just seen, how we experienced it, and how we felt or there were questions about different personalities within us; maybe they were checking our programming or our inner systems.

There were other machines we entered where the floor tilted while our feet were tied down and we'd lean over, and sometimes there were mirrors where we looked distorted. There was lots of virtual reality equipment. One apparatus was a helmet with front eyeglasses attached with wires all over. They placed it on me and I saw a visual of lightening striking the top of my head while I was feeling electroshock to the top of my head. Then I heard the words, "You feel no pain. Hit by a bolt of lightning yet you feel no pain." After all this they tested me neurologically to see if I could walk, touch my nose, etc. Once I was tied inside a big roller and, with hands and feet tied spread eagle, they spun it real fast and then took me out. Kelly wasn't always there, but she was present more often than I care to remember. I remember the two of us laying next to each other on the gurney with towels over our bodies, IV's in our arms, with glasses and goggles on and we were totally drugged. There was a dolphin tank at Point Mugu, with an underwater window where they could watch as we swam with the dolphins. Swimming with the dolphins usually signaled the end of it. After that, we were returned to our car that was parked somewhere in Agoura or in the canyon.

I thought United States military officials were supposed to be in service to protect and defend their country and its citizens. Where are the high ranking men of honor that protect and defend the women and children in this country? What has gone wrong?

Soon after I had finished breastfeeding Kelly in 1979, I continued to have severe pain in my female reproductive organs that no one seemed to be able to help me with or understand the origin of. Dr. Galloway, the doctor that delivered Kelly, admitted me to Valley Presbyterian Hospital in Van Nuys, California. Late in the day I was assigned a hospital bed and understood that my doctor had ordered a D & C for me. He explained that this was standard operating procedure.