Keller's Story

I orginally posted this on my Facebook page and it inspired me to start blogging. It is my hope that Keller's Story may inspire and help others heal from similar experiences.

This story is very long and may be difficult to read. I wish I could say that it has a happy ending, but the truth is that it doesn't really end. Keller's Story is just a single chapter of "Jami's Story" and I hope that my story is not complete yet. Maybe I will have a happy ending, maybe I won't. I do know that, while I have known great pain and sorrow, I have also known intense joy and times of extreme happiness. My story is not so unique or odd; it is a human story, just like everyone else's. So, that said, this is a story not unlike many others. It has humor, joy, pain, and should probably be read with the Kleenex box close by. It is the story of Keller, a wonderful baby who left us way too soon.

I found out that I was pregnant with Keller on January 1, 2009. I did not believe the first test because I had thrown the directions away and wasn't sure what "+" meant (duh), so I tried a digital test. When it instantly came up "pregnant" I was so excited and so scared. I took another digital test the next day (just to make sure that I wasn't dreaming or delusional) and it said "pregnant" as well.

The next 9 months are a blur of doctor's appointments, baby showers, and anxiety attacks. At Keller's 20 week ultrasound, we were informed that he was a boy and that he had an enlarged kidney. I was devastated at the news, but relieved to find out at the 28 week ultrasound that the problem had corrected itself. Other than that scare, it was an easy pregnancy with no major complications until I developed cholestasis (a minor liver condition that causes the skin to itch uncontrollably) in the 38th week. I loved being pregnant - my basketball-sized belly became my identity and I never tired of Keller practicing Karate on my internal organs. I loved having him all to myself and sharing him with people who asked about him constantly. I loved Matt's face when he would feel or see him move. I loved that I was providing Matt with the chance to be a father and that we were giving our parents a grandchild.

One thing that made the whole pregnancy exciting and fun was my husband's reaction to it. Matt loved being an expectant dad. He would tell anyone and everyone who would listen that he was going to have a baby boy in September. He never tired of putting together baby furniture, shopping for baby stuff, and talking about his son. In my third trimester, it became apparent that Keller was completely "Daddy's Boy." He would respond to Matt's voice and touch instantly, like he knew who his daddy was and wanted to connect with him. The look on Matt's face when Keller would push on his hand through my belly is one of my fondest memories of being pregnant.

I was probably the most neurotic expectant mom that you would ever meet. I meticulously prepared for Keller's birth by organizing, cleaning, and getting the house and car ready for him. I insisted that Matt put the car seat in the car 5 weeks before my due date because I wanted to bring him home if I went into labor early. I packed all of our hospital bags, including the diaper bag, and made Matt put them in the car before every appointment in the last 4 weeks of my pregnancy. I washed Keller's laundry, did his dishes, and made his bed long before I felt the first contraction.

As much as I liked being pregnant, I was eager to give birth and meet my little boy. By week 38 he was so heavy and I was itching so bad that I could think of nothing besides giving birth and meeting my son. I was truly ready to be done being pregnant and start being a mother. When I felt contractions on the day of August 31, 2009, I was so excited and so scared. I dealt with the pain for an hour before calling Matt to come home from work. I called my doctor and she said to come to Missoula. I dealt with contractions all the way and was relieved to make it to the hospital.

When we checked in to the labor and delivery ward, they gave me a gown and a belly band. Then they got the monitors going. The nurse tried to find a heartbeat with one of the monitors and when she couldn't, she went and got the charge nurse. She changed monitors but still couldn't find a heartbeat. They called my doctor and started the ultrasound machine. When my doctor got there, she coulldn't find a heartbeat on the ultrasound, so she tried a cord that she attached to Keller's head. She then told me the news, "Jami, your baby is no longer alive. I am so sorry." Then she informed me that I would have to give birth vaginally, like normal, but that they would try to make it as comfortable for me as possible.

What happened next still feels like an out-of-body experience, like I watched it happening to someone else. The anasthesiologist came in and gave me an epidural. It took him 4 tries to get the needle in because my spine was damaged in a car accident 8 years ago. It was incredibly painful and I still have bruises from 4 large needle sticks in the back. After that, I spent the next 8 hours in labor even though I could not feel the contractions. Our parents arrived at the hospital and our moms came in to check on us. They were so sad but glad that Matt and I were holding up ok. I continued to itch from the epidural and residual effects of the cholestasis and spiked fevers and got chilled. There was some concern that I had a virus of some-sort, so I was treated with IV antibiotics.

During the night, we met with a team of incredibly sensitive and caring nurses. One nurse in particular, had secific training on helping parents cope with stillborn and high-risk births. She talked to us about what we wanted for the birth. Did we want to see him be born? Did we want to hold him before or after his bath? Would we want pictures to be taken of him? These questions were difficult to answer, but we made some tough decisions as my labor continued into the morning.

At about 6:30 I was instructed to push. At that moment, I decided that I could not and would not push Keller out. I was not strong or inspired enough to push out my baby who would never cry or breathe a breath of air. In the fog of all of it, I heard Matt's voice saying, "you have to do this Jami. You can do this and you will." Where the strength actually came from, I don't know, but at 7:30 am on September 1, 2009, Keller was literally torn from my body and I became the mother of a stillborn son.

When Keller came out, his umbilical cord was wrapped very tightly around his neck. It was apparent that he likely died from some-sort of cord accident, whether it was pinched or just too tight. The possibility of me having a virus that got into my placenta (as evidenced by my chills and fevers during labor) was discussed as a secondary cause of Keller's death. Matt and I decided to forgo an autopsy because the cause of death was so apparent and we don't have a lot of history of genetic problems in our families. Ultimately we decided that Keller had been through enough and deserved to rest.

The next few hours are a blur. I know that my epidural was removed and I slowly regained use of my legs. We met with a hospital social worker and discussed funeral arrangements and grief counseling. Then Matt and I made a difficult decision. We wanted to see and hold our son, even if it was only for a few moments. We also allowed a photographer from an organization called, Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep, to take some photos of us with our son. Holding Keller was the single most difficult thing I have ever done. It was also the best moment of my life and something that I will remember forever.

Keller was a beautiful baby. He had my hands and feet, but every other feature was Matt. It was like looking into the face of a miniature version of my husband. I can only imagine how it must have felt for Matt to see himself in the face of a baby that he will never feed or rock to sleep.

Following our time with Keller, I was moved to the medical/surgical floor to recover without the sound of mothers pushing and babies crying. On my new floor, I was treated by another team of compassionate and caring nurses who helped me with my basic post-partum needs. Matt and I received visits from several friends and family and answered some phone calls. I received IV medication for a virus and we stayed over night in the hospital. We met with the social worker again to finalize the arrangements and I met with my doctor. She said that she was very sorry, encouraged me to get counseling, and scheduled a follow-uo appointment for 2 weeks later. Then we were discharged from the hospital.

Going home was tough. As I was wheeled out of the hospital, it felt like I was missing something. Somehow I was leaving without my big basketball belly and without my baby. I sobbed uncontrollably all the way home because I couldn't believe that Keller would never be home with us. He would never sleep in the room that I so carefully decorated for him. He would remain in our hearts, but not in our home. Luckily our generous and caring friends, Dan and Becky, went to our home and put all of the baby stuff in Keller's room and shut the door. While it felt somewhat like we had erased him, it made it better to come home and not see his things in every room of the house.

The days that followed were a mixture of intense sadness, moments of joy and remembering, and episodes of mental and emotional numbness. I started to heal physically and took care of myself. One thing that was extremely difficult was 3 days after Keller's birth when my milk came in. I was waiting for Matt to finish his shower when I noticed that I was dripping. While the nurses had warned me that it would happen, I could not believe that God would be so cruel as to make me endure the discomforts of lactation when I didn't have a baby to feed. It is my hope that getting past the physical effects of giving birth will allow my spirit and my emotions to heal faster. Time will tell on that one.

On September 10, just 10 days after his birth, we held a memorial service for Keller. It was a beautiful service, filled with the worship music that he loved and attended by over 150 people who already loved him. Getting through the service was difficult for Matt and I, but we are so glad that we held a public service to remember Keller and to formally say "see you later" to our precious baby. One of the hardest parts of the service was when our friends read letters that we had written to Keller. We poured our hearts into those letters and it was somehow cathartic to share our inner feelings with our friends and family in that way.

On September 12, Matt and I decided that we wanted to look at Keller's pictures that were taken in the hospital. Looking at the photos was extremely difficult for me because in some ways, those photos are really the only tangible evidence I have that Keller was here. My big belly is already going away, people are going back to their everyday lives, and Matt and I are getting stronger every day. Someday we will be able to look at those pictures and feel joy instead of intense pain. It is our hope that someday we may even frame some of the pictures so our friends, family, and future children can look at them anytime they want.

Keller Daniel Eads weighed 7 lbs, 7 oz and was 21 inches long. He will be remembered as an active baby who loved church music and his father's voice. His most active time of day was 11:30 pm and he always seemed to know when I needed a reassuring kick to know that he was okay.

In his short 9 months on earth Keller touched so many lives. So many people were eagerly awaiting his arrival and are brokenhearted that they will never know him. I am so thankful that I had as much time with him as I did. I still can't believe that my precious baby is in Heaven instead of home in my arms. I ache to hold him and feel like I will never be complete again.

People often ask me, because I have known a lot of trauma and pain in my life, if I still believe in God after all that has happened. The truth is yes, I do still believe in God. I believe that God is compassionate and merciful. I believe that God is in control and that we should praise him even in our darkest hours. I do not feel like God has targeted me and given me more pain than an average person. Sometimes I can't help but feel like God has taken a few vacation days where I am concerned, but then I remember that God never promised that we would be free from pain. He does say that he will comfort us in our pain and I believe that he gives us strength to get through even the worst situations.

As Matt and I look to the future, we are certain that we will have more children. We have so much love to give and we want Keller to have siblings. We can never replace our precious Keller, but we can move forward and live lives that would make him proud to call us his parents.

In all of this, I feel the presence of my brother, Jack Daniel Brogan, who died in 1998 at age 16. Jack has alwayys been with me, but I feel his presence most when I am being strong. I hope that Jack is proud of me as well and that he takes good care of his nephew. I will miss both Keller and Jack every day until we are all reunited in Heaven. Between now and then I want to remember them, respect them, and honor them with my actions and words. I know that they are together and watching over all of us.

To my precious baby Keller, I want you to know that being your mom is my greatest joy in life. I loved every minute of our short time together. I will remember you and love you every single day for the rest of my life. I pray that you will always know how much you were loved and wanted. Know that you will never be replaced or forgotten. I love you so much.