Good bye itchies... and welcome Tanner Warren!

In my last post, I described the return of intrahepatic cholestasis of pregnancy (ICP), the devastating medical condition that I believe contributed to the loss of my son, Keller. This condition causes intense itching of the skin, mostly on the hands and feet, that is often worse at night. ICP is caused by a rise in bile acids and liver enzymes in the bloodstream, that is generally attributed to pregnancy hormones negatively impacting the function of the liver.

I wish I could say that my battle with ICP ended shortly after I posted my last entry, but the truth is that it got steadily worse. As the weeks wore on, my skin itched so badly that I developed scabs and scars from tearing my skin off with my fingernails. My doctor completed a series of steroid shots, which helped for a few days. Then I started itching very badly before the Labor Day weekend, so my doctor prescribed some oral steroids, which also worked for a few days. Following Labor Day, the itching got so intense that I could no longer sleep and had become an emotional mess.

On Monday, September 13, I went to my doctor and expressed to him that I couldn't stand the itching any longer. The itching, combined with the intense worry that something was happening to my baby, had become unbearable. I tried to express to my doctor that I wasn't merely uncomfortable; I was experiencing a major medical problem that could have devastating effects. Thankfully my doctor, while still skeptical, took me seriously. He expressed that he still wanted me to deliver at 37 weeks (I was almost 36), but he was willing to move up my induction if an amniocentesis showed that Tanner's lungs were mature. I agreed to the procedure because the thought of waiting 9 more days was more than I could handle.

When my doctor attempted the amniocentesis, Tanner started thrashing around in my womb. He attempted to kick the needle and would not hold still. My doctor decided that it was too risky to complete the procedure and we agreed to try something else. The doctor did an ultrasound that showed that Tanner was a good size for 36 weeks, which gave us hope. Then I was checked and found to be 2 cm dilated, which was also a good sign. My doctor decided to take a major chance and go with his gut feeling. We were scheduled for an induction on that Wednesday, September 15, 2010.

During the day of my induction, my doctor showed me the results of my liver function test that had been drawn that morning. He pointed out that the normal range for liver enzymes is 20 to 30. On the morning that I was induced, my liver function was 516, nearly 20 times the normal amount. Later, I would find out that my bile acid count was 101. The normal range for bile acids is less than 10 and the risk of stillbirth goes up significantly when bile acids are over 40. I had 10 times the normal amount of bile acids and 2.5 times the level that is associated with stillbirth. I couldn't believe it. While the blood test results were startling and somewhat disturbing, they gave credibility to me and reinforced my doctor's gut feeling to move up the induction. In some ways, I think the lab results also spooked all of us because they showed how close we came to potentially losing Tanner.

The induction itself was pretty textbook: I checked in at 7 am, my water was broken at 1:00 pm, I received periodic increases of Pitocin all day, got my epidural at 7:00 pm, and delivered Tanner at 8:18 pm. I pushed for 15 minutes and Tanner was born with no complications. I received a few stitches and waited to hold my baby.

Tanner did not look well when he came out, nor did he cry like I had hoped he would. Because he was so premature, he was covered in a yellowish waxy substance and had a lot of mucous that prevented him from crying. While they were cleaning him off, he did let out a loud squeak, which brought Matt and I to tears. The pediatrician took Tanner to the NICU to finish cleaning him off and get his IV started. She did bring him back to me a few times so I could hold him.

Later that night, Matt and I went to the NICU to look at Tanner. He was beautiful. I can't adequately describe the flood of emotions that I felt when looking at him that night. I couldn't believe that he had actually made it through the pregnancy and birth. Suddenly, I felt the full weight of everything that Tanner and I had overcome; the efforts to get pregnant, the uncertainty of a second pregnancy so soon after the first, and having my worst fear realized when my ICP returned. When I looked at Tanner, I saw a tiny baby who, with the help of competent doctors and supportive friends and family, had already beaten the odds.

Even though Tanner was hooked up to all kinds of machines, they didn't scare me at all. Deep-down, I knew that Tanner was perfectly healthy and that he wouldn't stay in the hospital for very long. Slowly, the medical staff removed the machines, pronounced Tanner to be perfectly healthy, and discharged him just 48 hours after he was born.

Bringing Tanner home felt incredible. In a lot of ways, it seems like Tanner has always been a member of our household. I know that having a baby is supposed to be a huge, earth shattering event, but honestly, it feels like the most normal and natural thing for us. Sure, having a new baby at home is an adjustment, but we know that we are ready to be good parents to our new addition.

Mentally, I am doing really well for the most part. I still have my tough days when I think about Keller and everything that my little family has endured. Sometimes, I look back at the last two years and feel angry because I now know that I can beat ICP with the right medical assistance. On my worst days, I look at Tanner and think to myself, If I had been listened to during my pregnancy with Keller, I could have them both. I know it sounds selfish and ungrateful to long for two living sons instead of being happy with one, but I gave birth to two. Having two children a year and 14 days apart would have been chaos, but I honestly believe that Matt and I could have handled it.

On most days, I have a positive outlook. Tanner is a healthy, happy baby. Matt is a phenomenal father. Our friends and family have poured out love and support in countless ways. We have been so blessed and life really is good. God has provided for and healed us beyond our expectations. The Eads family continues to move forward, one step at a time.

Tanner's birth is symbolic in a lot of ways. He is proof that good things happen when you have faith in God and in yourself. I think that anyone can look at him and get a renewed sense of hope. Tanner is evidence of God's love and the power of perseverance. He is a blessing for all of us.

Waiting on Baby Eads... with Summer winding down

I can't believe that the Summer is almost over. Matt is getting excited about hunting season and I am honestly excited for school to start. Fall is definitely the favorite season around the Eads house.

Since my last entry, Matt and I found out that we are having another boy and that his name will be Tanner Warren. We were both pretty convinced that we were having a girl, due to this pregnancy being so different from my pregnancy with Keller, but we were pleasantly surprised to be having a boy. We couldn't be more excited and blessed to be anticipating another son.

This summer has definitely been busy, as summers in Montana tend to be. I thought I would have more time for house projects and creative endeavors, but I've kept pretty busy with my summer program at the school, helping plan the Relay for Life, and going to doctor's appointments. It's amazing what you can cram into three months; somehow we seem to fill them to the brim with adventures and projects.

One of my favorite summer projects has been the Relay for Life, a fundraiser and awareness event for the American Cancer Society. This year, I served as the Team Development Chair and a team captain, which allowed me to share the event with a wide-range of people. Several of my friends and family members participated in the event, which made it more special for me. Tanner and I even managed to log nine miles and stayed up all night long. I dedicated my participation, and all those miles, to all people who have dealt with a mysterious or confusing medical condition. While I have never been diagnosed with cancer, I can honestly identify with people who have experienced the uncertainty and fear that often accompanies a major medical problem.

Following the Relay, I headed for Washington DC for a conference. The conference was awesome; inspiring and encouraging, while being informative and educational. Getting to and from DC, however, was a nightmare, and it reminded me how much I love the simplicity of a good road trip with Matt.

After I returned home from DC, my hands and feet started itching. While I prayed that it was just my skin being shocked at the abrupt humidity changes, I knew in the back of my mind that my cholestasis had returned. The itching continues to be mostly on my hands and feet, although I also feel it on my chest, ears, other areas, and it gets worse at night and early in the morning. I'm afraid to be itching again, because I am only 31 weeks along. With Keller, I didn't itch like this until about 36 weeks and that had devastating effects.

The good news is that my doctor is on board and is taking me seriously. This morning he ordered a serum bile acid test and a liver function test, which will confirm the diagnosis of cholestasis and open the door to prescribe the only medication known to help lower liver enzymes and bile acids. Hopefully this medication reduces the itching and prevents problems for my baby. The doctor also monitored Tanner, who did NOT like the monitor things and tried to kick them off. Toward the end of the appointment, my doctor gave me a steroid shot in hopes of increasing Tanner's lung maturity. The steroids are just a precaution in case the medication doesn't work and Tanner must be delivered very early. It is our hope that we can take steps to keep Tanner from being delivered prior to 37 weeks.

Through all of this uncertainty, I am anxious but also very hopeful. I can't help but worry that I am experiencing the same condition that, in my mind, contributed to losing Keller. It's a very scary notion that I don't take lightly. On the other hand, I have peace knowing that I am more knowledgeable about the condition this time and I have a very dedicated medical team behind me.

As the one-year anniversary of Keller's death approaches, I am filled with mixed and conflicting emotions. I miss Keller every single day and I feel the weight of his absence in everything I do. Tanner's presence in my life, while providing a distraction from my grief, has not reduced my sadness or changed how I feel about my firstborn son. I now know what other moms mean when they talk about loving each child individually and unconditionally; each of our children is a separate being and our love for them stays with them wherever they go.

My hope is that I can get to a place where I look at September 1st as the day I held Keller, not as the day he left us. His first birthday is bittersweet; we are sad because we haven't been able to see him develop and grow. We can only wonder what our house would be like with him toddling around. Matt and I are trying to be happy as we celebrate Keller's brief but significant time with us. We continue to gain a better understanding of the fact that Keller was (and is) a vital member of our family, even if he never drew a breath. This is a time to reflect on our many blessings, not just dwell on all that has been lost.

I can't help but feel Keller's presence as I prepare to welcome his baby brother into the world. I like to picture Keller up on heaven, celebrating his birthday with a good round of golf with his Uncle Jack. I think they would both be amused at the fact that Tanner appears to be a stubborn and determined baby, who has decided to make his entrance into the world on his own, possibly unorthodox, terms.

As summer winds down, Matt and I continue to cope with emotions that run the gamut. We have all of the expected emotions of anxiety, excitement, and anticipation. We are also coping with feelings of sadness and grief that have followed us for the year since Keller's death. At the end of the day, however, we are reflective but hopeful. God has provided us with the strength needed to cope, heal, and move forward. We can't wait to share our love for God and each other with our little Tanner, whenever and however he decides to arrive.

A season of conflicting emotions... and great joy

My emotions have been all over the place, which is the biggest reason why I haven't written in a long time. Every time I have a coherent thought, it is usually replaced by a random, and often distracting, thought. I blame my mom, in part, for my ADD. The rest can be blamed on the season and a major influx of hormones.

The biggest news is that Matt and I are expecting our second baby, due October 13. I can't express how excited and eager I am to welcome this new little one into our home. This pregnancy has been so different from my pregnancy with Keller, which I prayed for, and I am so grateful that we are blessed to be in this position again.

Being pregnant again this soon after giving birth is challenging, both physically and emotionally. While I am confident that we have timed this pregnancy right, there are a million difficult questions and challenges that we have to address. My body feels good, but I can definitely tell that I am worn out from almost two straight years of trying to get pregnant and being pregnant. I am somewhat concerned that I wasn't able to lose all the weight from Keller (I came within 8 lbs) and hoping that my liver and gall bladder are recovered from the cholestasis that I experienced last time.

I have changed doctors and hospitals completely. The new environment is very therapeutic and my new providers are top-notch. The entire staff at my new doctor's office has treated me with the highest level of kindness and understanding and I am grateful that I found them.

My new OB appears to be somewhat knowledgeable about cholestasis, although he and I have some different beliefs about the symptoms and effects of the disease. At my first appointment, he asked me if I had been jaundiced last time, which is not considered a likely symptom of cholestasis. He was also surprised that I did not have my gall bladder removed following delivering Keller. That was the first I had heard about gall bladder removal following cholestasis, but he seemed to believe that it could help prevent symptoms in future pregnancies. All in all, my new doctor appears to be willing to learn and understand cholestasis, and he is committed to preventing me from experiencing symptoms in this pregnancy. I am confident that he is the right provider for me for this pregnancy.

There are a lot of question marks about my health right now, which is a major reason why I haven't told a lot of people about being pregnant. I am receiving additional testing to make sure that my liver and gall bladder are working properly. So far, I have had one normal test and one test that showed elevated liver enzymes. I am also changing my diet in an effort to keep my liver in the normal range. I am doing all that I can to maintain my health, and ensure the best outcome for this new baby.

Even if I don't experience itching again, I will likely deliver early this time. Mentally, I don't think that I will make it to 40 weeks and I am confident that my next baby will be healthy enough to be delivered at 37 or 38 weeks. I don't have the luxury of getting past the first trimester and feeling like I'm out of the "critical period." Also, I think that my mental health will be negatively affected the closer I get to 40 weeks.

Mentally and emotionally, I am all over the place. I am genuinely happy to be pregnant again, and I am sincerely excited for this next adventure. However, I am resentful of going through another pregnancy when I should be bonding with my son. I haven't truly embraced this pregnancy because it is still an abstract concept to me. I haven't made the transition from "I'm pregnant" to "I'm having a baby." Last time I was "having a baby" from the moment I heard the first heartbeat. This time I may have to hear him or her cry to be sure that I am truly becoming the mother of a living baby.

I pray that my friends and family understand my reluctance and hesitation to talk about and fully embrace this pregnancy. I mean no disrespect to those whom I haven't told about this new baby. I am really not ready for advice, questions, or criticism at this point and I'm not sure if I will be. I do, however, welcome thoughts, prayers, and well wishes.

Grit has to be earned... every day

"For as much as she stumbled she's runnin'
For as much as she runs she's still here
Always hoping to find something
Quicker than heaven
To make the damage of her days disappear"
~Eli Young Band, from the song, Guinevere

I first heard this song long before it was on the radio. The Eli Young Band played it when we went to the Gary Allan concert at the Butte Civic Center. The lyrics struck me because they describe a woman who is strong. She has stumbled, but she's not giving up. She's still here, looking for answers to "the damage of her days." I can definitely relate to the song and the woman that it describes.

Over the course of my life, I have had a lot of opportunities to get acquainted with my own tenacity and grit. It's not something that I ever set out to do; life happens and we make choices to either get tougher or not. Fortunately I haven't had to find out what "or not" would entail because somehow I keep surviving.

I don't think that I come across as a particularly gritty person, but when you get to know me, I hope it's one of the ways that you would describe me to others.

A lot of people have told me their opinions about when Matt and I should try for another baby. Some people say as soon as I'm physically ready. Others say that we need to wait until we are mentally and physically healed before trying for a baby. Some tell us specific time periods to wait, and those range from six months to a year. My doctor told us the best amount of time to wait would be a year, but that we should wait six months at the very least.

My answer to people and their opinions is, "I have done everything else in my life on 'Jami-time' and I am not going to stop now." All of those time suggestions and advice are heard and somewhat appreciated. However, they don't take into account my grit. Maybe most people should wait six months to a year after a loss to try again. However I am not most people. I consider myself to be grittier, stronger, and more determined than the average person.

I have no idea when Matt and I will achieve our dream of having another baby. The only thing I really know for sure is that it will be tough. Just because I get pregnant again, doesn't mean that losing Keller will suddenly be okay. I am healing, and another pregnancy would definitely help the healing process, but nothing is going to fully stop the pain of not having Keller in my arms.

Tenacity and grit aren't things that you are born with; they are developed and achieved through overcoming challenges. Honestly, if I could change what's happened and exchange my grit for not experiencing the losses that I have, I would. I would happily go back to being a jellyfish if I could have my brother and my son back. But since I can't change what's happened, I will move forward. I will take my well-earned grit and tenacity and attempt to make my life mean something. Even though I've stumbled I'm going to keep running toward the things I want out of life; more children, a strong marriage, and a fulfilling career. I'm still here and earning my grit every day.

Words... they have the power to hurt or heal

I have always liked words. When I was little, I loved being read to so much that I convinced my babysitter to teach me to read when I was three. After that, I read everything. From cereal boxes to newspapers, to picture books and novels, I couldn't get enough words. When I finally got glasses at age 5, a whole new world of words was opened up to me. Suddenly I could read signs, menus, and smaller print books. When I got glasses, I also started to speak more. The world made a lot more sense to me, and I had more to say about it, when I could actually see.

When I got pregnant with Keller, I was surprised at how much people had to say about my pregnancy. It seemed like everyone had something to say or a question to ask about my baby and my changing body. Most people's reactions were positive. They wanted to know how I was feeling and shared my excitement about having a baby. A lot of people were really encouraging and positive. However, there were a lot of people who said careless and hurtful things and those things have, unfortunately, stuck with me.

I admit, I am sensitive to people's words. I get my feelings hurt easily because I trust people not to be careless and insensitive with their words. I have high expectations, both for myself and for other people, to choose words wisely and refrain from saying things that are intentionally or carelessly rude or hurtful. Now, I'm not saying that I have never said something that was intentionally or accidentally mean or hurtful. However, I hope that most of the time I am as careful with words as I expect others to be.

From my perspective, I have come a long way in my efforts to develop a "thicker skin" when dealing with insensitive people. I have learned how to recognize the difference between people who use words carelessly versus those who use them aggressively. I am now a lot more accepting of people who simply don't think about what they say than those who intentionally want to hurt my feelings or see me react in some negative way.

Recently, one of my friends said that it was "entertaining" to say crazy things to me because it's fun to see my reactions. While I, being the reality television fan that I am, should not begrudge any one's entertainment choices, her comment confused me a lot. Why would you intentionally say hurtful or odd things to me, just to see my reaction? The funny part is, I often don't react at all. I classify myself as a "processor," not a "reactor." Most of my reactions occur days later when I am done making sense of what was said. Being a processor usually serves me well in my job and personal life because I'm not likely to "fly off the handle" or do something that I have to fix later.

I consider myself to be a pretty forgiving person and I really don't hold a grudge toward people who have said rude and hurtful things to me in the past. However, I haven't forgotten their words, nor do I trust them to be caring and sensitive with my feelings in the future. I just don't want to be someone who holds on to negativity. Negativity robs you of your joy and I'm not willing to part with joy, even to make a point or put someone in their place.

When I think about getting pregnant again, one of my biggest concerns is, what will people say? After all I have been through and overcome, it's insane to me that I worry about that but I do. What are people going to say when I announce my next pregnancy? My feelings are pretty raw still. Throw in pregnancy hormones and I will be extremely upset if anyone says something hurtful, even if it is unintentional. I want my next pregnancy to be a time of joy and excitement, even if it is accompanied by anxiety and uncertainty.

Writing about this experience has been so good for me and I hope that my words have been a source of healing and support for others who are going through similar experiences. As I move forward, with the hope of becoming pregnant sometime soon, I pray that God will make me deaf to negative words and open my ears to encouragement and support. I pray that God would give me the strength to withstand negative questions and comments and that he would continue to surround me with people who are consistently supportive and helpful. I further pray that God will give those around us, especially our families, the strength and fortitude it takes to be there as we continue to heal and expand our family.

Improving mental health... not just my own

I am one of those people who has always known what career I wanted. When I was four years old, in preschool, I came home and told my mom that, "I want to be a lady who helps kids who are sad." At the time, I didn't even know what a counselor was, but I knew that that was the job I wanted. Through school, I thought about other careers, but never seriously. I always came back to the desire to help people with their feelings. My various traumatic experiences only served to solidify my career choice because I repeatedly witnessed the power of counselors, pastors, and other helpers in action. Somehow, they ran toward pain and suffering when others were ignoring it or running in the opposite direction. How could I not want to join them?

One thing I haven't written about a lot in this journal is my job. I am a licensed counselor and I work with students who have severe emotional needs. I work within the school district (although not for the school district) to provide comprehensive mental health services to students in 4th through 8th grade. I love my job and wouldn't trade it for anything.

The pastor at my church often refers to Deer Lodge as the "valley of 'throw away' people." This area is home to the Montana State Hospital (for the mentally ill), Galen (which was once a TB sanatorium), and Montana State Prison (where Montana's worst criminals are housed.) If this place is really for "throw aways," then I definitely work with the "throw away" kids.

My kids are difficult; they are big, smelly, and loud. They use terrible language and have poor social skills. People don't like my kids because they aren't cute anymore and they are definitely a challenge to deal with. What I like most about my kids is that they are challenging. Their needs are unique and varied and I love using my creativity and compassion to help them overcome the chaos in their lives.

I hadn't given much thought to just how much losing Keller would impact my work until this recently. Several weeks ago, I was in a meeting where a mother expressed her overwhelming frustration with her son. She was angry because her son was failing his classes and making poor choices in social situations. During the meeting, this mother threw her hands up in the air, repeatedly belittled her son, and described how she has "given up on him because he is an embarrassment." I maintained my composure, because I am a professional, but inside I was seething. How could someone speak that way about their child, especially with him sitting right there? How can a parent give up on a kid who is only 14 years old? Shouldn't a parent take some responsibility for her child's difficulties and take the necessary steps to resolve them?

I also work with several students who are in the foster care system. It baffles me that there is even a need for an entire system for kids who are unwanted and abused. How is it that we live in a society where children are born to parents who don't want them, when there are a lot of great parents out there who suffer the loss of their child or experience the pain of infertility? It's probably a good thing that I don't have a lot of interaction with the birth parents of the foster kids on my caseload because I probably would not have kind words to say.

Right now, my sympathy for parents who complain about or abuse their children is really low. I am a mother without my son and I am forced to deal with a lot of mothers who don't even like their sons. They have given up on their children and are tired of being the mothers of kids who aren't cute or compliant anymore. Right now, I would give anything to have a child, even a pain in the neck fourteen year old.

My job as a counselor isn't an easy one, especially when I am dealing with my own mental and emotional challenges. As hard as it is, I can't imagine doing anything else. These "throw away" kids deserve someone who is professionally and personally invested in their well-being. They deserve someone who is in their corner, even on their worst days.

The best thing that I can do now to help my kids and their families is simply to continue helping myself. I know that all of my "self care" efforts serve more than one purpose; they allow me to improve my mental and emotional health so that I can be truly present and helpful to my clients. Being respected as a caring and compassionate mental health provider is key, not only to my job, but to my identify.

I am so lucky that God has allowed me to work in the mental health field. How incredible is it that I found my career at the age of four? Some days are definitely tougher than others, but the tough days are where I find my strength. Hopefully strength will allow me to continue to use my skills and compassion to make a difference for all sorts of "throw away" people.

Still struggling... but determined and committed

One by one, my friends have been giving birth to their babies. While I am sincerely happy for them, it continues to be hard for me to see them getting the one thing that I want so bad. My friends and family have made pregnancy and childbirth look so easy and I still can't believe that I wasn't able to bring my baby home. Each new baby brings pain, because of what I have lost, but they also remind me that there is hope for the future.

At this point in my healing process, I have a new perspective on difficult. I no longer waste time looking for anything in my life to be easy. Holding a friend's newborn son is not easy, but what is the alternative? Should I stop doing things just because they are difficult? I made the decision a long time ago that I would embrace life's challenges, even the most difficult ones.

Honestly, I believe that holding newborn babies is actually good for me. It is unbelievably hard, but it is also very healing. Plus there is something calming and comforting about holding a baby and those feelings are good for the body and spirit. Who knows? Maybe experiencing calm and comfortable feelings will help me in my efforts to get pregnant with my next baby.

One thing that is still difficult for me is that I continue to feel an odd separation from most people. It may be all in my head, but it is disturbing and frustrating to me nonetheless. I find myself struggling in social situations because I don't feel like I fit in with the general population. My anxiety has increased in recent weeks and I have to remind myself to breathe when I start to feel overwhelmed and anxious.

A big part of my feeling of separation is the fact that I have given birth and I am a mother but I don't have my child at home. Matt and I are parents but we don't do the same things that most parents do. We think about Keller constantly but we are unable to interact with him like typical parents and children. It is difficult for me to listen to parents talk about their children, either bragging or complaining, without feeling the full weight of the loss that I've experienced.

Matt and I continue to tackle the task of healing from Keller's death with quiet determination and a strong commitment to each other. We know that our strength and commitment are not earthly; they are gifts from God for which we are sincerely grateful.

It is a well-known fact that trauma, especially the loss of a child, takes a heavy toll on relationships. With that knowledge, I know that it would be easy for Matt and I to give up on ourselves and our relationship, but we really haven't gone down that road. We do struggle and have our tougher days, but we remain supportive of each other's unique needs.

I am consistently amazed at Matt and the way that he has taken care of me. One thing that a lot of people don't know is that Matt is only 25 years old. His maturity and strength, through all of this, is truly remarkable. I've never thought of myself as someone who needed to be taken care of, but it feels good to have someone who works hard to meet my needs and make me happy. I pray that I can be as supportive and encouraging to Matt as he is to me.

Time marches on and it is both comforting and depressing at the same time. As hard as it is to see our friends and family members having their babies, we can't just crawl into a hole and stop living. Our only obvious choice then is to continue healing and surviving, just like all the people who have experienced pain before us. We have goals and the hope that is necessary to achieve those goals. I can't predict the future but I pray that God continues to heal and comfort us so that we can move forward with our changed, but still intact family.