Done with excuses...mine and everyone else's.

I am the queen of excuses. From the reason I eat so bad (I work hard, I deserve to eat what I want) to the reason I don't work out (I'm not a morning person and my kids and job use up all of my energy so I'm too tired at night). I have an excuse for everything and it's doing me NO favors. I don't hate the way I look, but I'm not happy about it either. I am about 30 lbs. heavier than I was when I got married (back when I referred to myself as a "bigger girl") and I would love to be closer to that weight. I wear a size 14 and I'm pretty okay with that, but I hate that I look like I'm 5 months pregnant (and get a lot of those looks from people.) I don't think it's a crime to be over 30, given birth three times in three years, and have packed on a few pounds. Plus my job involves a lot of sitting, driving, and eating at restaurants and convenience stores. There I go with the excuses again. Ug.

As a new school year starts, I think it's a good time for a resolution. It's going to be weird this year, as I am not actually going back to school, but rather, I am going back to 15 schools and a different one every day. That said, I love the energy of autumn and the anticipation of the school year. To me this time of year is an awesome time to reflect on personal goals and improvements to be made in the upcoming months.

My resolution is simple: No more excuses. I don't want to hear them from myself (that inner voice that justifies all of my negative habits) and I don't want to hear them from those around me either. Do the job at hand. If it is successful, keep doing what you're doing. If you screw up, recognize it, own it, and make the necessary improvements. I am sick to death of justification and reasons for not getting things done.

This goes for myself as much as anyone. Recently I was chewed out by my boss at work. This was a world-class chewing. Took at least 20 minutes and he didn't draw a breath. Five years ago, I would have been in tears. Thankfully my skin is a little thicker and the pressure for me to "practice what I preach" is greater. I took a breath, owned my shortcomings, and vowed to improve. I started taking the necessary steps to improve the situation the very next day. Was I bummed about the chewing? Yes. I give 100% to my job and expect others to do the same. Do I want to serve as an example to my coworkers and colleagues? Yes. Time for me to own it and improve it instead of making excuses that waste time and distract from more important matters.

Cutting out the excuses in my life is not going to be easy. Those inner voices have had a lot of practice and won't be quieted without some effort. As far as everyone else goes, my goal is to lead by example. Hopefully the fewer excuses they hear from me, the fewer I will hear from them. Sounds like a good way to start my favorite season.

UPDATE: In my previous blog, dated June 25, 2013, I described witnessing a car accident. I found out that the woman involved survived the accident. Apparently her accident was caused by a seizure, not distracted driving. She is okay, but she has a long road ahead of her. A benefit to help with her medical costs is being held on September 7, 2013 at the Five Mile Bar in Butte. You can call 406-565-6660 for more information.

Hello to you... and hello trauma. It's been awhile for both.

It has been awhile since I last posted to this blog and I will start with my excuses as to why I haven't written. 1.) I am now the proud mother of TWO sweet boys and life with two toddlers, is, well, busy. I don't even know my own name most days. 2.) I now have a new position in my company where I am either on the road or in front of a computer. When I do have some down time, the last place I want to be is on my computer. However, I am a smart phone junkie so that excuse doesn't hold a lot of water. I'm pretty sure this site has a mobile app, so I will be taking care of that one. 3.) I stopped writing because I started becoming too much of a perfectionist. My grammar and punctuation and sentence structure, and all those things we geeks worry about, were not up to my standards anymore and I quit, rather than taking the time to improve myself. There you have it, my excuses in a nutshell.

That said, this blog started with a traumatic event, losing my son, Keller, and it is being revived due to a traumatic event. It's funny how trauma does different things to different people. Some people want to hide, some want to escape, some want to expose it. For some reason, I look to the written word for comfort during times of crisis. It's like I want to capture the emotions of the moment, so I can make sense of them in some geeky way. Words have always given me comfort in the past, whether it was quotes, song lyrics, the bible, books, etc. Traumas can also make a person feel very isolated. Deep down, I hope that someone who needs them will read my words, feel less alone in the world, and be comforted.

Today I witnessed a pretty horrible accident on my way home from work. A woman, about my age, must have been distracted on her drive home from work and crashed near me. She was headed in the opposite direction in the freeway, flew over my lanes of traffic, through a fence, and stopped on a frontage road next to the highway. She obviously had a lot of internal injuries and wasn't conscious during the time I spent with her. Some people were able to help her breathe, but she was very badly hurt. I heard chatter on the police scanner, while I was filling out my statement in the patrol car, that she wouldn't likely survive. She was not wearing a seatbelt.

My heart breaks for this unknown woman and her family. My prayer is that she overcomes the odds that are now stacked against her and recovers from her injuries. There are a lot of people walking around today who weren't given a lot of chance to live. God is strong and powerful and He can heal her broken body. I pray that that is His will and that everyone involved will learn something from today's chaotic events.

Unfortunately, I seem to be a magnet for such traumas. Earlier in this blog, I mentioned that I was in a severe car accident when I was in college. A motorcyclist crashed in front of, and into, me on a mountain road. He and I crashed into the side of a mountain. My body was injured, but so was my spirit. At the time of that accident, I wondered, "Is this IT? Is this what finally BREAKS me and crushes my spirit?" It took a long time for my body to heal and even longer for my spirit to recover. Slowly I came back. With the help of countless doctors, mentors, friends, and family members, I found my way back to myself. I regained my natural "Jami-ness," only with a few more bumps and bruises.

All of us have trauma in our lives. That motorcycle accident is just one of my many chaotic and confusing experiences. While I don't necessarily believe that "everything happens for a reason," I do believe that God allows us to heal and overcome, hopefully learning and growing along the way. I can't believe in a God who is up there pushing buttons to give us down here more character, but I can believe in a God that gave us free will, thus allowing us to make idiotic decisions. Sometimes, our idiotic decisions affect other people, thus allowing the traumatic and often bewildering events to occur.

I have a lot more to say on this topic, but I will end this post with a few thoughts. If you have experienced trauma, you are not alone. Unfortunately, you have a lot of company in that club. Reach out to someone. You will likely find that you can offer and receive comfort in a shared experience. And wear your seatbelt. Please.

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.

The cruelties continue... but so does hope.

When we lost Keller, it felt like one cruelty after another. I had to deliver Keller even though I knew he had already died. I spent over 12 hours in labor just to deliver a baby whom I knew would never cry. Matt and I spent our first night in the hospital making decisions about the delivery of our son and deciding what to do with his body. Instead of bringing our baby home, we waited for friends to bring his ashes to us so that we could hold a memorial service for him. Keller did not have a baptism, he didn't accompany us to the new house, and he didn't open any gifts at Christmas. His glaring absence makes it feel like we lose him again every day.

This Christmas was difficult for me in a lot of ways. I was prepared to be overwhelmed by all the sights, sounds, and emotions. I knew that I would have a difficult time with all of the people, but I wasn't prepared for the emotions that I felt as Matt and I drove to his parents' house. I just couldn't believe that Keller was not in the backseat, on his way to his first big holiday at Grandma's. When I think about Christmas, the first image that pops into my mind is one of kids opening gifts with a big mountain of wrapping paper growing up around them. Kids are a big part of what makes Christmas fun and without them, it's really kind of lackluster. For me, Christmas felt cruel because we couldn't share it with the one person that truly mattered, our child.

One thing that really struck me at Christmas is that it is going to be a very long time until Matt and I have a living child. Even if I get pregnant in the next few months, Matt and I won't hold our baby until October at the earliest. I just can't believe that it will be nearly an entire year from now until Matt and I bring our own baby home. In the meantime, it feels like everyone we know is giving birth to their babies. Most of the people we know are having baby boys, which is even more difficult because we see what we are missing. We should be joining them in the joy and excitement of raising a son. Instead we are moving through grief and longing for the day that we will experience parenthood for ourselves.

In the midst of all of this, I am proud to say that Matt and I still have hope. Even though it seems like it will be forever until we have a living child of our own, we are sure that the day will come. I wouldn't say that we are necessarily trying to have a baby right now, but we have decided to stop trying to prevent a pregnancy. Trying to prevent me from getting pregnant was not helping my mental health at all and I truly believe that I will get pregnant when the time is right for us. While I struggle with the sheer length of time I will have to wait, and my impending 30th birthday coming in May doesn't help, I am confident that Matt and I will welcome a new baby into our home sometime in 2010.

However, being hopeful does have it's difficult days. To me, having hope requires a certain amount of faith and my faith has been repeatedly tested over the past few months. There are some days when I feel forsaken by God. Not targeted per se, but forgotten and overlooked. I will admit that I am somewhat afraid to place my full faith in Him because the last thing I put in His hands was my pregnancy with Keller. God and I definitely have some "trust issues" to work out and I am committed to working through my grief and confusion with the help of the same God that I struggle to trust. I think a lot of people can identify with me because most of us have had our own struggles with faith and trust at some point in our lives.

Part of the reason that I still have hope is because I know that I don't have all the answers. I don't know why Keller didn't survive and I probably will never know exactly what happened. I do know that I want to move forward with my life, as difficult as that is on most days. I trust God to provide me with the healing and strength to rise above my grief and live a life that is an honor to both God and my son.

As I move forward and examine my own feelings about hope and faith, I realize that I hate the phrase, "Don't get your hopes up." My answer to that is, "Why shouldn't you get your hopes up?" What real harm is there in having high hopes? And isn't it awesome that people in Matt and I's position still have hope at all? Sure, having high hopes means that if things don't work out, it will hurt a lot, maybe even more than if we didn't have hope at all. But wouldn't it be better to have some hope and risk losing it, than not having hope and still being disappointed? I, for one, like the feeling of being hopeful, even if things don't work out.

Time marches on for me and I wait with anticipation for the blessings that 2010 will bring. I have several goals for the upcoming year although I am hesitant to call them "resolutions." My main goal for 2010 is to focus more on myself and my husband. I realize that I can be somewhat externally focused and that can be exhausting. I plan to place more energy and effort into my marriage and the family that I am building with Matt. My second goal is to become more faithful and dedicated in my walk with God. I honestly believe that the energy I put into my second goal will improve my ability to achieve my primary goal. Beyond that, I want to improve my overall physical health, clean up my finances, and explore my creativity in new and exciting ways.

My prayer for 2010 is that it will be a time for continued healing for my bruised and battered family. I pray that I will conquer some of the difficulties that I have been facing and that my efforts to regain my emotional strength would be successful. My prayer for my family, friends, and community is that everyone would enjoy a 2010 that is filled with happiness, health, and HOPE.

On my way to acceptance... slowly

The literature on grief and loss is pretty clear on what the goal of grieving is, acceptance. As I move forward in my efforts to cope with the loss of my son, I wonder if I will ever truly accept what happened. For me, reaching acceptance would involve being okay with Keller's death and being okay with how everything changed in a moment. Honestly I'm not there, in fact, I'm far from anything that even resembles acceptance.

One reason why I think that acceptance is going to be difficult for me is the fact that I can't accept what happened to Keller and I in the weeks leading up to me giving birth. Starting at about 37 weeks, my skin became extremely itchy and uncomfortable. I didn't have dry skin or anything rather, it felt like the itchiness was coming from the underside of my skin, not the topside. When I told my doctor about it, she said that it was a normal thing that happened late in pregnancy. I brought it up again in my 38 week appointment and again during my 39 week appointment. As the weeks went on, my itching got worse and worse. People did their best to help me, but nothing I did to the outside of my skin helped. I started to wonder if the itching would drive me, and those around me, crazy.

During one of my appointments, my doctor did tell me that the itching was caused by my liver working overtime. She said that it sometimes happens to women late in their pregnancies and that the only cure for it was to give birth. She said that it wouldn't hurt my baby even if it made me miserable. While it was difficult for me to understand how something that caused me so much distress wouldn't harm Keller, I took her word for it and persevered through the last weeks of my pregnancy.

By the time I woke up on Friday, August 28, I couldn't stand it any more. I called my doctor's office and the nurse told me to take Benadryl and put oatmeal lotion on my skin. I was a little confused about the Benadryl, because it is makes people sleepy and I was trying to get my body to DO something, i.e. go into labor. I did as I was told and it didn't help. I felt like my big itchy body was telling me that it was done being pregnant and it was time to move on to something else. I was disappointed in the blah response that I got from my doctor's office, but I assured myself that I would be feeling better once I got to hold Keller in my arms.

The truth is, I wasn't very itchy at all on Monday, August 31. I thought that I was finally getting some relief and I was happy. I realize now that I was relieved but also very concerned because Keller hadn't moved very much that day. I chalked it up to the busy weekend he had and thought he was sleeping. When I went into labor that night, I was excited for my pregnancy to finally come to an end. It's amazing what a roller coaster of emotions I was on during that time.

From the moment I found out that Keller didn't have a heartbeat, I believed that my cholestasis had something to do with his death. Even when he was born, with the cord around his neck, I still believed that the problem with my liver had something to do with what happened to him. Maybe he was itchy too and that was why he was so active at the end (when a lot of babies slow down). Maybe his high activity level caused him to get tangled in the cord. And maybe when he dropped, to prepare for birth, the cord got pinched. Maybe his circulation was already affected by the Benadryl I took and he didn't get enough blood or oxygen through the tangled and/or pinched cord. Who knows? But those questions have plagued me since my days in the hospital.

I will forever wonder what would have happened if my call, when I was at the end of my rope, on that Friday, was taken more seriously. I'm sure the nurse who answered my call wonders that too. Maybe if they had just had me come in to check on things they would have noticed something amiss. Maybe if I had told them that I thought my blood pressure was high, to really get their attention, they might have given more thought to inducing me early. I feel that my concerns were sloughed off, likely because I wasn't a complainer and I had been so healthy up to that point. That's no excuse and I will forever wonder why my concerns were pushed aside so easily by my medical providers.

In my preparation for another pregnancy, I have been reading several books and Internet articles on a variety of topics. In one of my books, Trying Again: A Guide to Pregnancy After Miscarriage, Stillbirth, and Infant Loss, it talks about pregnancy complications and their effects on the mother and fetus. One of the complications it lists is, "jaundice (intrahepatic cholestasis), and states that the effect is, "You may be at increased risk of experiencing either a premature delivery or a stillbirth." I was shocked when I read that, in plain English, but I tried to play it off. I thought, "maybe that isn't what I had." So I Googled it and made sure that I spelled everything the way the book had it. (Douglas, A. & Sussman, J.R., M.D., 2000)

What I found startled me. My search turned up countless websites that described the exact symptoms I had and every single one of them stated that in rare and extreme cases, cholestasis increases the risk of pregnancy complications, including stillbirth. I was shocked, angered, confused, and overwhelmed by the information in every website. What hit me hardest was the fact that my instincts were right. While I can't say that the cholestasis definitely caused Keller's death, I was right about the fact that it very likely played a part in what happened to us.

One of the best websites that I found was http://www.itchymoms.com/. This website was, and continues to be, a blessing to me. Written clearly and in lay mans terms, with medical documents for support, the website paints a clear picture of what I and many other mothers have experienced. It both comforts and saddens me that there is an entire website dedicated to people who have had similar experiences as I have. Some of the women on itchymoms.com have had successful pregnancies in spite of cholestasis. Some of their pregnancies, unfortunately, have ended like mine did.

From my research, it appears that, while cholestasis is rare, it should be better known and understood by the medical community. There are specific tests for it, which I as not offered, and medical treatments, which I was also not offered, that could have prevented Keller's death. What do I do with this information now that I have it? Where do I go from here? These are the questions that now plague my thoughts. Do I sue my doctor? Do I sit back and let it happen to someone else? Do I rant and rave and allow my anger to take over my life? I honestly don't know.

As I continue my quest for acceptance, if that is really what would be classified as successful grieving, I know that my progress will be hampered by my belief that what happened to Keller and I was not a freak accident. Rare and unexpected? Yes. Freak accident, as in could not have been predicted or prevented? No. What Keller and I went through is not, and will never be, okay with me. I will have to find some way to live with it, but I don't have to accept it.

What I do know is that I want to have another baby. And when I get pregnant again, I will be up front and honest with my doctor about my past experiences and my expectations of him or her. I will be frank about my belief that cholestasis directly impacted, if not caused, me to lose Keller. A lot of the research states that women who have had cholestasis in a pregnancy have up to a 90% chance of developing it in subsequent pregnancies. I will make sure that my next provider is aware of this and is willing to take steps to prevent me, and my next baby, from experiencing anything even resembling what I went through before.

One thing that I have learned during this whole experience is that we are all responsible for our own health care. Doctors and nurses see a lot of patients and they aren't Gods. They work with the knowledge that they have and they rely on us to know our bodies and relay that information to them. I have learned a valuable lesson, albeit a difficult one: At the end of the day, I am ultimately responsible for my health and that of my children. My instincts are good, but they only work if I listen to them.

I know that acceptance is a far off, if not impossible, goal for me to reach. Honestly, I'm okay with that. There are a lot of things that I refuse to accept but I live with them anyway. However, I am committed to moving forward and leading a life that is not ruled by anger or resentment. I have a loving husband who is committed to increasing our family and giving me the children that I want so desperately. Now that is something that I can accept.

Thankful... with tough decisions ahead.

I have to admit, I have had a rough few weeks. My emotions have been all over the place and I am having a hard time keeping up with the extremes. I continue to experience moments of intense sadness and overwhelming pain, but I also know that I might be experiencing joy and excitement in the very next moment. I'm willing to take the good with the bad because all of my emotions represent movement through grief. They are evidence that I am moving through my pain and not getting stuck in bitterness and resentment.

We survived Thanksgiving, which wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be. My parents came to the new house and prepared an awesome dinner for us. Matt and I realized that, in spite of everything that has happened over this past year, we have so much to be thankful for. Our relationship is strong, we just moved into a beautiful home, and we have the love and support of family and friends. There are a lot of blessings around us and we are sincerely grateful for each and every one.

A lot of people struggle with their emotions around the Holidays. In the mental health field, I see my clients work through a variety of emotional stresses during the Christmas season. One reason why I think people struggle so much is simple; during the Holidays, we miss people. We look around our tables, with these big delicious meals, and we notice all of the people who are not there. We miss people around the Holidays and their absence is felt with more intensity than at other times of the year.

I miss Jack most at Thanksgiving. Anyone who knows my family knows the story of the craziest Thanksgiving that we ever had and it's a good story. It was the week before Thanksgiving and Jack was an 8th grader and I was a freshman in high school. Jack and I had both been sick earlier that week and he decided that he wanted to go to school even though I wasn't better yet. My parents weren't home because my dad was having surgery in Billings so I had to drive Jack to school. I didn't scrape my windows off very well and had to drive by looking through a little stripe in the windshield. After I dropped Jack off at school, I promptly ran my car into the broad side of a big yellow school bus. Ug. It was not one of my finer achievements, but it definitely wasn't surprising given my history of clumsiness and blonde moments.

When I called my mom to tell her about my accident, she informed me that she was so sick with an infected tooth, that she was unable to take my dad to his surgery. My aunt had to take care of both of them until they were well enough to come home to Malta and take care of me. When they got home, we sat around the house in our respective misery. Jack, who was feeling fine, prepared himself a beautiful Thanksgiving dinner of spaghetti and meatballs. He sat down to his feast and said to the three of us, "I freaking hate you people! You are pathetic!" I'm sure he meant it lovingly and we really were a pathetic bunch.

After that, Jack and I vowed to make that Christmas the best one ever because Thanksgiving had been such a disaster. That Christmas Eve morning we woke up to the news that our school had burned to the ground. Let's just say that my entire family's perspective on holidays changed after that!

As this Christmas gets closer, Matt and I continue to heal. Even though I know I am making progress, I still have a hard time with the fact that my friends are having their babies. I realize why it is so hard for me to accept my friends giving birth; they are my peers and they are moving forward with life events that I should already be having. I feel like I am being left behind and they are getting to have all of the joys and challenges that I can't experience yet. I was pregnant with my peers but their pregnancies will end much differently than mine did.

In a lot of ways, I feel like one of my friends from Malta who had to repeat the 7th grade. At the end of our 7th grade year, Brian's peers prepared for high school while he stayed back in junior high with us. He didn't completely fit with us, but he no longer fit with his peers either. He was stuck in limbo for awhile until he settled in to our class and was accepted. I now have a deeper understanding of what Brian went through even though my situation is very different from his.

This "left behind" feeling is somewhat unfamiliar to me because I have always been either on target or ahead of my peers. I find that I don't have a whole lot in common with people who haven't experienced pregnancy, but I also don't have a whole lot in common with people who have living children. I'm not really in a position to talk about morning sickness and ultrasounds, but I'm not in the mood to discuss diapers or pediatricians either. I'm in my own separate place in the lifespan and that separateness hurts a lot. It's like the worst kind of exclusion because it can't be overcome even with my best effort.

As Christmas gets closer, Matt and I have some tough decisions to make. We know for a fact that we want to continue our family and give Keller siblings. The question is not if we are going to have more children, the real question is when. Biologically I could be ready any time now. I have now had two cycles and my body feels like it is back to normal. Emotionally, I am torn. Part of me is ready, with the knowledge that I will still have 40 weeks to heal if I do get pregnant. Part of me is scared and not ready because I still miss Keller with an intensity that feels like an anvil is on my chest.

I know that getting pregnant again is not going to make me miss Keller any less. I realize that nothing is going to replace my son and I could have 10 healthy babies and still feel an emptiness in my heart when I think about Keller. I also don't think that getting pregnant again will make me hurt any MORE than I do now. Healing from everything I've experienced is just going to take time. Whether I'm pregnant or not, I just have to accept that I can't rush the healing process and I can't predict the future with any certainty.

As difficult as it is for me to think about going through another pregnancy, I have to remember that I would be facing another pregnancy even if Keller had lived. Keller was never meant to be an only child and Matt and I have always wanted several children in our family. Granted, we had hoped for a year or two between Keller and our next child, but we really have no set schedule for our children. We are willing to accept what the future holds for us and our family.

I sincerely hope that Matt and I are able to continue our family in 2010 and that my next pregnancy is a time of healing and hope. We definitely have a tough road ahead of us and there are no easy answers to the decisions that we have to make. I honestly believe that we are up to the challenge because we have a lot of blessings to take with us on our journey; our commitment to each other, our faith in God, and the support of wonderful people. The future definitely looks difficult... but worth it.

Too much of ... well everything.

I have been feeling exceptionally overwhelmed lately. It just feels like life itself is too much for me right now. Granted, I have a lot on my plate with the house, work, and my new Pampered Chef business, but that's really not a lot of chaos compared to what I'm used to. Six months ago, all of this "life stuff" would have not phased me a bit. Now it feels like more than I can handle even though it is all relatively simple and uncomplicated. I realize that a large part of my identity and sense of self worth centers around my ability to handle a lot of things and come through in a crunch. I am really missing the part of myself that was confident and could handle life's twists and turns with relative ease.

My tolerance for a lot of things is lower than normal for me. For instance, I love the house but it feels really overwhelming to be responsible for an entire building with all of it's quirks and unique characteristics. Matt has been awesome with all of his "honey do" lists but I feel like I can barely manage to keep up with the laundry let alone actually do home improvements. Arranging the dishes in the dishwasher so that they all get clean feels like way more daunting of a task than it should be.

I have also been more sensitive lately to sensory overload. All of my life I have been quite sensitive to sounds, visual stimulation, and touch. Lately, my ability to withstand even moderate levels of sensory experiences has been lower and more frustrating. The other night, Matt and I were shopping for paint at Wal-Mart and I almost had an anxiety attack because he left me alone in the grocery section. It didn't help that it seemed like every woman in the store was about 8 months pregnant. Wal-Mart has never been a good place for me, but that night it felt like I was drowning in sights, sounds, and people. I hate that feeling.

We recently finished most of our painting projects and I started hanging pictures on the walls. I almost had a breakdown when I found the box of picture frames that I have been storing since our wedding. I was planning to fill a lot of big collage frames with pictures of Keller and all of his "firsts." While we plan to frame and display some of Keller's pictures from the hospital, we likely won't wallpaper the walls with him the way we had intended to. Looking at empty picture frames, without baby pictures to fill them, makes me incredibly sad. It's even more difficult for me to look at my scrapbooking supplies because I think about how I had planned for Keller to be the most photographed and scrapbooked baby on the planet. Hopefully I will get to a point where I am ready to frame Keller's pictures, display them, and scrapbook the rest. I want to finish my pregnancy scrapbook that I started when I found out that I was pregnant with Keller, but I'm not ready yet.

One of the things that is overwhelming me the most is the fact that my friends are now having their baby showers and their babies. I was so lucky to be pregnant with a lot of awesome friends. It seemed like I had started a trend and it was wonderful to share my experiences with people who were pregnant but earlier in their pregnancies than I was. Now all of those people, including several family members, will give birth and bring their babies home. I can't believe that I am not part of their group anymore. I am a mother, but not in the same sense that they will be mothers. My friends will have babies who come home from the hospital, sleep in their cribs, and keep their moms up all night. I will have to wait at least a year to share those experiences with them.

The thought of facing another pregnancy is also overwhelming to me. One one hand, I can't begin to fathom the idea that I will get pregnant again and go through all of the ups and downs of pregnancy in the next few months. On the other hand, the thought of having a healthy baby, one who comes home from the hospital and sleeps in a crib, is all that I can think about. Contemplating another pregnancy both kills me and uplifts me at the same time and that contradiction of feelings overwhelms me too.

It is going to take a lot of strength, strength that I'm not 100% sure that I have, to get through the next few months. There are no easy fixes to my current feelings of being overwhelmed and I know that I have to be patient and give myself time to heal. I'm aware of the fact that my expectations of myself are high and that I may be trying too hard. As crazy as it sounds, it is somewhat comforting to recognize that I still have high expectations for myself because my high expectations are part of who I was before. Even though I am hard on myself sometimes, it's nice to see that I haven't completely given up and thrown in the proverbial towel.

As each one of my friends gives birth to her baby, I sincerely want to be there for her and her family. I want so badly to celebrate each blessing without drowning in my own sorrow. Right now I am so thankful for the understanding of my friends who know that I may be unable to attend their showers. They know that I support them completely and that I would be there in a moment if I could muster the emotional strength. As I continue my own journey to becoming the mother of a surviving baby, I will need the support of my family and friends probably more than ever. Life may be too much for me right now, but with enough love and support I can and will move through it like I always have.

Angry... but cautiously optimistic

"Let us not look back in anger, nor forward in fear, but around in awareness." ~James Thurber

Anger isn't something that comes naturally to me. For as much as I preach to my clients, "Anger is a normal emotion and you shouldn't feel bad about being angry," I haven't really given myself much of a license to be angry. I am constantly trying to talk myself out of being angry because I have long believed that there is something wrong with experiencing anger. Being the "people-pleaser" that I am, I haven't wanted to express anger because I didn't want to hurt any one's feelings or make them feel bad.

Right now I have a lot of anger and it's sort of a foreign emotion for me. Granted, I have felt anger in the past, but that was better described as irritation and frustration. The type of anger that I'm currently experiencing is very intense and somewhat irrational. I am angry about so many things and some of them don't even make sense. Going to therapy has helped me understand the importance of expressing and experiencing emotions without arguing with them, but I am still struggling to deal with my current level of anger.

I find myself being angry because so many of my friends are pregnant right now. They are all going to have their baby showers, give birth, and bring their babies home in the next few months. While I am jealous, I am also very angry, not at them but at the circumstances. I don't know if I will be able to get past my anger enough to attend their baby showers and share their joy. I feel like a terrible friend because they have all showered me with more love and support than I could have ever imagined and I want to repay that as much as I can. I also have to remember that my pregnant friends also lost Keller; they all expected that their child would grow up and have Keller to play with. Now they will not have that opportunity and it is very sad for them.

Matt and I are in the process of buying a home. While I am very excited at the prospect of purchasing my first house, I am hesitant to get too excited about it before the deal is completely done. I am reluctant to pack boxes and prepare for moving because I don't want to get too invested in something that may or may not happen. The last thing that I was really, really excited for ended in the worst tragedy of my life. Losing Keller has made me afraid to get too invested in anything until it happens and is for sure.

I am so angry because losing Keller has robbed me of my unbridled optimism. I am the kind of person who gets giddy about new pens on the first day of school. I enjoy the feeling of anticipation that you get before a new adventure and I love preparing for new opportunities and changes. It makes me sad that I am trying to prevent myself from getting giddy about the house because I am worried that something terrible is going to happen to take it away from me.

Matt asked me this morning if I wanted to go to Helena to start shopping for new bathroom stuff because we will have two bathrooms in the new house. My first instinct was to say, "Absolutely, let's go now." But my second instinct was to hold back because, how awful would I feel if we bought new bathroom stuff and the house deal fell through? It would be very similar, on a smaller scale, to coming home to a room literally filled with baby stuff with no baby to use it.

Six months ago, I would have been so unbelievably excited about buying a house. I would already have had everything packed, would have purchased paint for every room, and likely would have had a good start on decorating each bedroom with a unique and very "Jami" design. Now I am still optimistic, but cautiously optimistic. I have packed a few things and started on a few details, but I haven't ordered new address labels or notified the post office that we will be moving. Six months ago, I would have ordered a stamp with my new address on it. I may have even designed and purchased little "We've moved" postcards to send to our friends and family. Sadly I don't know if I will ever be THAT person again and I will miss that side of myself a lot.

I wasn't naive before, but I was more sure that things would work out for me if I just worked hard and prepared enough. I know that random things happen to everyone, even those who prepare and have optimism. But I also know that sometimes preparation does help ensure that negative things can be avoided. In my mind, I could not have been MORE prepared for Keller's birth and I am angry that that preparation was not enough to bring him home safely.

Like I said before, a lot of my anger is irrational. I know that my excitement and preparation for Keller's birth did not cause his death. I also know that failing to prepare for Keller's birth would not have made losing him any easier. It is just so hard for me to know that I may never be that fiercely optimistic again; part of that innocence is gone for me. Granted, I still fully plan to get excited and even giddy about good things happening in the future. However, my optimism will likely be somewhat more withdrawn and guarded, and to me, that is a loss in and of itself.

Maybe something good will come out of my present state of anger. In some ways, I think it is good for me to go through it because anger is evidence that I am healing and moving through the stages of grief. Perhaps my anger will even translate into motivation to DO something productive. Who knows? I may even pick up a paintbrush and show my new house how beautiful a little anger can be.

Rare and unexpected... either good or bad

This week has been tough. There's really no other way to put it. While my body continues to heal at a breakneck pace, my mental and emotional healing has been slower. I continue to move forward with the business of life while I struggle to make sense of the fact that my son is not at home in my arms. I feel like I have let go of a lot of the questions that were drowning me, but that has opened the door for other questions to take their place.

My question of the week is, "Why have I been involved in so many random situations that had a very low probability of occurring?" I realize that a lot of my life has been spent shaking my head at the sheer randomness of life. I feel like my life, in particular, has been filled with experiences that experts would have said had a low probability of ever occurring in the first place.

Not all of my random experiences have been bad, in fact, some have been awesome. For instance, I only applied to ONE graduate school and got into it. I had done poorly on my GRE, had low self-confidence, and found the only school in the Seattle area that didn't require the GRE for admission. When I sent in my application, I knew that I was putting all of my eggs in one basket and I was ready to spend the next year on my parents' couch wallowing and starting the application process over again. When I was accepted to Northwest, I knew that getting into the only school you applied to was as rare as getting struck by lightning. I didn't argue with it; I just packed my bags and started the next phase of my life.

That wasn't the only time that the randomness of the world worked to my benefit. When graduate school was drawing to a close, I started applying for jobs. In the big metropolis of Seattle, I interviewed for ONE job and was offered that job on the morning of my graduation. When I decided to move home to Montana, I interviewed for ONE job and was offered that job within 30 minutes of the interview. I later met my husband at a wedding, which was yet another example of the randomness of the world benefiting me in an unexpected way.

I don't think that I have lived a charmed life or that I am exempt from the normal forces of the world. I do have to marvel at how many times I have experienced those "one in a million chance of happening" things and how extreme those experiences have been. I realize that I don't take times when life is mellow for granted because I know that that can change in a moment - for good or for bad.

Because my pregnancy with Keller was so uncomplicated, I was assured that having something devastating happening after the first trimester was extremely rare. I was almost guaranteed that it was very likely that I would give birth to a healthy baby as long as I took care of myself and kept my prenatal appointments. All I had to do was wait for the time that I would meet my son.

Stillbirth is a relatively uncommon occurrence. Most pregnancies that go beyond the first trimester, and nearly all that go beyond 20 weeks, result in babies that survive. Some of those babies have complications that require medical intervention, but most of them eventually go home to their excited parents. Having a stillborn baby is highly unlikely, especially with medical technology where it is, and most obstetricians go their entire careers experiencing very few stillbirths.

Keller died of a cord accident, which is a common condition that rarely causes stillbirth. His death has made me afraid that something terrible will happen to my body. While I have been healing quickly, I have also been fearful that something will go wrong and that it could affect my ability to have children in the future. When I started bleeding this week, I was sure that there was something terribly wrong with me. The bleeding was extremely heavy and I did not feel well. My concern was that I had hurt myself by starting my exercise regimen too early and hitting the gym too hard. While it was very likely that I had returned to my normal menstrual cycle and was having a period, I wasn't completely sure.

To ease my fear about the bleeding, I called my doctor's office to discuss it with the nurse. I left a message in the morning and my call was not returned until after 3:00 pm. The nurse asked me to describe my symptoms, explained her understanding of the term "heavy bleeding" to me, and instructed me to use normal feminine products to deal with my issue. While I like my doctor and her nurse, and have defended them in a lot of this, I was frustrated with how my concerns were handled. I realize that "heavy bleeding" may mean different things to different people. I also understand that they probably get a lot of calls from postpartum mothers who are surprised when their periods return. My frustration comes from the fact that I feel like they treated my concern as just another complaint and sent me the message that I was somehow bothering them with my problem.

I am frustrated with the situation because I am not like every other postpartum mother. I do not have a crying baby at home and I am not going to function like every other person who has recently given birth. Up until my recent hospital stay, I had never stayed in the hospital overnight. I had never had an IV, nor had I ever had anaesthesia. That said, my reaction to future medical situations is going to be different because of my unique experiences and possibly the sight of my own blood may be more traumatic for me than it would be for a person with different experiences. I don't think that I should be treated like everyone else because my experiences are unique and different. In fact, everyone who seeks medical treatment should be treated with compassion and understanding for their unique situations.

Following the frustrating conversation with the nurse, my counselor helped me realize that my reactions to a lot of things are bound to be shaped by my past encounters with events that had a "one in a million chance of happening." I have had a lot of things happen to me that had a very low probability of occurring, so I am not comforted by statistics anymore. If I have a problem and someone tells me that it is very unlikely to be serious, what comfort is that to me? My life has repeatedly been permanently affected, in both good and bad ways, by things that no one could have predicted.

How do I find comfort in all of this? The first thing that I will do is to find a health care provider that understands my unique position. I wasn't sure about switching before, but I now realize that I need to find a doctor that will treat me with a high level of caring and sensitivity for my unique needs. I know that I am not the only person that my doctor will see, but I do need a provider who will field my questions with an understanding of my situation and the impact that my past experiences have had on my perception of bodily symptoms. I should not be treated like every other mother because I am not like every other mother. I have a baby but he is in my heart instead of in my arms.

I don't want to get into a trap where I am pessimistic because of my past experiences. Sure, I have had a lot of random, crazy, and unpredictable things happen to me. Only God knows why I have had the unique experiences that I have had and He knows where I should go from here. I find a lot of comfort in knowing that I am just as likely to have unpredictable awesome experiences as I am to have those rare and devastating ones. I am so thankful for the positive times that I have had and I wouldn't give those up for anything. It is my belief that experiencing the difficulties that I have had allows me to truly appreciate and value all the positive things in my life. I hope that, with continued healing, I will continue to embrace life with all of it's chaos and unexpected twists.

Sweetly broken... wholly surrendered.

At Keller's memorial service, we sang several of the worship songs that he loved. One of those songs was, "Sweetly Broken" by Jeremy Riddle. The song has powerful lyrics and those lyrics have given me a lot of comfort over the past six weeks. The chorus of the song goes,

"At the cross you beckon me,
You draw me gently to my knees and I am
Lost for words, so lost in love,
I'm sweetly broken, wholly surrendered."

I have been thinking a lot about what it means to be "broken" and I have come to terms with the fact that I am most definitely broken from everything that has happened. I would be lying if I said that I still feel like a complete person because I don't feel complete at all. My friends and family have all tried their best to put me back together, but unfortunately my feeling of "completeness" went away when I was told that my beautiful son no longer had a heartbeat. There is something about mothers and children that I now understand; mothers and children are truly part of each other. They are connected in ways that go beyond emotional ties and when one member of that bond is lost, the other is left broken and incomplete forever.

Losing Keller has left me broken and with a void that may never be filled. I don't know if I will ever truly feel that my brokenness is repaired until I am in Heaven with the opportunity to be reunited with my son and all the other people I have lost. One thing that I have to remember in all of this is that I am not the first person to lose someone that they loved; I'm not even the first person to lose a son. God himself lost his son and because of that, we are saved and able to have eternal life in Heaven. Thinking about God's sacrifice reminds me that I have not been forsaken by God and that he understands my pain more than I will ever comprehend.

A lot of people have told me that I am strong and that my strength has inspired them. I sincerely appreciate those compliments, even though I don't feel very strong yet. To be honest, my understanding of strength has been changed many times over the past 11 years and especially in recent weeks. For example, I used to view strong people as people who could handle things without help and without showing weakness. I now know that strength comes in a lot of forms and you never know what your strength is until you are put into a position where you need it. Strength isn't something that is seen on a day-to-day basis; we find our strength on our darkest days and in unexpected places.

I now see strength as being strong enough to accept help. In my eyes, strong people are those who go to doctors, keep their counseling appointments, and take their medication. Strong people admit when they are having tough days and they allow friends and family to pitch-in when needed. People who cry are not weak; they are strong enough to experience their emotions without arguing with them or justifying them. Strong people express their feelings without allowing pent-up emotions to take over their lives. What we have traditionally regarded as strength may actually be weakness that is shrouded in false bravado.

My recent experiences have taught me about strength, but they have also taught me something about surrender. I used to view surrender as giving up and cashing in. The word surrender is something that I always viewed as being equated with weakness and lack of power. Going to church and experiencing life as it is, has taught me a different meaning of the word, surrender.

Before I got pregnant with Keller, Matt and I had some decisions to make. We realized that we had always assumed that we would get married, both have good jobs, buy a house, and THEN have children. We honestly thought that that was how our lives would go. When things didn't line up in that perfect order, we decided that it was time to let go of some of our control and let God decide the schedule of our lives. Maybe God had other plans and we were just interfering by trying to control everything. Matt and I decided to pray for the things we wanted and allow God to decide the when and how. That choice paid off when I found out that I was pregnant with Keller in January. At that time, we still lived in an apartment and Matt was pretty much laid off from work. Even though it was stressful, it felt good to give up control and see what God's plan was for us.

When I went into labor with Keller on August 31, I learned another lesson about surrender. My contractions went from uncomfortable to extremely painful quickly and I had no control over what my body was doing. I realized early on that I was not in charge and that it was time for me to yield some of my control to God and members of the medical profession. When I learned that Keller did not have a heartbeat, I learned yet another lesson about surrender. I had no choice but to surrender to the circumstances and allow the medical staff to do what they were trained to do. As heartbreaking as it was, it was also comforting to not have to be in charge for once.

After our brief hospital stay, Matt and I returned home to yet another kind of surrender. Once we were home, we allowed our friends and family to take charge of our physical needs. Our moms went grocery shopping, some people sent us money, and our friends brought us meals. Our co-workers took charge of our jobs and kept things running as smoothly as they could. Matt and I were blessed with people who jumped in and kept us afloat and surrendering to their help actually felt good.

As I continue to move forward, I have faith that God will heal my broken spirit. Only He knows the depth of my wounded heart and He has the power to mend what is broken. Truly surrendering and allowing myself to receive His comfort and peace is the only way that I am going to survive. After all, surrender is not weakness or giving up. It is stepping back and allowing a more powerful force to place the broken pieces back together.

Overcoming my fears... again

Physically, this has definitely been a better week for me. I'm feeling stronger than I have in a long time. One thing that I did this week was start an exercise program. It's amazing what exercise does for the mental and emotional health, not just the physical. Because of the exercise, my body continues to heal at a rate that surprises even me. I am consistently amazed by the human body's ability to heal and respond to all the craziness that we put it through.

Writing about this whole experience has also helped build my strength. I can't express enough how good it feels to get the story out there. I have always wanted to be a writer, but I was so critical of myself and, I admit, uninspired, that I haven't seriously put pen to paper since graduate school. I realize now that I just needed something to inspire me and quiet my inner critics enough to start the ball rolling. I love the English language and have always felt that it had the power to heal. Hopefully this is the start of not only my writing for therapy, but a chance to use language to help other people with the chaos in their lives.

One thing that I have heard a lot of in various circles is that, "If you speak something aloud, you give it power and permission to affect you." I realize that I do not agree with that statement at all. By verbalizing something or writing it down, you place it outside of you ,and that is where you can see it clearly and hopefully deal with it. Last week, I wrote about all the impossible questions that I have been asking myself since my brother died and more recently when my son was stillborn. I realize now that I was literally drowning in those questions and that they were threatening to steal my joy. The moment I completed that post, I felt the grip loosen a little. I breathed a little easier. Somehow, placing those questions outside of me, and giving myself permission to leave them unanswered, reduced the amount of power that they had over me.

Recently, I have been thinking a lot about the car accident that I was in in September 2001. The accident happened on a gorgeous day when I was doing everything right: not speeding, wearing my seat belt, and paying attention to the road and driving conditions. It was a nice day and there were no factors that made driving difficult. On that day, a motorcyclist crashed into my car and I crashed into the side of a mountain while trying to avoid him. The motorcyclist died literally at my feet and my body was severely crunched. The accident, which happened just three years after my brother's fatal accident, has had a profound affect on me.

After my brother died, I made a promise to myself that I would never cause my parents to feel an ounce of pain on my behalf. I would never injure myself, never get sick, never get so much as a speeding ticket, or do anything else that would cause them to worry about me. My mom and dad went through so much pain when we lost my brother and I couldn't stand the thought that they would ever experience pain again. Even though the accident was not my fault, I felt so bad that my parents would find out about it and be upset. Following the accident, I had to accept that my efforts to be perfect were futile and that being the perfect daughter was not enough to protect me from the randomness of the world. The accident shook me to my very core and had a profound affect on my family.

Following my car accident, I lived in fear. I had always been an anxious and somewhat vigilant person, but I became someone who was truly ruled by fear. I had terrible nightmares and worried about the affect of the accident on my family. I was worried about my physical health and had concerns that my body would never be the same. I was afraid that the accident had somehow crushed my spirit and that I would never recover. I said to myself, "I survived the death of my brother and several other losses, only to be brought down by this? Is this what will actually do me in?" I had heard that people eventually get to their breaking point and I wondered if I had finally reached mine. My biggest fear was that the accident had somehow taken away the parts of myself that I liked; my optimism, my compassion, and my faith in a loving and compassionate God. I worried about loving people again because people seemed to be so temporary and vulnerable to being taken in an instant.

Recovering from my car accident was not easy but I did it. Over time I regained a lot of the things that I had lost. My body healed, my optimism was renewed, and I moved forward with strength and determination. I'm not really sure why the memories of my car accident have come back to me recently but I've learned to experience feelings without arguing with them. I realize that I have overcome a lot of things from that day, but the fears have stayed with me. Losing my son has brought those fears back into focus and I feel ready to deal with them again.

The ironic thing is that I was anxious during my pregnancy with Keller, but I was never afraid. I didn't fear the pain of labor and delivery, nor was I afraid of becoming a parent. I wanted Keller so much and fear was not something that I wrestled with at all. Looking back I wonder if part of my lack of fear was the fact that I had already survived my worst nightmares and lived to tell about them. What could I possibly be afraid of when I had already overcome so much in my life? In some ways, I had that attitude that I had somehow already reached my quota of chaos and that maybe I was exempt from loss and traumas at least for a little while.

Apparently, searching for a "chaos quota" is as futile as the quest for the "easy button." None of us are exempt from trauma, nor do we achieve a "chaos free status" once we have experienced enough pain in our lives. Over the past weekend, my family suffered another devastating loss with the death of my cousin, Austin. On the heels of my son's stillbirth and four days before the anniversary of his own brother's untimely death, Austin left us suddenly and without warning. As much as I am tempted to ask more "why me?" questions, I know that questions will get me nowhere. It's time for this broken family to set the questions aside, band together, and take steps to heal from our collective tragic experiences.

To be perfectly honest, I am reeling from everything that has happened to my family in recent months and years. I don't know why we have experienced these traumas and I can't fathom any reason or explanation to have tragedy of this magnitude. I am trying to be strong but my strength is definitely being tested right now. What I do know for sure is that I want to live my life without allowing fear to dominate my existence. Even under these circumstances, I know that I am no longer willing to allow fear to steal my joy and affect my relationships. I want to love people without constantly worrying that they will be taken from me.

As hard as it is to say right now, I know that I will move forward and love people for as long as I am lucky enough to know them. And when my loved ones do go to Heaven, I want them to know that I don't regret loving them even though losing them was so hard. I want my son, my brother, and all of the people I have lost to know that overcoming my fears and giving them my love was a choice. And I wouldn't change my decision, even if choosing not to love them would have made losing them easier. The future holds plenty more opportunities for me to know and love people and my sincere hope is that I can keep my fears in check and cherish every precious moment with them, even if those moments are brief.