Everett

Our son, Everett James, was born on February 26, 2012, after the sudden onset of pregnancy induced hypertension. There is a bit of irony in his induction due to high blood pressure given that the stress level at the end of this pregnancy wasn't anywhere close to that during the final month of pregnancy after the fire.

When we loaded him in the car upon discharge, I was giddy. I have waited nearly four years to experience the moment of bringing my child HOME, home to the house I expected they would live in, home to the room I had so carefully planned, painted, arranged. To those who have never experienced the loss of a home, this might seem odd. Of course I got to bring Kellen home. We had a roof over our head, and a few months later we moved home. But it wasn't nearly the same, and the moment we pulled into our driveway as a family of four is a moment I will hold close for the entirety of my life. I couldn't have appreciated that moment in that way without the experience of the fire. I cried. Home.

I still have a house

I'm about 34.5 weeks pregnant, and I still have a house.

I was 34 weeks when our house burned down. Our shower had been hosted. The nursery was finished, complete with a guitar mural and my childhood treasures that I couldn't wait to share with my son. Clothes had been washed with Dreft and put away only days before.

And then everything was gone. No nursery. No Bambi blanket. No worn pages on well-loved books. Only a few ashy disposable diapers and a charred bronze star with no wall to hang on.

It's hard to be pregnant again without reliving that. All of the work I've done on baby #2's nursery has been completed with the help of a quiet little voice in my head that repeatedly asks, "What if it happens again?" I've washed the clothes. I've assembled the crib. I've painted. The room is nearly done (minus the wall vinyl and curtains). And yet, there is this part of me that can't actually envision bringing him home to this room even though I know the odds are strongly in favor of the likelihood that we will actually get to bring this child home from the hospital. Home. To *our* house.

It's really hard for me to compare pregnancies. What are the final weeks like when you don't have to sift through ash? When you aren't running around trying to replace at least the very basics so that you have shelter and clothes and a bed? Was I in as much pain with Kellen as I am now, or was I just so distracted that I didn't realize how uncomfortable I was? Should I expect this baby to come around 38 weeks like Kellen, or is that pregnancy disregarded as my normal since I was under so much stress? This is the point in my pregnancy where everything changed, and I no longer have comparisons because I can't separate the pregnancy from the fire; they are one experience.

The good news is that this hasn't really increased my anxiety. I'm not having flashbacks so much as I am reflecting. It's hard to believe that my sons could come into this world under such vastly different circumstances. While we are still busy and there are certainly different stressors (like a three year old!), my safety doesn't feel threatened this time. And we won't be running around Boise picking out building materials when he's two days old. I might actually be able to rest when he comes home! And as long as my health stays intact, I should be able to smile when he smiles for the first time. I know it's going to be a completely different  experience, and yet, it still brings me back to August 25. My pregnancies will never exist outside of that date even when they are completely removed from it.

Finding happiness

For the first time in over THREE YEARS, I think I can finally say that I am enjoying my life.

It's been a long time coming.

I can't say that I don't have bouts of depression still or that I'm not still scared that my house is going to burn down again or that I'm going to get sick again or that something will show up tomorrow at my proverbial life doorstep to derail me again, but for right now, in this moment, I am happy. And I am happy about my life.

I look at the last decade, and I am amazed that I made it through. I am often saddened by the events that have unfolded, even in the midst of incredible life events like my wedding and the birth of my son. It wasn't supposed to happen like that. But it did. And yet, I am okay. I didn't always get out of bed. I didn't always make the choice to be happy because that happiness would have been inauthentic. But I lived.

I think a lot of my renewed contentedness comes from the business. I am happy working. I am finally at a place where I can get out of my head all day and converse with others. I may not always be able to relate, but just being able to be a part of my community again has made a huge difference.

I can survive. I may not always want to. But I can. And more than that, I can be happy again. And that is something to be incredibly grateful for this Thanksgiving season.

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For more about what I'm thankful for this month, find me on Facebook.

Family emergency plan

November 9 is the test of the national emergency broadcast system. In preparation of that event, there have been calls to create an emergency plan for your family. I highly encourage you to pause for a few minutes over the next week or two and think about, discuss, and create a plan for your family. The likelihood of needing that plan is small; however, I have known several people in the last year who have encountered natural disasters, and someone has to be the 1%. You never know when that moment will happen, if it does, and being prepared NOW is critical to ensuring that you and your family stay as safe as possible should a natural or man-made disaster occur.

1. I know I've discussed it before, but I don't think I can say it often enough: HAVE A PLAN. Have a plan, have a plan, have a plan. Discuss where you would meet if you got separated. It's not enough, honestly, to have a spot by a tree across the road. While our fire was very, very unique in intensity, you don't know what the situation is going to be that you are presented with. There is no where in our neighborhood that was safe to meet because the evacuation order quickly spread several blocks. And there is only so long you can sit in a car wondering if your husband is alive before you need to get yourself out of danger. It would have been a bit easier in those moments had we discussed where to meet, away from our neighborhood. I can see this being especially important if you have older kids who might be at a sports practice or school or with friends. There needs to be a plan in the event that your cell phones DO NOT WORK (the horror!). I think it's prudent to discuss a few options. A) The tree across the street in ___ yard. B) The gas station down the road. C) ____'s house, a few miles away.

2. Protect your important documents. Again, we were in a unique situation with the fire, but our neighbors' fire safes were destroyed in the fire. And unfortunately you don't get warning about what's going to happen to you, so having your documents out of the house is advised. If it was a tornado or a flash flood, you also might not have time to get the things you need in time (and I know of too many people who spent a few too many minutes in their homes trying to locate their important documents before evacuating. Those moments are stressful enough without worrying about papers.) I have most documents in a safety deposit box. But I've also started giving them to my mom as well in the event we needed them. Our wills, insurance information, birth certificates, etc. Put them in a manila envelope with your name on them and ask a family member to file away.

3. Inventory your house. I am such a hypocrite on this because I still haven't done what I said I was going to, but I have thought about it at least!  Even if you don't create an entire list of everything you own, take pictures and store online. Take a picture of each room, open drawers, document your clothes/shoes/jewelry. And please please take pictures of your garage and attic. It was far easier to recall the items I passed every day. It was not so easy (read: impossible) to figure out what was in the boxes in the garage. Insurance cannot compensate you for things you don't remember you had.

4. Review your insurance policy. If you live near a river or canal, consider flood insurance. Look at possible exclusions. Know your policy limits and ask your agent about reappraising your house if it's been a while and you believe your house has gone up in value (probably not as important today as in 2007). If you have jewelry exclusions or art, consider itemizing those items on your policy. Read. Ask questions. You don't want to find out in the days after a major trauma that what you thought was covered isn't.

I know there are a lot of readers who've lived through a fire. I'd love to hear additional suggestions as well as hearing what you, as a family, have done to prepare for the What if.

It's a...

We had our anatomy scan yesterday.  The baby looks good but was a bit uncooperative.  We were able to find out what we're having.  And here is your clue:

The dragon in the middle is Kellen, who makes a pretty cute dragon if I do say so myself.  Also, pipe cleaner fire is far safer and funnier than the real thing!

Depression

I've written a lot about mental health issues in this space, mostly related to PTSD.  But I've rarely mentioned depression, in a way I think because it's a tough issue to talk about.  After the fire, I wasn't really depressed.  I was overwhelmed.  I cried.  But I still was able to look at the world and see goodness.

A few days after the Bell's Palsy, when the doctor called with an abnormal test result, that's the first day I took antidepressants ever.  Honestly it wasn't even depression.  It was life, and I was so overwhelmed by the amount of really, really shitty things happening that I wanted a pill to take those events away.  They couldn't.  And as it turned out, I have a really bad reaction to the medication they prescribed.

Depression and anxiety seem to be associated with Lyme, and I definitely had my fair share (in addition to the anxiety caused by the fire, which was its own beast!).  There were many days I couldn't get off the floor (where I was trying to play with my son) and was worried about my ability to get through this illness, through the pain of the events that have bludgeoned my spirit (not to be hyperbolic).  As we treated Lyme, the depression seemed to subside, and I was able to see the sun again.  I still might not have been able to see the world in the same optimistic light as before the fire and the Lyme, but at least I could enjoy what was immediately present in my life.  I also stopped expecting bad things to happen.

Until now.

I don't know if it's pregnancy related or the fact that some of my neurologic issues are returning mid-way through this pregnancy, but I feel like the darkness has found me again.  It's hard to conceptualize depression; it's more than just a black cloud that follows you around.  Depression is a weight that settles into your heart and makes every thought, every action feel like the very last bicep curl after a long workout.  Depression drains you of energy and sucks joy out of even the most supposedly joyful moments.  And worse, depression makes you a narcissist, assuming that all actions and reactions are a result of something you've done.  All rationality disappears, and you are left with hurt, pain that only you can resolve and yet you are in a place where you are unable to care for even the most basic of needs, much less find your way through a dark and lonely tunnel.

I have 20 weeks left of this pregnancy.  While I wish I was one of those women who loved every minute of being pregnant, I do not.  I am sick.  And I am sick of being sick.  Most of the symptom flares I am unable to treat because the medications are not safe for my child.  I have twenty weeks until I can take the medicine I need, twenty weeks for my disease to once again get out of control, twenty weeks to start the arduous climb back toward health.  I want to look forward to holding my child for the first time, for those first moments of recognition.  Instead, I look forward to swallowing a blue pill, one that I hope will stabilize my health.

Sadly, I don't even know if this frustration is the cause or the result of depression.  Regardless, I am struggling to feel like there is happiness again in my future.  I am tired of the battle.  I am tired of feeling like the person life shits on when there is too much joy.  I'm tired of being the person who everyone has come to expect will be negative or lack enthusiasm.  Certainly there are worse life circumstances.  I know this.  But I still feel like I've lost some sort of life lottery.  And I'm just tired.

Five year plans

Dan and I celebrated our five year wedding anniversary on Friday.  I've written before about how difficult the last five years have been for us (Sometimes I Do really does mean "for worse") and how I never could have predicted the events that would follow our wedding.  It's been a trial for sure.

At dinner, Dan and I talked about the past and tried to talk about the future.  As someone who used to live for my Five Year Plan, this seemed like an appropriate time to pull out a pen and paper and start making a list about all the things I'm going to accomplish between now and 2016.  Instead, we looked at each other and sighed.  There would be no five year plan.  There likely won't ever be another five year plan.  The old ones burned up in the fire... as did our ability to believe that we could even pretend to make a list about where we see ourselves five years from now.

I don't think this is uncommon for fire survivors.  In a way we are lucky to have so many people around us who understand.  My neighbors and I have discussed this very subject, and it seems to me that most of us have this block.  Life changed so dramatically in a matter of minutes, and, even if it's irrational, there is this belief that emerges that it could change again that quickly.  No amount of planning can prepare you for that moment, and I wonder if having a firm idea in your head of where your life is supposed to be makes the event, the dramatic change, more difficult to absorb.  Not only have did we lose a house, our stuff, we lost our direction.

This isn't to say I don't have some goals or we don't talk about possibilities in the future.  I just am not nearly as committed to those ideas as I was in the past.  It's freeing, in a way, not always having to look forward and instead just being where you are.  Even so, it's still an adjustment, especially for someone who used to believe that life could all be worked out, plotted on a graph in a neat little line.  I guess that only really works if you are graphing with hindsight, plotting your steps as they happen, not as you wish them to be.