Hi Mary,

Everything we do needs to be considered in context. Nothing happens in this world as isoated incidents. Every action has a reaction. I lost a child and the doctors told me it was a freak accident that there was nothing I could do about it. I was never HONESTLY able to believe that. I knew things that those doctors didn't - about my actions and behaviour prior to losing the child. There is no possible way, in my mind, that a child could survive the contaminated body in which it was attempting to grow. My drinking and drug use contributed to the death of my unborn child. The paperwork doesn't say so. The doctors didn't say so. My husband didn't say so. Nor did my family. But I knew the truth.

Talking to any of those people about it, would have made no difference to the outcome. I had to be honest with myself and change my behaviour. I was told I would never again bear children. I had lost a large part of my womb in the fight to save my life. Any future pregnancies would be considered high risk and life threatening.

I didn't place much value on my life Mary. In my own mixed up mind, I was prepared to surrender mine in the hope the next generation could maybe do a better job of things. I was determined to bring life into this world, and my first daughter arrived with my goodbye already written and my wishes for her clearly stated. I don't argue when people say I was selfish, I can see how people would think that. She was pronounced a miracle by doctors and I featured in medical journals (which was to be the first of three times that would happen). I couldn't drink Mary, there was no choice here. She (unlike me) was born with a very low tolerance to things. She was lactose intolerant, so breast feeding was important. She reacted to so much of what I ate and drank, that it was clearly impossible for me to drink.

The same night I decided to cease breast feeding we were both hospitalised. The doctor told me the following morning, he had not admitted us out of concerns for my daughter - she had a simple cold. He had hospitalised us because I had arrived in a state that concerned him. Stoned off my nut.

I found out I was pregnant with my second miracle the same day I had decided to leave my husband. My second daughter arrived 17 months after the first, and doctors were very alarmed, suggesting there was no possible way my womb could withstand another pregnancy in such a short space of time. The concern had always been that my womb was only 2/3rds the size it should be and would effectively "split at the seam". Very dramatic stuff. I told no-one about the doctors concerns, but again all drinking and drug taking stopped. It was not particularly difficult, because my focus was clearly on my baby's survival. The need to do things right was increased three fold by the fact, that I had lost a child, now had one child and had somehow come to a place where I decided I didn't want to leave my kids on this earth all by themselves. I had found some self worth in becoming a mother. She was delivered prematurely by C section, and we both came home to another 6 months of "staying dry". As it turns out, she actually has a high tolerance to things, but it took a long time to work that out - as I just did what I had done with her sister, avoided all potentially harmful or reactive foods, drugs etc, until she was no longer reliant on me as a food source.

The steps lead us through a journey that leads to rigourous honesty with ourselves. This does not always require public sharing or even private sharing. We may share the essence of our pain or highlight wrong doings when we share our step 4, but it is rarely in entirity. It is us, who as individuals need to process the hurt done to ourselves and to others and find peace within.

I will always remember the time I lost my first child. I collapsed outside a shopping centre, clutching my stomach that was rising like there was some creature growing inside me, ready to burst out like some freaky movie. I was hemoraging internally and yet the blood was unable to escape. I knew there was something very wrong. I was dying. I could feel it. I begged passersbys to help, in between coming in and out of consciousness. I remember the looks on their faces. I was dressed for work, in an office suit and yet they looked down at me with such distate. I kept thinking, what is wrong with these people? One had to buy school stuff for her son, she told me, when I asked her to call an ambulance. Another had to get home to her kids. Each woman looked upon me like I was just some no good drunk. I could see the distate in their eyes. They clearly thought I was drunk and were unable to offer me the time of day. It was years before I finally sat with myself and accepted the looks they gave me. It was a 10 year old boy, who pleaded with the local shopkeepers to call an ambulance. He tried several other adults and kept coming back to me, more and more panicked. Eventually, I could hear him screaming at a loading dock. They wouldn't let him use the phone and he fought for my life with all his might. A truck driver eventually made the call. That little boy saved my life. The ambulance man told him he had, but he wouldn't give his name, because he was wagging school.

I never got to say thankyou. There is a debt in me to a nameless kid, that I doubt anyone would understand. It is barely worth mentioning in conversation - but it is a part of my program today. I will spend the rest of my life saying thankyou to kids. Especially the ones adults refuse to listen to. It is part of my amends.

Why we do things... how we come to a place of decision... the things that change us... they are all in the steps Mary. You will find all your answers there.

I wish you peace.