Opening the door gently
To sit and write this again is hard. I’ve attempted to share our story a few times, but so much of it lives in the shadows—details I’d rather forget or let fade. But in forgetting, Indi’s story—and its purpose—is lost. So I will open this door gently, and tell you how we got here.
​
Before I begin, please note: this story involves the use of pharmaceuticals. I am not a medical professional. I believe every individual must take responsibility for their own health and do the necessary research. No matter what you’re told—do your homework.
​
**Disclaimer: this is our very real and very raw story and could trigger some big emotions.
Our story includes the loss of a child and the very deep and unimaginable grief and healing of a mother.
​
Please read with care.
7/26/08 - 09/13/08
12/25/47 - 08/23/00
The journey begins: the loss of my mother
My journey back to myself began in April 2000 with a phone call from my sister. Through her sobs, I heard the words, “Mom has cancer again.”
​
She had already survived breast cancer, a double mastectomy, and aggressive treatment. But this time, the fight was too much. In just four months, cancer took her from us. She passed in August 2000 at the age of 53.
​
My mother was a single mom who raised four children on her own—working 2–3 jobs at times. I had no idea of her strength until I began raising my own family. Her love was deep, her sacrifices endless.
Grief, growth, & growing my family
After her passing, we were lost. I was 26 with two small children, Gavin and Ayla. In honor of my mother’s wish for more grandchildren, I gave birth to my son in October 2001—naming him after her: Diana/Anaid.
​
I struggled emotionally and began taking antidepressants. Effexor XR seemed to help—but over time, the dose had to keep increasing. Eventually, it became part of my daily life.
Pharmaceutical faith & pregnancy
In 2004, I wanted another child. My doctor, unsure if Effexor was safe during pregnancy, switched me to Zoloft. Jakob was born in April 2005. After breastfeeding, I went back on Effexor—still unaware of my deep dependence on it.
​
In 2007, I planned to have another baby. I asked again about switching meds but was told Effexor was fine—even beneficial. I stayed on a high 300mg dose throughout pregnancy. There were no clear public warnings available at the time.
The birth of Indiana Star
Indiana’s pregnancy was difficult. I was placed on bed rest and eventually induced early. When I mentioned Effexor to the on-call physician, he alerted the NICU, saying, “There’s an Effexor baby on the way.”
​
Indi was born unresponsive. After intense intervention, she finally took a breath. But she was listless. No one explained what had happened. No one warned us. On July 26, 2008, my Indiana Star was born—named after my mother.
Silent symptoms & a missed warning
Indiana struggled to stay awake or feed. Doctors told me it was fine to breastfeed on Effexor—despite my instincts whispering otherwise.
​
She continued vomiting, losing weight. We were told to force-feed and keep her upright for 30 minutes after every feeding. We did our best.
​
On September 7, 2008, the morning after my brother’s wedding, I fed Indi and propped her up while starting breakfast. When I returned, I found her face-down on the bed.
She had aspirated.
​
My sister performed CPR. Paramedics rushed her to Primary Children’s Hospital. She was revived but the damage was done. Too much brain damage. We were told she wouldn’t survive off life support.
​
On September 13, 2008, Indiana passed away.
The darkest night of my soul
The pain of losing my child was unlike anything I’ve known. I carried deep guilt—believing Effexor had poisoned her through my milk. I had to get off it. The withdrawal was brutal: brain zaps, vertigo, emotional extremes. I shut myself off.
​
We were all grieving. Still, I stayed for my children. I couldn’t leave them with the same hole I now carried. After six grueling months, I tapered off the medication. I should have had support. But I no longer trusted the medical world.
A new light: Sunny's arrival
To move forward, we decided to have another child. In October 2009, I gave birth to Sunny—our beautiful rainbow baby. She was a healer. Her name fit her perfectly. She brought light back into our lives.
A crisis of faith & a spiritual awakening
After my mother’s death, a relative told me that I would never see her again because I left the Mormon faith. In the moment of deepest grief, I was told I was eternally separated from my mother.
​
But I knew otherwise. I could feel my mother’s presence. I began learning tarot to find a way to communicate with her—because I couldn’t afford to keep seeing readers.
​
Before I conceived Indiana, her spirit came to me often. She told me she needed to come into this world. Though her father resisted, she kept returning to me. Eventually, I did a tarot reading for him—and her presence was undeniable. I was pregnant a month later.
​
When she passed, I was left questioning everything. She had pleaded to come into this world. Why would she leave?
​
I begged for a way to connect with her—and was shown a vision of a deck of cards. That vision became Indi Star Cards, completed on her birthday. I’ve used them ever since. She sent them to me.
Sharing our story with the world
Indiana told me: numbing separates us from our power. Only by feeling can we navigate our lives.
​
Our story has reached people all over the world. We’ve shared it through podcasts, a viral YouTube video (“Effexor Baby”), and documentaries translated into seven languages. Our experience helped bring awareness and change—SSRIs now carry clearer warnings about use during pregnancy.
​
Today, our work continues. We help people connect with their crossed-over loved ones. We help others return to their true selves and navigate emotional trauma.
​
Indi’s message is clear:
​
Your emotions are not weaknesses—they are guidance. Your spirit is the compass. And through healing, you can return home to yourself.
​
After 23 years of this journey, including 15 years of deep healing, I am finally ready to teach and share.
​
As my mother always said before I went out for the night:
​
“Remember who you are and where you come from.”
​
I now know exactly what she meant.
​
That is where we return. That is where we begin.
And that is where Indiana lives—in all of us who choose to feel, to listen, and to remember.
