Jennifer Blacklock Blog

My story of tubal, regret, and reversal

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A Seed Planted

The first time I thought about a tubal relating to myself was at a prenatal appointment when I was pregnant with Lyla, my second. I was surprised when my doctor asked plainly, as if bored with the idea, whether I wanted my tubes tied after this birth. We had been going through those routine questions- family medical history and all that- she had just asked some mundane question like “any history of asthma” or something, and then hit me with this offer of sterilization. I sat there, slightly dumbfounded, but before I had a chance to answer she looked at my age on her charts and said blandly, “oh, no, you’re only 22, too young, better wait” and went on with the assessment.

I didn’t realize how much that question, or rather, suggestion, stuck in some deep part of me, but it did, planting a seed that changed my thoughts with its implications:

“Women get their tubes tied after just two kids?”

“Is mid-twenties when most women get their tubes tied?”

“Do most women get their tubes tied?”

“Do people think two kids is a lot of kids?”

“Does it look like my husband and I are irresponsible somehow, not able to control ourselves?”

As clear as it is now how much I struggle with seeking others’ approval, it wasn’t obvious to me back then. I didn’t even think these questions out consciously, just let them pass by unnoticed, which means, of course, I was not taking my “thoughts captive before the throne of God” (2 Corinthians 10:5), not realizing how these thoughts were shaping me and would play into what would become the greatest regret of my life.

Life and Stubborness

New and normal, life and death, growth and deception all occurred between the birth of our second baby and the birth of our third.

In 2015 I had to have my appendix removed, and we bought our first house.

In 2016 we started our first garden, bought our first chickens, and I had a miscarriage.

After that we didn’t try to conceive. Actually, for several years I took birth control pills until I learned how disruptive and destructive they are to the body.

In 2017 Justin started a new job, we updated the house and took a vacation, and our closest friends moved out-of-state.

By 2018 we were really wanting another baby. I had told myself ever since the miscarriage that I didn’t want to be pregnant again. I think, actually, I was trying to punish myself somehow- I hadn’t dealt with all the emotions and grief that came with the loss. The desire to have a baby was strong, but out of fear or shame or pride (or all three), we avoided pregnancy.

But by God’s design, we’re never in as much control as we believe ourselves to be, and at the end of a very emotionally difficult 2019, we found ourselves pregnant with baby number three!

The Seed Grows

A friend who was pregnant at the same time unknowingly “watered” that seed that had been planted in my mind years before. We were at a restaurant and someone she knew commented on this third pregnancy of hers. She smiled and said confidently, with a friendly laugh and not a hint of hesitation, “yes, and then I’m getting my tubes tied!”

Somewhere not-so-deep inside I realized again that this was sort of expected- to be “done” after two or three. And here we were at three. Plus, this was a hard pregnancy. I wasn’t eating meat (another story for another time), so my body wasn’t as well nourished as it could’ve been, which came with problems. Besides that, I was six years older this time around, and I could feel it. I had terrible acid reflux. The only way to sleep most nights was propped to a sitting position. My body ached. And I felt the pressure of preparing for a third child while most days I lost patience and wasn’t as intentional as I wanted to be with just two.

On top of the physical difficulties and emotional strain, there was the added pressure from the doctors and others, shamelessly coercing, “is this going to be your last?”, “you’ll probably want your tubes tied after this one, right?”

And my answer changed from, “probably not” to, “I’m not sure” to, “um, yeah, I think so”.

Hesitation

I changed my mind about the tubal by the week, depending on how I was feeling.

Feelings should not make decisions for us.

Jeremiah 17:9 says, “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick”.

Proverbs advises us to “trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding” (3:5)

And also warns, “whoever trusts in his own mind is a fool, but he who walks in wisdom will be delivered.” (28:26)

The hesitation alone should’ve been a sign to at least just wait.

I asked the doctor a bunch of questions and did my own research, subconsciously hoping something would make me need to opt out:

What happens to the egg?

Will I still have a regular cycle?

Will it negatively affect my hormones?

Are there any negative side affects?

Any health concerns?

But everything seemed fine. No negative effects, no side effects.

I asked my dad about my mom’s tubal. She was forty years old when she had my brother, 12 years after me, her firstborn. She delivered him naturally on a hot July day, then had a tubal ligation. I remember her being rolled back into her hospital room, and her saying her legs were numb and that she was drowsy. Then my aunt and cousins arrived and we joked about how maybe we’d all call my new baby brother, Luke, “Luke Skywalker”, and we never talked about the tubal anymore. I didn’t remember anything about any regret so assumed there wasn’t any, and my dad verified. No regret, they had been sure. They were in their 40s and had birthed five children and were open to adoption if the Lord called them to it. My mom went to be with our Savior five years later.

Red Flags

The morning of Perry’s birth, a scheduled, repeat c-section (another topic for another time), as Justin and I drove to the hospital, we made the final decision.

Mind you, I was 39 weeks pregnant at this time, very uncomfortable and about to have a major surgery and a new child, and was experiencing all the anxiety and nervousness that comes with that. After a lot of back and forth, and weighing pros and cons, we finally, officially decided that I would have the tubal after Perry was born that day.

At the hospital, I signed consent paperwork and the doctor came in to go over it with us.

“So I see you want a tubal…” I nodded. “Are you sure you want a tubal?” She kind of did a little polite chuckle and told me how common “tubal regret” is in women under 30 years old.

If the doctor who’s getting paid to do the operation questions your decision, maaaaybe do some rethinking. Or at least wait.

I had read about regret in my research when I was trying to find some sort of health reason that would make me opt out. When reading about tubal regret, I thought to myself, pridefully, “that would never be me”.

I’d actually had multiple conversations with a friend regarding her tubal regret. She’d had the operation after her fifth child and wished she hadn’t based on the resentment toward her husband that it caused. I thought, “things are different for her and for these ‘insecure women’ I’ve read about; that’s not the kind of marriage I have.” I pridefully thought I would be “better” than these regretful women. I wasn’t scared of regret.

So when the doctor questioned my certainty on the basis of potential regret, I didn’t waver.

“Okay. Do you know what kind of tubal you want? Sometimes we put a clamp on them, or we can cut them, burn them, or there’s the type where we actually remove the entire tube…”

I thought that’s what she was wanted me to choose, so I said, people-pleasingly, “Um, yeah, ok, that would be fine, where you take out the tube.”

“No, no, no, you don’t want that way, because then it’s a done deal, there’s no way to reverse it if you want to.”

Justin agreed with the doctor; not the type where they remove the whole tube.

“Okay! Well, I’ll see you in the O.R., then! Congratulations!”

Anxiety started flooding over me at this point. I zeroed in on the “clips” idea and wondered if the clips were metal and would they leach toxic heavy metals into my body and always be there and cause health problems that would make me wish I’d never had them put in?!? I expressed this to Justin and asked him to please help me tell them I didn’t want metal clips.

They wheeled me back to the O.R. Why was I freaking out? I’d done this twice before. My body shivered violently with nervousness, and the nurse kept saying she was sorry it was cold in the room, they’d warm me up as soon as they could. I told the nurse about my concerns about metal, and she assured me they would not use metal clips. I didn’t feel at all reassured by the possible clips being plastic instead, but it was the only worry had been prepared to voice.

Procedure

The surgery was the worst, most panicked operation I’ve ever experienced (and I’ve had my share).

I was incredibly anxious. Tears streamed down my face behind that blue curtain. I felt terrified and worried. Silent tears soon turned into moans and sobs. Justin and the anesthesiologist and nurses asked what was wrong, but I didn’t know.

For the most part, I think this panic had to do with being older and more mature this time around. I had a better grasp of my values and was aware more than ever, that I wanted a natural birth, not another c-section, but had been pressured and coerced into it, again, believing there was no other way.

I realize now that some of the anxiety was about the tubal. God’s best for me was not this, but I’d stubbornly decided to do it anyway.

I was calmed down with some drug frantically administered by the anesthesiologist when, in the middle of my sobbing and writhing, the doctor had ordered from behind the curtain, “you need to do something for her, now!”

The Calm Before the Storm

Perry was healthy and beautiful. We had a nice, short hospital stay; and everything was normal and okay for a day.

We cooed over our new baby.

We video-called the big kids and watched them smile excitedly at the sight of their tiny brother.

We ate hospital cafeteria food, which I, strangely, love (maybe because I’m a mom and having someone else cook my food for me is a luxury, or maybe it goes back to my childhood when I longed to have a white, processed, crustless PB&J instead of my Ezekiel bread, nitrate-free turkey, organic red-leaf lettuce sandwich…)

Perry nursed wonderfully and had an adorable habit of sticking out his tongue like a little puppy.

Justin treated me like a princess and unplugged beeping machines that annoyed me even though it got us in trouble with the nurses.

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The next day we dressed Perry in his cute going-home outfit, the tiniest button up flannel long sleeve and itty bitty fleece joggers, and went home early.

Justin drove me and Perry to the house then went to pick up the big kids. I journaled and nursed. Lyla walked in wearing a huge princess dress and cuddled the baby brother she’d waited so long for. Leo held and kissed Perry so tenderly and gently, reminding me of when he was a toddler and Lyla was born. The house was calm and dim and clean, and we were all blissfully happy.

Realization of Regret

I started having quite a bit of pain from my incision and moved to the bedroom, Justin following with Perry.

When I sat down on the bed for the first time with my new baby, it suddenly hit me. It’s such a cliche to say “like freight train”, but really, the force of it was so overpowering, that phrase is just about perfect.

The moment I sat down, I was stunned by the shocking truth that it was now impossible for me to have another baby.

The reality of sterility brought the grief of infertility flooding over me, and I felt regret that was startling and consuming and confusing.

I tried to hold it in for a mere couple of seconds while Justin asked what was wrong, then began sobbing uncontrollably.

Every sob stung my incision sight sharply, but I was unable to stop, and finally forced out the words that have become my confession: “I should’ve gotten the tubal!”

Those next weeks were some of the most grief filled of my life.

I was just so sad.

It was a type of regret that made my whole body seize up with tension. It felt like heart break- like that burning, awful tingle that radiates from your chest through your arms.

I couldn’t think about the tubal without breaking down into sobs, I didn’t want the kids to be worried or afraid, so I would retreat to the bedroom or bathroom or backyard when I felt the piercing regret coming on, which was multiple times a day, just to cry and cry.

The sobbing was so severe that at some point it caused my incision to open partially, allowing one of the internal, dissolvable staples from beneath the skin to come out. Try adding that lovely detail to a difficult season sometime.

I felt so much anxiety for everything. I hated that those little plastic staples were inside my body. I was so worried of potential dangers. I had panic attacks daily; almost anything could trigger it:

Pain, mild or severe.

A slightly perilous scene in a kids’ movie.

Being alone in the bookstore.

Justin’s coworkers coming over with a meal and playing football in the backyard with the kids.

I would become suddenly terrified, almost always irrationally, start sobbing uncontrollably, and be unable to calm down for what seemed like hours (in reality they usually only lasted half an hour or less).

Thankfully, Justin was home during that postpartum stretch. He was so kind and helpful and would try to calm me down, telling me to remember truth, to not focus on fear. But being told to calm down is one thing, actually doing it is another.

The panic attacks became fewer and further between over the weeks. Around six weeks, that magical postpartum number, the anxiety attacks had faded to a stop, and I felt more steady, emotionally. I’m very glad I decided not to take the antidepressants I was prescribed during that time. My hormones just needed time to level out.

And I needed to grieve.

Denial & Bargaining

I didn’t want anyone to know about the tubal.

I begged Justin urgently not to tell anyone about it because I felt so ashamed, and he agreed not to. I would try to talk to him about it but would always break down. I tried to process through journaling but couldn’t even bring myself to write the word “tubal”. When I tried to pray about it, I couldn’t say anything, I could only cry.

I wished this wasn’t my reality.

I began shoving my sad feelings away, forcing myself to not think about it. I distracted myself however I could and tried to pretend this wasn’t my reality.

I knew I needed to accept the tubal, but I went through a stage of just wishing really hard that I could go back in time and change the decision. I would play it through in my head, the whole scene at the hospital, vividly, but changing the outcome. “Actually, no, I don’t want a tubal.” “Oh, okay, then”. And I sit down on the bed back home afterwards full and complete, with no regret; and there’s no grief or terrified feeling of loss or inexplainable feeling of lack of worth, like I was somehow less human now, or less woman.

Justin would gently talk about how he’d been looking into reversals until I couldn’t handle the heaviness of the burden of regret anymore and would bottle my feelings back up. He was still hopeful. And patient.

I tried to research about reversals and read about tubal regret but was never comforted. Learning more about how common this regret was made me feel stupid for not listening to it before. Looking into reversal surgery caused me to feel guilty and ashamed. There was no way I was going to spend thousands of dollars on a mistake I had made, a decision I had chosen and asked for, signed consents for, and had my insurance pay for. What waste. What impulsivity and foolishness.

So I tried to force myself to be okay with the tubal. I thought back to why we chose it in the first place, and tried to want it again.

I wasn’t very successful.

I wavered back and forth between false acceptance, “you know what? It’s fine. I really don’t want to go through pregnancy again. Three kids is a good amount. It was just hormones making me sad”, and complacency, “oh well, nothing to be done now. Just have to live with it”, but always returned to the place of hopeless regret.

Acceptance

Spending countless hours nursing a newborn gives an opportunity for serious reading. I plowed through book after book that changed my life as a follower of Jesus and as a wife and mother.

I started practicing benevolent detachment after reading Get Your Life Back, by John Eldredge. I would say, over and over “I give everyone and everything to you, God, I give everyone and everything to You” and go through my list- my kids, their futures, Justin, his job, our marriage, my siblings, their salvation, peoples’ ignorance and complacency about toxins and chemicals (yes, thats one of the things that can keep me up at night), sleep, friends, plans, and the tubal… I would tell God I was giving these things to Him, making myself realize I am not in control, and He is sovereign and can take so much better care of it all than I ever could even if I did have control.

I would repeat these releasing prayers until I believed what I was praying.

“God, I give my kids to You.

You can take so much better care of them than I can.

You love them even more than I do.

You want their salvation more than I do.

You are greater than the things that have and will come against them.

You are bigger than the parenting mistakes I’ve made.

I give up my worries and fears to you.

My children’s lives and futures are in your capable, loving hands, Lord”

It takes me a long time to actually release. I hold so tightly to concerns, grasping for elusive, impossible, unhelpful control. I have to tell God specifics so I realize what’s already true. Focusing on what’s “true… noble… right… lovely… pure… excellent… praiseworthy” (Philippians 4:8). God already knows all of this, He’s ready and willing and waiting for me.

And there is a moment when, finally, I believe it. I finally understand what “release” means. It doesn’t mean I’m stopping caring about these things or stopping working towards a certain end or goal, it simply means recognizing and acknowledging that God is God, and I am not. Like Louie Giglio says in his book I Am Not But I Know I Am, “admitting we are not God— not in control, not running anything, not responsible for everyone’s well-being, not the solution for everything and everyone, not at the center of all things— doesn’t belittle us; it frees us. For as small as we may be, the truth is we are known and prized by the God of all creation.”

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God, I give the tubal to You.

I give my body to you.

I release this regret to You God.

I let go of the past, what’s already done; the present, these feelings I have now; and the future, any children you want for us to have, whether biologically or by another means.

I’m letting go of control of the possibility of a reversal.

I give it all to You.

You know what is best, I don’t.

You care for me and my family more than anyone ever could.

You work all things for good for we who are called to your purposes (Romans 8:28).

I give the tubal to you.

God is so good to want us to release control. He’s so kind to command us to cast our anxieties upon him (1 Peter 5:7).

The healing process definitely felt messy and uncomfortable but was actually so beautiful.

Nursing Perry in our rocking chair and releasing everything to God.

Praying with Justin, asking for restoration and healing in whatever way was God’s will.

Weeping as I listened to Justin ask God to forgive us for this mistake, for making this choice with prideful and controlling motivations, for hurting my body.

Grieving for real. Not in denial- forcing myself to stop thinking about it, holding back tears, swallowing guilt and regret- but in a genuine, sorrowful, healing way.

Playing out what actually did happen- not trying to imagine it away- and just allowing myself to cry and cry until no more tears would come.

Going on prayer walks that became grief walks where I cried about other things I’d never let myself grieve over that had been bottled up for years.

Then, eventually, telling people.

Confessing for Healing

I had so far been living in shame, afraid and unwilling to let people know about the tubal. When people would ask, with a big curious smile, “so, are you gonna have anymore?” I would reply, timidly and hesitantly, unable to make eye contact, “I’m not sure… I don’t know… I mean, I’ve had three c-sections… so, I don’t know, we might not be able to”. But James 5:16 convicted us, saying, “Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person has great power as it is working.”

I had been convicted early on, before my pregnant friend had her baby, to tell her about the regret. I was in the “depths of despair” (to quote Anne of Green Gables) at that time, but knew I had to tell her as she was about to make the same decision just a couple months after I had. I chose to text her instead of telling her in person, as I still couldn’t even say the word tubal without becoming a puddle. Barely able to see the screen of my phone through all the tears, I typed a message about the startling regret, that I hoped not to be intrusive but wanted her to know what I wish I had known. She replied with a kind and courteous “I’m so sorry you’ve been dealing with that, thank you for sharing it with me”, but decided to have the tubal anyway. Later, she admitted that her regret was as deep and instantaneous as mine.

Sometime after that I told another friend. We’d gone on a short, vigorous hike, just the two of us, and when we sat down on a summit to rest, I let it spill. She didn’t understand my regret, implying that she thought less of people who have more than just a few kids, like they were somehow less sophisticated, more animal-like. Afterwards, I felt ashamed and angry and awkward, wishing I’d held it in and not spilled it.

Months later, I finally confessed it intentionally to sisters in Christ. I wept and shivered with anxiety as I admitted that I should’ve sought council from them in making the decision but knew what they would’ve said- to not have the tubal. Proverbs warns, “Whoever ignores instruction despises himself, but he who listens to reproof gains intelligence” (15:32). How I wish I could go back and ask for advice and “listen to reproof”.

Each time I told someone it got easier. I confessed my regret and motivations of pride to my dad and stepmom, to friends at church, and to my siblings, each time becoming more comfortable with sharing my story.

Telling the kids was hard. They would talk sometimes about “when we have another baby…”. After dodging these comments for over a year, at last I explained what a tubal ligation was and told them I’d had one. They looked betrayed and confused and sad. We explained a small version of the wrong motivations (fear of man, pride, control) and how it was a mistake and how we’d asked God to forgive us for it. We also explained that there was a type of surgery to undo it. Their reaction to that was such a picture, to me, of what Jesus means in Luke 18 when He speaks of “the simplicity of a child”. Their faces brightened and they lifted their chins and said, “you should do that surgery!” No hesitation. No questions, no pros and cons or doubts or fear or guilt. Just complete openness to healing and restoration. Simple and certain.

To Reverse or not to Reverse

As I healed, my heart slowly opened to the potential of a reversal. I called the fertility center in Albuquerque, a two hour drive from us, three times, and chickened out each time. I would ask about prices and scheduling, and end the call with a timid “ok, thanks, bye!” I just couldn’t seem to go ahead with scheduling the $200 consultation. One day I was about to finally do it when I had the idea to see if there was a place that would do a reversal near Clearwater, Florida, where we’d been dreaming of vacationing for a couple years (thank you, Dolphin Tale). There was. The Tubal Reversal Experts in St. Petersburg, Florida. I dreamed of how incredible it would be to have a beautiful ocean getaway and this restorative procedure.

The place in Albuquerque cost $11,000, the place in Florida, $6,900. So we figured for almost the same price as Albuquerque, we could afford travel and vacation expenses to Florida for a few days and have a “free” vacation out of it. That seemed too good to be true for our shame-deceived minds, though. Even to Justin. We seriously pondered, for weeks, if we were “supposed to” settle for Albuquerque as a way of “paying for our mistake” wondering if it would be wrong to have any enjoyment from the process.

Thankfully this time we obeyed God’s commands to heed wise council and video-called our close, Jesus-following friends a few states away. They talked about how lavish in love God is, pointing out that the ways He commanded his people to celebrate certain festivals and feasts in the Old Testament required their trust in His provision because they were so extravagant. Our friends spoke boldly about our worth, “you are worth far more than the cost of the procedure. Your family is worth a vacation and bonding time and good experiences.” They asked what we would decide if money had nothing to do with anything. They advised us to think with a lifetime perspective: if we decided not to get the reversal, would we regret it in 50 years. They said to put off shame and fear and to just trust and obey. They enlightened us with Christ’s love- shooting down guilt and shame, building us up in truth, listening to our story, and encouraging us in God’s love. They reminded us that God’s character revealed in His word is loving, abundant, and forgiving; not shaming, scarce or penitent. They agreed that we should absolutely have a beautiful ocean getaway and the reversal.

We started taking excited steps, each one seeming monumental:

Call the reversal facility.

Drive an hour to the hospital to give consents for my medical records.

Fax the records to the fertility institute.

Wait for the doctor to review them. I was so afraid they’d say I wasn’t a good candidate- that I’d had too many abdominal surgeries or that whatever type of tubal I had was irreversible. I was so nervous to open the email when I received it, and cried soft, happy tears when I read, “Congratulations! After reviewing your records, we have found you are eligible for a tubal reversal!”

We were so excited and happy that it was all moving along, but I also started dealing with fear.

What if the reversal is unsuccessful and I have to go through the whole grief process all over again?

Is traveling all that way with three kids going to be too stressful?

Will it even be safe for me to deliver again after having had three c-sections already?

What about ectopic pregnancy? I read that the chance of ectopic pregnancy after tubal reversal is 10%. “10%… thats such a big number” I said to one of my friends while discussing these fears. Without any hesitation, she shook her head, “no it’s not” she said, “not with God”. She recollected the times in her life when doctors have told her the “scary statistics”: her son’s rare heart condition that gave him almost no chance to live beyond birth, yet here he is, healthy and strong, in his mid twenties; her husband’s unexpected and unexplained brain tumor and the dangerous surgery to remove it that statistically left him little chance of living at all, nonetheless normally, yet here he is afterwards building his own high-tech business, cooking for us and joking with us while playing cards, playing guitar again and leading worship at our church, and sharing his testimony with anyone who will listen. The God of the universe who spoke the cosmos into existence isn’t contained by statistics.

After that reassurance, we took the biggest step yet, mailing in the deposit so we could schedule the surgery. The check for $6,000 did not come easily out of my hand, but by God’s grace, I let it go into the hand of the postal clerk and praised God for His goodness and love.

Preparations

The surgery was scheduled for April 22, 2022. I dealt with travel anxiety and almost couldn’t bear the thought of leaving home but was encouraged and strengthened when Leo, my oldest, who had told me just months prior that he would never go on an airplane because of fear, said “it will be worth it if we can get the tubal reversal”. We counted down the days and planned vacation activities, (first on the list, of course, was visiting the Clearwater Marine Aquarium).

During the months between booking the trip and leaving, we acquired a dairy goat, so on top of arranging feed and care for our cat, two dogs, two pigs, 20 chickens and three other goats, we also needed to find someone who had skill and time and willingness to milk a goat everyday. Our abundant God gave us not one, but two loving friends eager to milk, plus another to feed the other animals.

Restoration

The week in Indian Rocks Beach was beautifully relaxing. Our little condo was right on the beach, and we were able to walk down to the white sand multiple times daily. The evening we got there, after a full day of travel and a two hour wait for our rental car, we were on the brink of a blood sugar crash and pulled into a little restaurant before we even checked into our condo. When I opened the door of the car and stepped out, my senses were blasted with the ocean air. I sighed one of those letting go sighs and breathed in that salty moist air. Each day we relaxed a little more fully. I nursed Perry on the beach at sunset and remembered crying a year before about how I would never nurse at the ocean because I would never have another baby. Now here we were, and not only was I nursing my baby at the ocean, but was also filled with hopeful possibility of having more someday. We ate loads of delicious seafood. Our dream of visiting the Clearwater Marine Aquarium came true. Lyla, our little scientist, collected and studied shells and rocks and plants of all sorts. Leo, his heart always having been drawn to the sea like mine, took it all in- the beach, the water, the sea creatures, the salty air- delighting in every minute. Perry put his tiny toes in saltwater for the first time and squeezed his fists excitedly saying “MMM” with all his might every time he drank ice water at a restaurant (poor, deprived child). Justin was less stressed than he’s been for years and built a sand castle with us and swam in the pool with the kids, holding out his arms for Perry to jump into. We didn’t cram our days with activities; we wanted to keep margin so we wouldn’t be exhausted at the end, and it was perfect. We watched dolphins, walked a little nature preserve, went to the zoo, found a neighborhood park, ate pizza on our balcony and breakfast at a little diner.

The surgery was the day before we left. We prayed together outside the surgery center, a prayer of thankfulness and release and asking for healing. Countryside surgery center was calm; the staff were warm and friendly, not rushed or irritated. The anesthesiologist asked if I preferred “Jennifer” or “Jenn” and wouldn’t let me get away with saying, “either one, whatever you want, people call me both”, but persisted until I decided ‘Jenn’. The last thing I remember before waking up in recovery is her saying, loudly in my face, “sweet dreams, Jenn!”

When I woke up, the nurse told me it was normal for people to be really emotional as I pouted weakly, “I don’t know why I’m crying!” He also told me that the surgery went well. I was nauseous, weak, sore, drained… and so thankful.

That evening we walked to the beach one last time. Justin and the kids held my hands and arms for support, opened doors and set up a chair for me on the beach by our sandcastle. I rested my feet in the soft, white sand and watched the kids build sand sculptures and Justin carry Perry in the little waves.

God showed His generous love as we returned home.

At the airport on the way back, a random lady bought us a huge bag of Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory treats and a teddy bear for each of the kids, just to be nice.

One of our friends was stocking our fridge and cleaning for us when we arrived home. She sat down and listened to our vacation stories.

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Recovery was harder than I thought it would be, but joyful gratitude made it easier. I’m so thankful that God cares to forgive, teach, heal and restore us. I’m so thankful He’s not a scarce or lacking God, but that He has and is everything, works in all things, and gives freely and abundantly. Healing didn’t come from the reversal, but from God, before the reversal. It was simply extra abundance sprinkled on top.

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Update: We are expecting our fourth baby at the end of this year, 2023!