I'm hesitant to share this publicly as this has really just been therapeutic for me to type all of this out. But I'm praying that perhaps my words may be a blessing or encouragement to someone else reading.
Today is a day that has been looming for months. Back in September of last year, I found out that I was pregnant with our second little Tabor Tot. It played out just like it did when we found out we were pregnant with Kendall. I took a pregnancy test, saw the positive results, and immediately ran into Ryan's office at our house to tell him the good news. And even though I told myself to contain the excitement (just like I did when we found out about Kendall), I logged onto Baby Center within hours of getting the good news to find out when my first doctor's appointment would be, when we would find out the gender, and what my due date would be. I registered to start getting the weekly emails of how big the little bean was and what I could expect each week. Even though I worked in adoption, and heard stories about and knew the reality of the odds of miscarriage, I couldn't help myself but to get excited about this new life now growing inside of me. I cut out the foods you're supposed to cut out, started eating healthier, and taking prenatal vitamins. I pulled my pregnancy week-by-week book off the shelf and set it on my bedside table to read.
A few days after getting the good news, I scheduled my first doctor's appointment and leaked the good news to two friends (because I'm terrible at keeping my own secrets) so they could be praying for us as we embarked on the journey of pregnancy again. I started getting cravings really early on and was starting to feel a little nauseous around the 6-week mark. I was feeling good about everything, especially after having a fairly uneventful pregnancy with Kendall.
At about the 7.5 week mark, Ryan and I went to the doctor's appointment. I saw some familiar nurses who we had formed relationships with during my first pregnancy and they were so excited to hear that we were pregnant again. Ryan and I were called back to the ultrasound room to see our first glimpse of Baby Tabor #2. The ultrasound tech started her scan. I knew from about 10 seconds into the scan that something wasn't right. The tech stayed really quiet and kept moving and moving and moving the wand. I didn't see any movement, and it was pretty clear that she didn't either. I looked at Ryan, but it was obvious from the non-emotional look on his face that he had no idea that we were potentially about to hear bad news. So I asked the tech if she had been able to find the heartbeat. She quickly, but politely, told me that she was still looking at a few things. After several really long minutes, she asked if I was sure about my dates, etc, and that it just looked like I was more like 6 weeks along instead of 7.5. I told her I was pretty sure that my guess on timing was correct. So she sent us in to talk to the doctor.
The doctor tried her best to convince me that we just weren't as far along as we had thought and that everything was probably fine. She gave me two options: wait a few weeks and come back for a second ultrasound, or do some blood work to determine my hormone levels and come back within about three days to do more blood work and ensure that my levels were rising as they should have been. I chose option two because I would have gone nutty waiting two weeks for another ultrasound. After my second round of blood work, I called the doctor's office and talked to my sweet nurse friend. She gave me news that my heart didn't want to hear. My hormone levels had barely gone up and they should have tripled or quadrupled between blood draws. She asked me to come in to the office immediately and we hung up. I fell apart and immediately called Ryan. We both headed to the doctor's office to talk to the same doctor who delivered Kendall. She gave us the difficult news that there was no growth or heartbeat, and I was having a miscarriage. I was devastated. We were devastated.
Grief is a weird thing. You never know when it's going to hit you or what's going to trigger it. I had lots of moments of spontaneous crying when I least expected it: holding Kendall before bedtime, seeing newborn babies at work, hearing of other friends' pregnancies, reading to Kendall about how she grew in Mommy's tummy. And now, as we have approached the date that this baby would have been due, I've gone through a whole new phase of grief that I'm not sure I was expecting. I feel like I've really processed my grief - talked and talked with Ryan, our parents, our friends, and some new friends who have recently shared with me that they too have experienced recent miscarriages. Yes, it's a very common thing, but that doesn't make the grief any easier. It's the loss of a child that we'll never know (on this side of Heaven), a loss of having Kendall and her sibling three years apart (which I have always thought was "ideal" spacing for siblings), and honestly, a loss of control. In my mind, "I" had perfectly timed this pregnancy.
But friends, God is good. And He is loving. It is always in these dark times of life that I am reminded in such big ways of just how good He is. James 1:2-3 says "Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance." Now just to be real, I'm not at the point where I'm ready to consider this trial a "joy", but I know that God was with me throughout this process, and I know that it has grown my faith in ways that it wouldn't have grown without this circumstance. I cried out to Him on hard days and He gave me just enough strength to get through that day. He has placed people in our lives who have been able to pray for us, comfort us, and relate to our story on a real level.
He did something else incredible during this difficult time. A few days after we found out we were pregnant, my sweet 2-year-old came to me and said, "Mommy, I have a baby sister." You can imagine my initial shock. But let me tell you, there had been NO mention of a baby to her or around her. She did not hear this talk from me and Ryan. We were adamant that she would know nothing of the pregnancy until much later when things were more definite. But one of her friends at school had a new baby sister. So I asked her, "Oh, you mean, Allie has a new baby sister, right?". And she matter-of-factly says to me, "No, Kendall has a baby sister." During the 3.5 weeks before our appointment, Kendall would randomly say this to me and Ryan another 4-5 times. In fact, one night she said it in front of a friend of ours who promptly asked if I had something to tell her. I laughed and shrugged it off as no big deal, knowing that we were only about 5 weeks along at that point and we weren't sharing the news with anyone. The last time that Kendall said it was on the day that I had my first doctor's appointment. I was taking her out of the car to take her to a pediatrician appointment, and as I lifted her out of the car seat, she said it again, "Mommy, I have a baby sister." And that was the last time she mentioned it. I didn't see it then, but I fully believe now that our loving Father, who knew I would need comfort in the days and weeks to follow, spoke to me through Kendall so that I wouldn't wonder whether the baby was a boy or girl. I have no other explanation for why this would have popped into her mind so often over those weeks. You see? He is good.
I wasn't sure what my grief was going to look like this week. I wanted to think that I'd handle it all with just a few private tears and no public tears...but I wasn't sure. Since writing this post last week (and hesitating to post it until today) I've honestly felt so much healing and the Lord helped me to handle today surprisingly well.
There's one thing I know for sure, that through grief, God is always there for us to cry out to and lean on for comfort. He promises us that he will comfort us during hard times. He has done that so far and I know he won't quit now!
Today is a day that has been looming for months. Back in September of last year, I found out that I was pregnant with our second little Tabor Tot. It played out just like it did when we found out we were pregnant with Kendall. I took a pregnancy test, saw the positive results, and immediately ran into Ryan's office at our house to tell him the good news. And even though I told myself to contain the excitement (just like I did when we found out about Kendall), I logged onto Baby Center within hours of getting the good news to find out when my first doctor's appointment would be, when we would find out the gender, and what my due date would be. I registered to start getting the weekly emails of how big the little bean was and what I could expect each week. Even though I worked in adoption, and heard stories about and knew the reality of the odds of miscarriage, I couldn't help myself but to get excited about this new life now growing inside of me. I cut out the foods you're supposed to cut out, started eating healthier, and taking prenatal vitamins. I pulled my pregnancy week-by-week book off the shelf and set it on my bedside table to read.
A few days after getting the good news, I scheduled my first doctor's appointment and leaked the good news to two friends (because I'm terrible at keeping my own secrets) so they could be praying for us as we embarked on the journey of pregnancy again. I started getting cravings really early on and was starting to feel a little nauseous around the 6-week mark. I was feeling good about everything, especially after having a fairly uneventful pregnancy with Kendall.
At about the 7.5 week mark, Ryan and I went to the doctor's appointment. I saw some familiar nurses who we had formed relationships with during my first pregnancy and they were so excited to hear that we were pregnant again. Ryan and I were called back to the ultrasound room to see our first glimpse of Baby Tabor #2. The ultrasound tech started her scan. I knew from about 10 seconds into the scan that something wasn't right. The tech stayed really quiet and kept moving and moving and moving the wand. I didn't see any movement, and it was pretty clear that she didn't either. I looked at Ryan, but it was obvious from the non-emotional look on his face that he had no idea that we were potentially about to hear bad news. So I asked the tech if she had been able to find the heartbeat. She quickly, but politely, told me that she was still looking at a few things. After several really long minutes, she asked if I was sure about my dates, etc, and that it just looked like I was more like 6 weeks along instead of 7.5. I told her I was pretty sure that my guess on timing was correct. So she sent us in to talk to the doctor.
The doctor tried her best to convince me that we just weren't as far along as we had thought and that everything was probably fine. She gave me two options: wait a few weeks and come back for a second ultrasound, or do some blood work to determine my hormone levels and come back within about three days to do more blood work and ensure that my levels were rising as they should have been. I chose option two because I would have gone nutty waiting two weeks for another ultrasound. After my second round of blood work, I called the doctor's office and talked to my sweet nurse friend. She gave me news that my heart didn't want to hear. My hormone levels had barely gone up and they should have tripled or quadrupled between blood draws. She asked me to come in to the office immediately and we hung up. I fell apart and immediately called Ryan. We both headed to the doctor's office to talk to the same doctor who delivered Kendall. She gave us the difficult news that there was no growth or heartbeat, and I was having a miscarriage. I was devastated. We were devastated.
Grief is a weird thing. You never know when it's going to hit you or what's going to trigger it. I had lots of moments of spontaneous crying when I least expected it: holding Kendall before bedtime, seeing newborn babies at work, hearing of other friends' pregnancies, reading to Kendall about how she grew in Mommy's tummy. And now, as we have approached the date that this baby would have been due, I've gone through a whole new phase of grief that I'm not sure I was expecting. I feel like I've really processed my grief - talked and talked with Ryan, our parents, our friends, and some new friends who have recently shared with me that they too have experienced recent miscarriages. Yes, it's a very common thing, but that doesn't make the grief any easier. It's the loss of a child that we'll never know (on this side of Heaven), a loss of having Kendall and her sibling three years apart (which I have always thought was "ideal" spacing for siblings), and honestly, a loss of control. In my mind, "I" had perfectly timed this pregnancy.
But friends, God is good. And He is loving. It is always in these dark times of life that I am reminded in such big ways of just how good He is. James 1:2-3 says "Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance." Now just to be real, I'm not at the point where I'm ready to consider this trial a "joy", but I know that God was with me throughout this process, and I know that it has grown my faith in ways that it wouldn't have grown without this circumstance. I cried out to Him on hard days and He gave me just enough strength to get through that day. He has placed people in our lives who have been able to pray for us, comfort us, and relate to our story on a real level.
He did something else incredible during this difficult time. A few days after we found out we were pregnant, my sweet 2-year-old came to me and said, "Mommy, I have a baby sister." You can imagine my initial shock. But let me tell you, there had been NO mention of a baby to her or around her. She did not hear this talk from me and Ryan. We were adamant that she would know nothing of the pregnancy until much later when things were more definite. But one of her friends at school had a new baby sister. So I asked her, "Oh, you mean, Allie has a new baby sister, right?". And she matter-of-factly says to me, "No, Kendall has a baby sister." During the 3.5 weeks before our appointment, Kendall would randomly say this to me and Ryan another 4-5 times. In fact, one night she said it in front of a friend of ours who promptly asked if I had something to tell her. I laughed and shrugged it off as no big deal, knowing that we were only about 5 weeks along at that point and we weren't sharing the news with anyone. The last time that Kendall said it was on the day that I had my first doctor's appointment. I was taking her out of the car to take her to a pediatrician appointment, and as I lifted her out of the car seat, she said it again, "Mommy, I have a baby sister." And that was the last time she mentioned it. I didn't see it then, but I fully believe now that our loving Father, who knew I would need comfort in the days and weeks to follow, spoke to me through Kendall so that I wouldn't wonder whether the baby was a boy or girl. I have no other explanation for why this would have popped into her mind so often over those weeks. You see? He is good.
I wasn't sure what my grief was going to look like this week. I wanted to think that I'd handle it all with just a few private tears and no public tears...but I wasn't sure. Since writing this post last week (and hesitating to post it until today) I've honestly felt so much healing and the Lord helped me to handle today surprisingly well.
There's one thing I know for sure, that through grief, God is always there for us to cry out to and lean on for comfort. He promises us that he will comfort us during hard times. He has done that so far and I know he won't quit now!
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