Welcoming Heidi Rose Pt. 1 (Pregnancy)

On Thursday July 2nd, 2020, we welcomed our beautiful rainbow baby, Heidi Rose Rubin to the world. Now that Heidi is three weeks old, I wanted to take a minute to write down her birth story, so I would never forget the special details of her birthday, and what our experience was like through her pregnancy and early newborn days. 

Finding out & First Trimester

I found out I was pregnant with Heidi on the morning of our due date with the baby that we miscarried last spring. Based off my calculations, it should have been too early for me to even get a positive pregnancy test, but our sweet angel Lennon and our rainbow Heidi had other plans and wanted us to have something to celebrate that day. Spenser and I had planned to get out of town that weekend and celebrate Lennon's life in Asheville, NC. It was so special to be able to celebrate this little life that weekend, as well! 

 

**A quick note -- After our miscarriage, I was told by 2 other OBs that they would not run any tests on me or my hormones until I had had 3 or more miscarriages. I was sure that something hormonal was going on with me and had documented my cycles for months, sharing this information with each OB I visited. I couldn't believe they expected me to just accept the pain of the miscarriage and live through 2 more before I could even get a blood panel drawn. If you ever face something like this, do not accept it! I pushed and pushed and went to different practices until finally I found an OB who agreed that I likely had a hormone imbalance and wanted to run tests on me. Turns out, my intuition was right, and I had chronically low progesterone. All I needed was some supplemental progesterone through the first trimester. Without the supplemental progesterone, any pregnancy I had would almost certainly have ended in tragedy. I am so glad I advocated for myself and my babies and didn't let up until I received the care I deserved. Miscarriage is common, but no woman should be expected to live through multiple tragedies before receiving basic care to try and rule out hormonal causes!**

My pregnancy with Heidi was truly a dream. I was nauseas and tired in the beginning, but I was so thankful to be pregnant I found the symptoms reassuring that this baby was growing and healthy, and my progesterone was balanced. I held my breath throughout the first trimester, and was so thankful to my amazing providers at Reply OB/GYN who patiently let me come in for extra blood tests and ultrasounds to make sure this tiny baby was growing safely.  I'll never forget how cared for I felt by the nurses and doctors who validated my anxiety and celebrated with me each time we saw the baby growing safely on the ultrasound. 

Because of our miscarriage experience, we elected to do genetic testing to identify any potential chromosomal issues with the baby. We were terrified of losing another baby and just felt like the more information we had, the more we could relax. We got our genetic results back on Christmas Eve, and sent them to my sister in law so she could tell us if we were having a boy or a girl! She wrote us the most perfect "letter from Santa" that we opened on Christmas day and learned... we were having A GIRL!  We had both dreamed of having a baby girl, and it was such a dream come true to see those words. A girl! Our daughter! She was healthy and she was coming! Knowing we were having a sweet baby girl so early in pregnancy (only 12 weeks) was such a gift to me. It really allowed me to connect with my baby in a way I had not allowed myself to do, and never got the chance to do with Lennon. My girl. She was coming! 

Second Trimester & the Pandemic 

The second trimester was a dream -- I truly loved being pregnant and had such a blast tracking my growing belly. Every week I documented pictures of it. Looking back, I barely looked pregnant, but to me, I could see my baby growing and it made me so happy to see it change week after week. I had so much energy, no food aversions, was working out, and just enjoying every moment. I had such peace that this baby was healthy and safe and we were going to meet, Earthside. Anxiety still came for me, but I would use those moments to pray for her safety and center myself knowing that what I was feeling, she was feeling. And I wanted her to only feel my love, not my fear! 

When the Coronavirus Pandemic started in March, I was just over half way through our pregnancy. Things felt like they were changing so rapidly; it was overwhelming. We didn't know anything about how COVID affected pregnancy or infants, so we immediately went into lockdown - much earlier than most of the people we know! I was terrified that this pandemic would worsen and Spenser wouldn't be allowed to be with me during the birth of our daughter. He ended up not being allowed to attend any more of my OB appointments, but he was able to be at our birth. While I missed him being able to see our ultrasounds in person, it was a fair trade for me.  The hardest part for me about being pregnant in the pandemic ended up living our pregnancy in isolation from family and friends. But, knowing we were doing what we could to protect our family was worth the sacrifice. 

Third Trimester & Our Stubborn Breechling 

Around 28 weeks, we learned (I had already been suspicious) that Heidi was breech. I had felt a really hard lump under my ribs/in my side for a few weeks by this point, and I was concerned it wasn't her butt. Sure enough, my instincts were correct and she was breech! Our doctors reassured us that she would likely turn on her own but gave us a list of things to try to encourage her to turn. We just needed her to get head down by 37 weeks -- it seemed like plenty of time! We tried all the things. I was doing inversions multiple times a day off the couch, handstands in the pool, ice packs on her head, music at the bottom of my belly, acupuncture, chiropractic care... nothing worked. At every appointment we had she was still breech, and the reality was setting in that as she got bigger the less likely she would be to turn on her own. 

Being the Type A prepare-er that I am, I started researching breech babies to educate myself of what our birth options would be. Heidi was in a position for about 8 weeks called Frank Breech. She was folded completely in half with her feet up by her head. At our 36 week ultrasound, she was sucking on her toes! Babies that stay in this position *can* be born vaginally if the provider is able to perform a breech vaginal birth, but after doing some research, I felt the risks for a first time mom were a bit too high for my comfort level. We looked into a doing a procedure called an External Cephalic Version, but ultimately decided / Heidi decided it wasn't for us. An ECV is a procedure done in the OR at the hospital (in case there is an emergency delivery needed) where the doctors give the mother an epidural (if you're lucky), and then manually try to turn the baby with their hands. I spoke to a few people who had done this, and it sounded excruciatingly painful. For first time moms, the success rate is really low (<25%) and can cause fetal distress to the baby. My instincts were telling me that Heidi was not going to turn on her own, but I felt a lot of guilt/self inflicted pressure to try everything we could to get her to have a vaginal birth. 

 

Thankfully, she made the call for us and said "No thanks!" to the ECV. At our 37 week appointment, we learned that Heidi had already engaged in my birth canal -- she was LOW at -1 station. Our chances of an ECV being successful at that point pretty much went out the window and our provider said she really didn't think it was worth the stress to me or the baby to even try. Heidi had also gotten her legs free and had moved into a position called Complete Breech -- her feet were cross-legged in my pelvis. Vaginal birth was also no longer a safe option for us. 

Because of Heidi's foot-first positioning, and the risk of what could happen to either of us if I went into labor naturally, we decided to schedule a c-section at 39 weeks. I spent the next two weeks talking to every mom I knew who'd had a c-section and tried to prepare and educate myself for my risks, recovery, and return home. I had taken 3 or 4 birth classes during the pandemic to prepare myself for a pain-med free, vaginal birth... c-section wasn't even on my radar. Let alone a planned one! But in my mother-gut, I knew this was our path and the safest way for Heidi to be born and just embraced it. She was in her breech position for a reason, and wasn't turning, so I needed to embrace Plan Z and get ready. 

Planning for her Birthday 

A week before Heidi's birthday, we got the call that we had a scheduled date with the hospital. We decided to keep the exact day a secret from family and friends because we wanted it to be a special day just for us. We wanted to be able to surprise our family with her arrival, instead of everyone waiting / texting us all day for updates. It was the perfect choice for us and added an extra element of fun and suspense that drove our families crazy leading up to it! 

We spent the next week really enjoying our kid-free life, making plans for her arrival (scheduling a house cleaner during our hospital stay was #1 best choice we made!!), and wrapping up work projects. It was actually so nice to know when she was coming and really removed a lot of stress! The night before her birthday, we cooked a big steak dinner, watched a movie, and talked about our hopes and dreams for her life. We went to bed early (knowing we had to wake up at 4am to get to the hospital), and had a lovely, full night's sleep... our last for a while :) 

Early the next morning, the alarm went off.... it was BABY DAY!  (Pt. 2... coming soon!) 

My Friend, Grief.

Over the last few months, I have made a new friend called Grief. She first showed up when the midwife told me, "I'm sorry, there's no heartbeat." She quickly barged into my life, inviting herself into every moment of every day. She was an overwhelming, overbearing, suffocating presence. But in time, we learned to set some boundaries. Together, we created space for Grief in my life without feeling all-consumed.

But, Grief is pushy. I have learned that when she knocks on the door, it's best to just let her in. She has things to say and she's going to make you listen. Sometimes, we'll sit together for a while before one of us will say "My, look at the time. I've got things to do." Other times, it's a quick visit, and I can move on with my day.

I've learned a good bit about Grief through the experience of having a miscarriage, and I've come to know her well. I hope this helps you get to know her better, too.


1. Grief can become a friend. 
Over time, Grief has morphed from feeling like an invader, an attacker, and a bully to feeling more like a friend with a hand resting on my shoulder. She is gently present, palpable, and -- unexpectedly-- comforting. Grief reminds me of the love I felt; that I have something to miss; that my baby Lennon was here.  Grief comes to visit much less often, now. Somedays, she still barges in unexpectedly. Somedays, I go calling for her to come over.

2. Grief will teach you. 
Grief has taught me that you never really know what others are going through. She has taught me to try to listen better, to be a better friend, to be more empathetic. Grief has emboldened me and demanded space for my feelings when I felt I couldn't. She's forced me to learn how to ask for help, how to advocate for myself, and not apologize when I have needs. She has made my worldview richer, my love deeper, and my appreciation for life stronger.

3. Grief will make you brave. 
I never knew my own strength before I met Grief. Through her, I witnessed myself suffer and persevere with a strength I didn't know I had. I have felt her fully, and I am less scared of her now. I have walked through fire with her, and she's shown me that I could do it again, if I had to. We both hope I never do.

4. Grief will bring you together, apart. 
Grief has introduced me to some of her many friends, and through her, we have become friends too. Our relationships with Grief are all different, but she unites us in a way that people who don't know Grief could not understand. In my marriage, Grief has made it clear she has a relationship with both of us, differently. She has shown us that we can visit her together, but more often than not, she wants to spend time with us alone. She visits us on different days, different times, and in different ways. Learning to know Grief together, and apart, was challenging.

5. Grief knows when you need her, before you do.
Grief knows me in a way that a friend knows me. She remembers the milestones and helps me remember too. She has the hard dates etched in her calendar and I'm sure she won't forget them. She's quietly with me, her hand on my shoulder, when we see a stroller, a butterfly, a new pregnancy announcement. Sometimes she is there waiting for me, before I even realize why.

"Welcome to your third trimester!" my email greeted me this morning. I thought I had unsubscribed from them all, but this one snuck through. An unpleasant reminder of what I already knew: Today should have been a milestone. I took a moment to let it sink in when I felt her hand on my shoulder. Once you get to know her, Grief can be a really good friend.

Losing Lennon -- Our Miscarriage Story

Writing a post about your miscarriage is difficult--and not just because of the sadness we still face over losing our first baby just a few weeks ago. It’s difficult because you want to do right by every other woman experiencing this kind of profound pain. This may be a little long, but it includes everything I wish I’d known. When I went through this I felt like I had no resources to guide me. This is your courtesy warning that what I write below may be triggering to some.

x

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I found out I was pregnant on Valentine's Day. Unable to contain my excitement, I blurted out the news to the cashier at Target while picking up some booties and a Valentine's card to tell Spenser the news. She was the first person I told. I will never forget what an amazing feeling it is to share that kind of joyful news for the first time!

During the early weeks of my pregnancy I was naturally anxious about having a miscarriage; I think most moms are! I knew the statistics and the warning signs to watch for so I prayed for the baby's health and safety, constantly told it to "snuggle in close to Mama." With every week that passed, my nervousness started to dwindle. 

At our first scan at 7 weeks, we were able to see the little blueberry growing inside me and hear its tiny, flickering heart. I had chills down my spine listening to that rhythm of new life whispering "wow wow wow wow wow." There was no doubt about it in my mind, now. I was a Mom.

At my prenatal appointments, we continued to progress normally. Bloodwork and hormones were all coming back in perfect, normal range, and my pregnancy symptoms were continuing (all. the. naps. and. all. the. carbs.). I asked our midwife if we could see the baby again. I wanted to see how its heart rate was progressing since it had been on the lower side of average before, but she advised that we wait until our 12-week check up since I showed no signs of miscarriage.

Let me pause here to say to all expecting parents everywhere:  If you are pregnant and want to see your baby, push for an ultrasound. One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned from this experience is that you have to advocate for yourself. Your healthcare providers should obey your wishes. I don't know if it would have been any easier had we found out the baby was gone at that appointment (it was), but I do think I would have been more emotionally prepared than I was a month later.

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Weeks 9 through 12 came and went in a flash and, in our minds, everything was going smoothly. My nausea was disappearing and my breasts were less sore, but I was nearing the end of the first trimester! All seemed normal and I continually let myself relax.

The morning of our 12-week appointment I sprang out of bed and told Spenser, "It feels like Christmas morning! We get to see our baby today!" The appointment began as the others had: they drew blood, gathered a urine sample, and took my vitals. 

“Ok,” said the midwife. “Let’s hear that baby!” I started to get nervous when the doppler didn’t pick up any sound.

“Don’t worry, sometimes it’s easier to find the heartbeat with an ultrasound.” She left the room and returned with the ultrasound machine. She put the wand on my belly and it was silent. I could see a tiny little body -- it wasn't anywhere close to 12 weeks old. I knew.

I remember her saying, "There's no easy way to tell you this,"  and not much else. 

My mind raced. It can't be. I hadn't had any bleeding. How could I have miscarried? The baby was so small, this had to have happened weeks ago. How is this possible? 

I had read six different pregnancy books before even getting pregnant. Not one of them mentioned what the midwife said this is: a Missed Miscarriage. A missed miscarriage, or silent miscarriage, occurs when a baby stops developing early on in pregnancy but the mother’s body doesn’t recognize the loss. The pregnancy continues as the mother’s body continues taking care of the baby as though it’s still developing. From what I've learned, silent miscarriages are usually discovered between weeks 11-14 of pregnancy, after a viable heartbeat has been detected. They are very rare, occurring in only about 3% of miscarriages. Mine was especially rare, lasting more than 5 weeks without any signs of loss. Based off of our baby's measurements, it had passed within days of our first ultrasound at 7 weeks. 

As anyone who has experienced a missed miscarriage can attest, to say that this experience is confusing is the understatement of the century. I repeatedly asked myself things like how could my body have betrayed me like this and not shown me any signs? I felt so disconnected from my body through this experience, and it was extremely difficult to process. I wrestled some really dark thoughts about how long I had carried this baby after it was gone. Did I even have the right to grieve a 12 week baby when my baby was really only 7 weeks old? My belly had been growing and I no longer fit in my regular clothes -- how could a pregnancy continue on if the baby was not viable? I've worked through a lot of these emotions, but they take time, and for me, they took research to understand how this was medically possible. I just couldn't wrap my head around it.

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This is where I'm going to share some of the medical information about what can happen when you have a miscarriage. This is extremely personal, but I genuinely think this is important to share. If it helps one mom feel less terrified going through this experience, then it's worth it to me to be vulnerable.

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While I tried to wrap my mind around the news she had delivered -- our baby was indeed gone and had been for several weeks -- the midwife gave us three options forward. 

1) Wait for nature to take its course and to miscarry naturally, which in my case, wasn't an option because it had been so long

2) Take a medication called Cytotec to induce the miscarriage at home

3) Have a D&C surgery to empty the contents of my uterus

The only thing I knew was that a D&C required anesthesia, and for some reason that frightened me, so I chose to take the medication. If, God forbid, I ever have to face this again, I don't think I would make the same choice. The Cytotec essentially induces labor. It was extremely painful, extremely traumatic, and caused me to have an intense and prolonged recovery that I was not at all prepared for. Prior to this experience, I didn’t know much about miscarriages. I didn’t know what could physically happen as the mother's body reconciles the loss. As naive as this may sound, I didn't realize it would be a birth.

I have worked really, really hard to not harbor anger through this experience, but this is where I get angry: I had essentially no information, no guidance, and no preparation from my providers about what to expect during a miscarriage. We walked away from the doctor's office with broken hearts, a prescription, and a pamphlet full of poems. That was it. 

Everything I learned about what happened to my baby--and what was about to happen to me--I learned from other moms publicly sharing their stories online. To those brave moms, thank you. Your vulnerability and willingness to talk about your loss helped me feel more prepared and less alone during an extremely frightening time. In sharing my story, I am following your example.

Amidst the blinding grief in those first few days after our loss, only one thing was very clear: I had to talk about this child I love. Somehow God gave us the words to say goodbye and the strength to share them with you, and that has helped me so much. I needed to have other people know there was a baby here, and I am so glad I did, because sometimes the entire pregnancy feels like a dream; like it was never real to begin with. Being able to talk about Lennon with you is helping me to process that this trauma did happen. It was real. I did suffer. I did lose something. I'm allowed to not be okay. I really needed that, so thank you for listening. 

Chances are you know someone or will know someone who experiences a loss like this at some time in their life. How I wish I could be the last woman to ever suffer this kind of pain. I would take it on for all of you if I could. Unfortunately, I can't, and already I have had friends find themselves walking this same path. When I've had people go through this before, I really did not know how to help and was afraid of saying the wrong thing. 

So here are some things I found helpful: 

🦋The most helpful thing you can say is "I'm sorry." My favorite card I received said "this absolutely f***ing sucks." I would kindly advise you to avoid telling a bereaved Mom that "God needed another angel" or things like that. Try saying, "this sucks so much, it's not fair, and I'm so sorry." I promise that will be more helpful than anything else.

🦋Providing food really does help. It was a blessing to have even a small burden like cooking taken off my mental load. Alleviating that small burden of having to prepare a meal was such a gift. Thank you, thank you, to all of you who helped provide food for us in those weeks, and stopped by to provide company and a hug. It is frightening to knock on the door of grief, but I am deeply thankful you did.

🦋The most comforting gift I received in honor of Lennon was a small, soft heart that fit in the palm of my hand. Having something to physically hold when I think of Lennon has been such a gift. I hold it every night as I fall asleep and it makes me feel closer to my baby.  I found this Etsy shop that makes a small little peg doll in honor of babies lost, and I wanted to share it as a resource if you know a Mama who may need it.

🦋Patience with my grief.  These emotions are complex, persistent, and surprising. Parents who have lost a pregnancy have not just lost the potential for a child, they have lost a real member of their family - one they wanted, loved, and deeply miss. If they want to talk, patiently listen. Ask how they are doing and allow them the space to answer honestly. Thank you to everyone who has patiently listened to me (in particular, my Godsend of a husband). I am an external processor, so sharing my story and feelings helps me acknowledge them and let them go so they don't consume me. You willingness to listen is oxygen to me!

🦋 This grief workbook. I have found this to be one of the most helpful exercises to give space to my pain and release it. I highly recommend this as a gift to a bereaved mother - especially if you are able to give it to her a few weeks after her trauma. I wasn't ready to open this book right away, but once some time had passed, I have found it so helpful to work through these prompts and feel guided to work through my grief.

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I won't ever know why this happened, and I don't honestly believe there is a reason. But I do know that I have been tasked with making the most of the experience I've been given, and I will find a way to create life in this void. Hopefully some of the words on this page will touch you, or someone you know, or someone I have never met and help them feel less alone. And if you are going through this experience yourself, my one piece of advice to you is to let the Light in. Light will drive out the darkness, of this I am sure.

Lennon Sibley Rubin

Today, after 3 months together, we say goodbye to the dream of your life. They told us your precious heart must have stopped beating several weeks ago. It hurts so deeply that we didn’t know. I like to think that you weren’t ready to let go of us just yet. We definitely weren’t ready to let go of you. It’s okay, we needed a little more time together. I’m thankful we had it. 

Our heart aches for the dreams we had for you. Our first cuddle. Late nights getting to know each other as a family. Your coos and cries. Christmas mornings. Boo-boos and scraped knees. We are grieving it all. The loss of the life you would have had is overwhelming.

Your name is Lennon Sibley Rubin. Lennon means love. We won’t know if you’re a boy or girl, but we love you all the same. Sibley is my middle name. You and I are always connected. You are the beginning of our family’s story. How I wish we’d had the chance to meet… I think you would have liked us.

Lennon, we loved you for every second of your sweet, too-short life and we will continue to love you for every second of ours. We had planned to tell the world about you this weekend, so we still are, just differently than we had planned. You deserve to be known.

See you later,
Mom & Dad