MY BREASTFEEDING STORY

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Breast Is Best and other Fairy Tales

It was obvious to me to make the decision to breastfeed. That was my first mistake. That it was a choice to make.

To all the proponents of breastfeeding proclaiming all the benefits of breastmilk for infants, I agree with you. I agree it to be the natural and optimal food. I agree to its ideal proportion in nutrition, inclusion of antibodies and promotions of making babies healthier and smarter. I buy into it all. But what if you can’t do it?

With my first, I was devastated when breastfeeding became an immediate hurdle. Not even an hour after the most ravaging physical attack on my body (vaginal tearing following birth), I couldn’t get the baby to latch on.

When I couldn’t seem to get the hang of it, it was suggested I give her a bottle because she was hungry and needed to eat. This seemed like very good advice, who am I to argue against feeding my newborn baby?

I have large breasts with rather flat nipples. A 7-pound infant has a small mouth and although I was encouraged to “sandwich” and compress my breast to fit, it was a skill I didn’t manage to acquire in the hospital. I was there for 2 days, had various nurses give me various bits of advice: Do more skin-to-skin, compress my breast, speak to the lactation consultant who would be coming in later.

I think I was very unlucky with the lactation consultant employed at that particular hospital. She was bubbly and bouncy, but not at all helpful. She didn’t want to see my latch let alone actually show me anything, and more concerned with finishing her rounds giving out a black-and-white photocopied handout on the benefits of breastfeeding more than anything. When I asked her to help me with my latch, she told me the nurses were available to assist me.

Talk about being given the go-around. I expect this when I go to get information changed on government documents, but not when I’m half naked trying to feed a crying baby. I felt vulnerable and helpless.

The second night, I found my saving angel. This nurse was sympathetic and knowledgeable. Seeing my troubles, she told me there were many ways in getting my baby breastmilk and told me as soon as her rounds were finished, she would show me. But since I had already started with formula, to get some rest as I had been so upset crying, I hadn’t yet slept properly. Unfortunately her kind words sent me into a deep sleep and when I woke up shifts had changed and she was gone.

I spent the rest of my stay quiet and no longer sought assistance. Instead, I desperately went online to look for help. What I found were many terms to things I had no idea existed: Breast shields, breast pumps, cup feeding, tube feeding- which the night nurse had briefly spoken to me about.

I asked my husband to get me a breast shield from the hospital pharmacy. This led to further confusion and distress as the pharmacist informed him he would need a sizing prescription from the doctor. When he asked about it to the nurses, they had no idea what he was talking about.

I then asked him to get me a breast pump. There was a flyer talking about the daily and weekly rates of hospital-grade breast pumps. We debated how long we would need it for, and how and when we would return it. By the time he made his way back to the pharmacy, it was closed.

I hadn’t forseen problems with breastfeeding, so we were completely unprepared. To say our firstborn’s hospital stay was awful would be an understatement.

When we got home, I made serious attempts to breastfeed. Meaning, I stopped formula so that her only option would be to nurse. I turned off all the lights to minimize distraction, set the temperature so it was warm enough but not too warm to encourage her to fall asleep, I compressed my breast-sandwich and attempted to get it in her mouth when her mouth was most open. All the while, my baby was hungry and crying.

I tried the cradle hold, cross-cradle, football, side lying, back lying, even the strange feeling dangle feeding method. The deadline to master the technique comes too soon every time. You must feed every 2 hours, or sooner if baby is hungry, and every time you fail is another negative experience for the baby which motivates her less to try the next time.

I got her to latch once, and not for long. After 10 minutes of furious crying, she latched on, took in a little milk then fell asleep. It was heartbreaking. I was angry at myself for my inability and destroyed that my new little baby was hungry.

I asked my husband to get me a breast shield. To add insult to injury, was I not only having problems latching, when she did latch it was a shallow one and it was extremely painful. She was gnawing my nipple to shreds trying to hang on and it had started to bleed.

I had done some googling and found you can easily purchase breast shields without a prescription from any baby supply store. We still don’t know what went on at the hospital pharmacy. I understand most times, breast shield are used improperly and can cause more problems to hinder breastfeeding but I was at a point where I would have stopped without it, so there was nothing to lose.

At first, the pain diminished significantly and I thought I had it figured out. But holding it up to the breast will all that liquid making it shift now started to cause two layers of pain. Pain when the shield would lose suction and baby would lose the latch then begin chewing the edge of my nipple and the shield in attempts to re-latch on her own. This solution didn’t last long.

I thought maybe my hold on her was wrong. I sent my husband out for a breastfeeding pillow, hoping for a miracle. It helped keep the baby up to my breast, but the latch situation didn’t resolve.

I sent out my husband again. This time for more formula and a breast pump. I figured I’d have time to learn how to use the pump and she’d at least get fed in the meantime.

The first try was, you guessed it, painful. Without having any know-how, I put in my poor, abused breasts in dry, without any massage or preparation, and turned on the stimulation mode button.

Immediately my nipples screamed in agony and I looked at my cracked nipples splitting even further as they were pulled and deformed into the shape of the funnel. After getting over the initial shock of being plugged into a mechanical milker, I continued pumping, starting with only 5 minutes, building up to 15 and watching with fascination as milk dropped into bottles.

We had to return to the hospital as she had had a higher than normal level of bilirubin upon check-out. The pediatrician on call had brought an older nurse with him. I was formula-feeding at that point and she authoritatively asked to see my latch. She then just took my breast and put it in my baby’s mouth and lo and behold! The baby started nursing! She promptly lost the latch but I was filled with admiration at this level of expertise.

Following the check-up, it was determined that she needed photo therapy to treat jaundice to be safe, even though the jaundice was mild. Here, I had to say good-bye to another wonderful nurse. She told me the other nurses on shift could continue to help me with my latch, but it was the same story. After my first shy request and them telling me someone else would come by to help, I stopped asking.

I had brought my pump and started my pumping journey right then and there. I was feeding formula but was pumping all the time to get my supply up. I now knew my body would produce only as much milk as was taken, so knew to pump as often as possible.

The therapy required an overnight stay and I diligently pumped every two hours, asking for detergent so I could wash the pump parts between sessions. I was feeding formula so this was mostly for milk production, but I eagerly awaited the day I would be able to feed with only my breastmilk.

It still angers and frustrates me to remember all these details at the lack of support. I strive on self-sufficiency in all facets of my life, so to be in a completely foreign environment (medical institution), feeling naked (literally and figuratively) and needing help was an appalling situation. The fact that I didn’t receive any help; I wouldn’t wish this on my worst frenemy.

I hope my story gives comfort to others who may be in similar shoes. To women who eagerly anticipate the birth of a child, but perhaps are not expecting hardships in relation to breastfeeding. Those who didn’t necessarily have time after work for childbirth classes, or workshops or courses. Or frankly, who just didn’t feel the need for it.

Sometimes, it hits us too late. And furiously googling while crying because the stitches hurt after delivery isn’t the best time to realize you can’t find the answers fast enough.

This here, this website is for you, girl.