Obligatory lactation post

Well, here we go.  Seems to be a required element of any mommy blog.

I saw this video a few weeks ago, where Salma Hayek publically breastfed a sick baby while on a humanitarian trip.  I found it to be very touching and sweet, and applaud her for being the kind of woman that could do that and still not make it seem like an overly political or (L)activist maneuver.

Breastfeeding as natural, wonderful and loving was the culture I grew up with and I never questioned that I would nurse my own child(ren).  It was basically something I never thought twice about, or even stopped to consider my assumptions.  And along came K, a strong, healthy girl with a textbook perfect latch.   However, by the 2nd night after her debut, she was a screaming maniac.  But being gorked up on pain meds and sleep deprivation (go, go emergency c-section!), I was sort of too close to the forest to see the trees.  Not to mention clueless.  So she cried, and we soothed, and she cried, and we soothed, and assumed that when the regular milk got in, life would be better.  Well, I never got engorged but somewhere on day 3 there was some milk, and she settled down a bit.  For about 12 hours.  And then it was back to screaming maniac.  For the next week.

We went off to her 1-week appointment, whereupon we found out that she had lost an alarming amount of weight…and had dropped down to approximately 4 and a 1/2 pounds.  We were told to start her on formula immediately and if she didn’t improve within 24 hours, she’d be hospitalized.  It was up to that point, the most traumatic experience of my life, to realize I had ‘starved’ her so badly, and that she suffered for over a week until we figured it out.  I cried for the next 2 or 3 days straight, pretty much. I will always carry the blame and heartache for that.

Anyway, I asked the pediatrician what to do about my milk, hoping that I could still provide something for her, and I was told to just pump and discard for a few days until things stabilized and to monitor the amount I was producing.  It became apparent within 24 hours that I was barely producing any more than a few drops.  Quite literally, I could pump every 2 hours from both sides and be lucky to get 1 ounce total in the course of 24 hours.  It was the first time in my life that I understood what it felt like to have part of your body broken, disabled, hopelessly useless.  Every time I pumped and poured out a few more drops, I felt a little more broken.

And I tried…oh how I tried. I did everything in the lactation consultant’s book to make milk.  I drank gallons.  I ate protein.  I slept as much as possible.  I drank the mothers’ teas.  I finally went on Reglan to try and induce milk production.  I pumped religiously.  But absolutely nothing worked.  I just could not produce anymore more than a dribble.

I basically had to try and accept it and make the best of it.  I began nursing K before every bottle feeding (and between for comfort if she wanted it) and my amazing girl loved nursing even though it had failed her initially.  She was happy and content to languidly suckle away for 20 minutes at a time whether she was full or not.  So at least I was able to provide her with a little milk and a whole lot of love and bonding. Fortunately K stabilized rapidly and rehydrated and plumped up and started to quickly gain weight.  She had to wear preemie diapers and clothes for about three weeks though, and she finally looked like a “real” newborn again (sizewise) by the time she was about 1 month old.

I also continued to pump religiously when I went back to work, when she was about 3 mos old.  On good days, I’d bring home half an ounce to add to her bottle.  In the end, she nursed for comfort until she was about 20 months old.  It took quite awhile to recover from the grief–and it did feel like a loss to me.  The worst times were when I’d run into work colleagues or acquaintances and the topic of breastfeeding might come up (you know how we womenz-folk chatter) and if I mentioned that I didn’t produce enough milk to breastfeed exclusively, I’d always hear responses like “oh that’s a myth,  all women can produce enough milk if they XXX enough or try YYY” or “you should just drink plenty of fluids and rest up and it’ll be fine” or “you gave up too soon and went on the formula and it ruined your supply“.    And while I understand where they are coming from, because breastfeeding is an art and a lot of women CAN physically breastfeed but they ultimately choose not to because of their challenges, I was not in that category.  I just got the unlucky jackpot number to be one of the few that is physically incapable of producing milk in any quantity, due to hormones, lack of viable breast tissue, whatever.

Beyond all that though, nursing was one of the most amazing, wonderful, heartwarming, and awesome experiences of my life.  I miss nursing her, and was very sad when our time to share that type of bonding came to a close.

The most important thing to getting through those ‘character building’ experiences was the constant support from FF and my family, especially my mom.  She is an old La Leche Leaguer from back when it wasn’t the in-thing to breastfeed, and she nursed me and all my siblings.

So here’s to all the Salma Hayeks of the world, and all those who try to breastfeed but can’t, and all those who try and can, and all those who do what’s right for them and their babies and don’t let other people make their decisions for them when it comes to nursing–even if the choice is to not.  As I learned, being able or choosing to nurse is not the only thing that defines a woman and mother.