Thursday, April 23, 2009
The Breastfeeding Crisis
Gillian and I have been meeting a number of moms (and dads) in breastfeeding "crises" these past three weeks - actually, typically we have been seeing one mom or dad on the verge of tears at about 4 weeks post-partum because their babies are nursing constantly and they are so exhausted, or their nipples are sore and they want to give up, or, as we saw this week, a dad whose wife was hospitalized with severe mastitis. He seemed so scared, so overwhelmed, it brought tears to our eyes.
I've been thinking about this mom in particular over the last couple of days. I'm sure she just wants to give up, I know I wanted to when it was so hard and making me cry. I should qualify: I had a birth experience that felt like every single thing I had wanted didn't work. I wanted a natural birth; I had a Cesarean. I wanted to go home; I had a 35 week baby with meningitis that needed to stay in the NICU for three weeks. I wanted to raise her using naturopathic and homeopathic medicine; my 3-day old daughter was hooked to no less than FIVE very powerful antibiotics despite a lack of diagnosis. I wanted to breastfeed; my sick baby was too weak to nurse.
For those three weeks, I made the trip every three hours to the room down the hall at the IWK to pump, reading parenting magazines, feeling so sore, so stiff, so exhausted, so spent, so confused, so hopeless, so alone. Every day I would try to nurse my baby, every day she would lie at my breast, not knowing what to do.
I would cry, and my mother, and mother-in-law, both very well meaning, suggested I just give the baby formula. What was the sense of all these emotions? In my mind, all I could think was that I had lost every single thing I had hoped for in this birth. If I can't breastfeed my baby, I will have lost everything that mattered to me.
Slowly my daughter got better. Slowly I got better. I rented a pump and continued my schedule at home, getting up in the night, creeping downstairs to the living room and pumping in the glow of the streetlight outside my front window. Finally one day I felt like I couldn't do it anymore. I decided today was the day or I was giving up.
That particular day I sat down on my couch at noon, and decided I wasn't moving until my daughter was breastfeeding. I didn't even bother to put a top on, I sat with her at my breast, she would take my nipple into her mouth, but not suck. She would fuss and squirm, but I held firm. She fell asleep. I still sat there. After her nap, she nibbled a little bit, but didn't nurse. I still sat there. She squirmed and wiggled, and fell asleep. By 11:30 that night, almost a full twelve hours later, she started to breastfeed. I felt vindicated. Slowly the fog that had been circling my mood for 5 weeks began to lift.
And then my nipples got sore. I had been pumping, but a breast pump doesn't actually touch your nipples. My nipples cracked, and were bleeding, then they would turn white and ache. My public health nurse finally determined that I had Reynaud's Syndrome. I started taking Vitamin B12 and slowly the pain began to subside. By the time my daughter was 4 months old, I remember thinking - this is easy, this is so nice. But there were absolutely days I didn't think I had it in me.
When I see moms whose nipples are so sore, who want to give up, I can completely relate. I always tell them this story in the hopes it will help them. I don't know if it does.
My daughter breastfed happily until she weaned herself at 15 months. My son came along 5 months later and at 2 years old, is still breastfeeding. It's a bond that I can't describe to someone who has never done it, and something I can't imagine not having.
The pain of my experience is still incredibly raw. I am on the verge of tears every single time I think about it, tell the story, or even right now, just writing it out. The emotional roller coaster, the hormones, the hopes, the dreams, all of the things I wanted that didn't happen, all of the things that did happen that no one told me were possible, but in the end, I managed to establish a breastfeeding relationship with my premature, ill daughter, and it was the one thing that saved my birth experience from full-blown depression.
So to the dad who was so overwhelmed by his wife's mastitis, to the moms who want to give up, PLEASE, keep going. I promise you that by the time your baby is four months, you will be so happy, it will be so easy, you will have such a magical experience with your baby. Please know that we're in your corner. Please know that there are others out there who have been there, please know there are people who can help.
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