So You Think You Can Breastfeed

Yep, I am going personal on this one.  Very personal.  Turn back now if you find lactation TMI.  :)


Where to begin with my breastfeeding story?  I could start at the hospital where, after two days of enthusiasm and determination my lactation consultant said to me in frustration, "just give her a bottle!"  K had a lazy latch.  So lazy she wouldn't even latch onto a bottle, she preferred to let formula just dribble into her mouth.  Strike one against my decision to breastfeed.  I could fast forward 4 weeks when I returned to work full time.  My first week back I was sent to Vegas for a class.  I dutifully brought my pump, but alas, no working outlets in the restrooms.  Strike two.  Maybe I should start the next week, sitting in my doctor's office asking for Reglan (a drug that stimulates milk production) when my supply had dwindled to a mere ounce a day (not an ounce per pump, an ounce total from both sides).  Or a few weeks later when blood work revealed that although I had incredibly high levels of prolactin (the hormone that stimulates milk production), my body was not receiving the message.  What little I was producing had no nutritional value.  Ouch.  Strike three- I was out.  An endocrinologist strongly suggested I give up my goal.  I was 2 months post partum and had not once ever successfully breastfed.  It was a bitter (and expensive!) pill to swallow.  I had an MRI to check my pituitary, more and more bloodwork done.  I still don't have a good reason why my body reacted that way.  I took it hard.  I felt worthless and inadequate.  I had failed at labor (my body doesn't recognize pitocin either) and now I had failed at feeding my child.  I know now that a lot of the depression I had then was just the perfect storm of misery I had been dealt at that time.  Not only had I unexpectedly had a c-section and could not breastfeed, I had to return to work after four weeks, James left for Morocco for a month and we found out he was deploying to Afghanistan 6 weeks after he returned from Morocco.   Because I only had four weeks to recover from surgery, a started having a slew of health problems around that time too (severe abdominal and leg pain from not letting myself heal properly was a big one).  I had a lot of reasons to be depressed.  Breastfeeding should've fallen right off my lists of concerns, but instead I fixated on it.  I hated myself for it.  About 4 months after K was born a friend of mine had her first child.  Not only did breastfeeding come relatively easy to her, it seemed to me that her cups literaly runneth over.  She made milk in spades.  I was jealous.  I was frustrated.  I felt like I was robbing my child of something precious.  I felt I had to defend formula feeding to everyone, whether they wanted me to or not.  I blamed all K's illnesses, all her foul moods, everything, on the fact that I was a bad mom because I couldn't breastfeed.  (Again, I was probably more overdramatic because my whole experience was being colored by the much larger issues I was also dealing with.  But even knowing that, didn't make it any easier to accept.  Even here, two years later, without all the depression hanging over me, I still feel pangs of regret about not breastfeeding, even though I have a perfectly healthy happy child.  I don't know if a steady diet of breast milk would've made K any different than she already is.  Probably not.) 

And so here is where the story would logically come to an end.  I tried, I failed, I am moving on.  But then I never did tell you where my breastfeeding story really began, did I?  Here is where it really starts.  Remember my friend with milk to spare?  She really and truly did have milk to spare.  A few months after her son was born she approached me with what she was sure was sort of an odd offer.  She had pumped and froze a supply of milk so great, her child would never be able to use it all before it expired.  She wanted to know if I wanted it for K.  I remember looking at her face as she offered, I could tell she wasn't sure if it was the sort of thing you could offer to someone.  And I remember thinking, "I should find this so weird that she wants to give me her milk."  But I didn't find it weird.  Even now, just sitting here remembering that moment, tears spring to my eyes.  It was the most incredible present anyone could have offered me in those dark days.  She literally cared so much about me and K that she wanted to share herself with us.  I readily accepted.  If I could give K just one bottle of breastmilk a day on the off chance that there might be some benefit to it, I was going to do it.  Even if it wasn't mine.  And that is what I did for several months after that until the milk ran out.  I still have the little insulated bag my friend would fill with frozen bags of milk for me to take home everyday.  I just like what it means to me now, I guess.

People sometimes ask how K was fed.  Formula or breast, they'll ask.  I think sometimes people, espcially new moms, just want some sort of answer as to which is truly best.  I always say, both.  But then I like to tell them the answer that they are really looking for- you have to do what is best for you and your baby.  Maybe its breastfeeding, maybe its formula, maybe it is a little of both.  Maybe it is something you need to do on your own, maybe it ends up being something you have to ask for help with, or maybe even accept a little help with.  All that matters is that it works for you and the baby.