Tuesday, November 6, 2018

Breastfeeding while Broken

People talk a lot more openly these days about breastfeeding struggles, for which I am grateful. I have friends who couldn't breastfeed their babies because of medication they needed to be on. I have others who tried their best, but they couldn't produce enough or their work schedules got too hectic to keep up with pumping. Whether you feed your baby breastmilk or formula, from the breast or from the bottle, are deeply personal decisions and I have no politics in that game. What I would like to speak to is the struggle of breastfeeding while broken.

A few years ago, when I was pregnant with my first child (our son), I actually wondered if breastfeeding might "fix" me. You see, at thirteen years old, just as my body was blossoming into womanhood, I was molested by an older man. That experience damaged both my sexuality and my view of my own body. I looked at my chest as a source of unwanted attention and something that needed to be minimized or contained, in a sense. So when it came time to figure out how I was going to feed my baby, I thought the act of breastfeeding might help me "rebrand" (to use a term from my ad agency career days) how I related to that part of my body.

Unfortunately, trying to breastfeed was not the experience I'd been hoping for. My son was born via emergency c-section and had to go to the NICU. Perhaps this contributed to our troubles, but it took a case of mastitis weeks later for me to realize he wasn't properly latching when I nursed him. As a first-time Mom, I was exhausted and scared but my husband encouraged me not to give up. We decided that I'd try exclusively pumping, which offered the added benefit of allowing my husband to help with night feedings.

But the first time my husband tried to help me figure out getting hooked into the double-pump, hands-free nursing bra, I sobbed. I am sure all of the post-delivery hormones didn't help, but that moment made me feel so dehumanized, and shook the ghosts of my molestation so many years ago. This was not the healing journey I'd imagined. It was something that was being done to me. But I persevered while my husband tried his best to support me. I am grateful to him for nagging me as much as he did to visit with a lactation consultant because with the help of that wonderful woman, by the time he was three months old, I was finally able to latch and nurse my son at the breast! Yet, he weaned himself from me completely by the time he was nine months old, so our time together was perhaps brief.

When I was pregnant with Hailey, I wondered what our nursing journey would be like. I unpacked my multiple breast pumps in advance, preparing for the worst. Similar to my son (but for different reasons), Hailey too was whisked off to the NICU at birth. But, that didn't stand in our way this time. From the start, nursing Hailey was effortless, and my heart soared in appreciation for that gift from her. We went home, happy.

Then, as you all know by now, Hailey got sick. We ended up in the NICU. She grew too ill to nurse, and the breast pump re-entered my life. I didn't greet it as the enemy anymore, but appreciated that it had allowed me a bridge to feeding my son and could now hopefully do the same as I pumped and stored my breastmilk for when Hailey was well enough to drink it.

I think people maybe wonder what it is like to lose a child. The horror and pain of it, of how they could possibly survive. Many folks have told me they don't know how I do it, but they are part of the answer. All of you indulge my writing, which helps me heal. But I can tell you right now that perhaps the single hardest part of losing Hailey was trying to maintain my breastmilk in the hopes she would someday drink it. Just typing that now, two years later, makes my heart constrict with anguish and the tears are pouring down my face.

In the face of the deepest grief I have ever imagined, the only respite I found was when I'd manage to fall asleep. But I'd have to set an alarm, or kindly ask the nurses to wake me, every two to three hours to pump. Every two to three hours, around the clock, the horror of our situation would assault me all over again. It got to where I never wanted to go to sleep. I could manage to stay in the pain if I stayed awake. I'd go numb after a while. But sleeping and then waking up and having my soul crushed over and over again like some horrific groundhog day almost broke me completely.

I barely ate. My milk supply dwindled. On this mid-term election night, I am reminded of election night 2016 when I was so exhausted, I fell asleep with the pump running. I woke up hours later to my nipples torn to shreds, yet less than half a blood-tinged ounce of milk in each bottle. I forced myself to eat at least a bit more, even though I wanted to puke every time I smelled food. I forced myself to sleep a bit more, even though waking up was agony. To give up on my milk supply - to let it go completely - was to me, giving up hope that my daughter would live. I HAD to keep going, even though I think some of those closest to me worried about what my efforts were costing me in terms of my sanity.

In the final days of her life, Hailey actually made the strongest rebound to date and we thought we might be able to bring her home for Christmas. The doctors told me I could cautiously start putting her back to my breast. At first, only after I'd pumped all the milk out, so she could get back in the hang of suckling without the danger of choking. She did well, so then I actually got to full-on nurse her! Despite all she had been through, Hailey did great. I was SO proud of her, and so overjoyed. We had fought so hard to have that breastfeeding experience back, she and I, and perhaps in that sense - I'd finally received the healing I'd hoped for from that molestation incident all those years ago. Breastfeeding had become this special, life-sustaining, pre-eminent bonding experience. I cherished more than even before what my body could do for our children.

But sadly, that euphoria was short lived. In a matter of days, Hailey's lung collapsed because her heart was giving out. And then we lost her.

My husband couldn't handle making the funeral arrangements, so I did that. What I couldn't handle was making arrangements for the gallons upon gallons of breastmilk I'd pumped. I wanted someone to be able to use it, but I just couldn't emotionally face the fact that it would never go to Hailey. (I can tell you now that it did go to support two other babies - one who was adopted and the other whose Mom couldn't produce her own milk).

Almost 11 months after losing Hailey, our family was blessed with another daughter, who is also a nursing champ like her big sister. But we've not gone without our struggles either. We've faced frequent bouts of thrush over the past year, which stresses me out to no end and sends me into a sanitizing tizzy. We've made it though. And as we approach our second daughter's first birthday, I realize she has been weaning herself from breastmilk much the same way that my son did years ago. I guess once our kids get their hands on solid food, there is no turning back!

I wrote this post today because from time to time, people who know our story ask me for ideas on how to support other friends who are on their own NICU journey. There are a few books or gifts I can recommend (and really, who doesn't get sick of hospital food?!), but really, the number one thing I can say is to try and find a way to support that NICU Mama who is pumping. Who is trying to nurse. Who is trying to make milk to feed her baby when she can barely feed herself because her mind is fractured with anxiety and her heart may be breaking with grief.

Offer to serve as her alarm clock for pumping sessions. Text her to keep her company in the middle of the night. Help her to not feel so alone in those quiet and dark hours when the hospital is quiet but for the beeping of the monitors surrounding her child. If you can visit the hospital, offer to help clean her pump parts so she doesn't have to leave her baby's side. Or just because we all get tired of cleaning pump parts. (And oddly enough, hospitals don't seem to stock the materials for mamas to clean their pump parts, so you could bring a wash basin, soap, etc. with you!). And if that NICU Mama is barely holding onto her sanity as her world falls apart, give her the grace to know it is okay to do one thing to save herself. To stop pumping and to try to get some rest when she can.

Hell, do all these things for any new mama trying to feed her baby. But especially for NICU mamas. Be there then, and I promise you she will never forget it.

With love and a grateful heart.




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