Monday 18 November 2013

My 3 Angel Babies

My heart is in conflict. I have 2 beautiful, healthy girls who I adore. And now I also have 3 angel babies, born to heaven at 6.5weeks gestation.

After a week of some very odd symptoms, including a bad sore throat, chills, nausea and even bad thrush, my husband convinced me to do a pregnancy test. He arrived home a little earlier than usual that Monday night, and I quickly did the test. A very strong positive. I walked into the living room and all I could do was show the test to my husband and girls. My older one knew exactly what it meant (not sure how) and started jumping around. My husband told her, "Do you know there's a new baby in Mummy's tummy?" to which she replied "Oh yes, I already knew that. But Bubs, it's not one baby. There are 2 babies - a girl and a boy, and their names are Mark and Lara." We both stared at her for a while but simply brushed it off.

I was so excited that we decided to tell immediate family right away. Everyone was obviously thrilled.

The next day, as I was dressing, I realised that my trousers had been fitting tighter than usual over the past few days but today they could barely close. I switched to leggings and took my kids to their toddler class. Half way through the class, another mummy approached me quietly and asked if I was pregnant. She said it looked like I had a baby bump. I admitted that I was but that it was still early days. She congratulated me and it started to feel real.

On Thursday I noticed one bright spot of blood but I put it down to either some breakthrough bleeding or early-day spotting. I had a doctor's appointment the next day as I was concerned about the thrush and he suggested we try to do a dating ultrasound as I wasn't sure of dates. He said I was likely between 4 and 5 weeks along, and couldn't be sure of what he was seeing. He pointed out 2 dark spots, one slightly larger than the other, and said that either one could be the pregnancy. I mentioned the spotting but he said to just wait it out. My heart was a little flat that he did not say twins as every time I thought about the pregnancy, I was thinking in twos. I tried not to, but my brain would not budge on what it was trying to tell me.

That evening, I spotted some more, and then again Saturday. I spoke to the midwife who suggested taking a drug called Duphaston which helps with the progesterone levels and controls bleeding in pregnancy. So I started on minimal dose immediately. The spotting carried on and increased slightly. By Monday, the spotting was still the same, so I opted to go for another ultrasound. I was told I had a pregnancy consistent with 5 weeks and 1 day. That there was a gestational sac and another, smaller object that looked like a gestational sac too. However, I was told it is unlikely it is twins and the second smaller object was likely a blood clot or just a blip.

By Tuesday I could not longer wear my normal underwear. I had to fish out my earl-maternity stuff. With my first this happened at 10 weeks. With my second it happened at around 9 weeks. I was shocked that at 5 weeks I already needed maternity-wear...but my head would immediately quip, "Well what do you expect with 2?" Again I brushed it aside.

On Wednesday I managed to get an appointment with a doctor I had been meaning to interview. I was given an appointment for the following Monday, but again a voice told me "Monday will be too late". However, an earlier appointment was not available either with the new or usual doctor. I called the midwife and she suggested increasing the dose of my medication. When my older daughter came home from school, I told her that I think the babies are needed in Heaven and that we need to pray. She was visibly upset and kept saying they were so sweet already. She said she loved them so much and had already gotten used to having them around. She didn't want them to go to Heaven. I explained that sometimes Jesus needs some extra help and that babies make the perfect angels. She got angry and said "but why our babies?" I told her that Jesus wants us to have special angels in heaven because Uncle Mark is not managing on his own. She finally calmed down but remained so upset.

Thursday was a lovely day as I was to be GodMother to my beautiful new niece. I was so excited but not feeling well at all. I had a sinking feeling I could not shake. I was feeling drained and scared but tried so hard to brush it off. The ceremony was lovely. I was so proud. We had a little chat with the priest after and my older daughter wanted to be Blessed. So I asked him to Bless both girls and then got an urge to ask him to Bless my belly. He asked when I was due and I replied "At this point it is very God-willing that we have a new arrival in June". He Blessed my little bump and I felt my sadness grow. I guess I knew right then that the babies were no more. During the little family part after, I visited the bathroom and noticed that the blood had changed. It was dark red, angry and no longer "spotting". I didn't say anything at that point. I silently wished that I could miscarry in peace and completely naturally. I hoped I'd have something tangible to say goodbye to.

By Friday I was feeling quite ill and bleeding on and off, similar to a light period. As I did not have any childcare available I decided to stay in and entertain the kids as best I could. My husband brought home a lovely Chinese takeaway that I had been craving for a week and the kids had a blast experimenting with this new food.

Saturday was a horrible day. I received 2 phonecalls from friends requiring post-partum support and didn't realise I spent the time pacing. When I hung up, I almost fainted. It was a beautiful day and my husband really wanted to take the kids to the new National Aquarium, so after getting a 45 minute nap, off we went. I was cramping horribly all morning, and the cramps kept increasing. At the Aquarium, I could barely stand and spent the whole visit searching for my next seat. I visited the bathroom and the tell-tale blood clots had started. I decided to plough on.

Sunday I woke up to increased blood and horrible cramps. I had no choice but to spend most of the day in bed. My husband took the children out for the afternoon and kept sending pictures to show they were enjoying themselves. I was feeling numb and miserable, and every picture made me want to pick myself up, brush aside what was happening and join them - but I could barely walk to the toilet without another strong cramp hitting. My appointment couldn't come soon enough.

Monday morning, bright and early, I dropped my little one off at my mother in law and headed to the new doctor. Unfortunately, he was running late and I spent well over an hour and a half waiting for him. During this time I made several bathroom trips and just kept feeling worse and worse. There was a huge fullness in my belly that wasn't allowing me to hold my urine without pain, and I was worried there would not be enough for the ultrasound. Finally it was my turn. The doctor was lovely and definitely one I would choose to return to. We had a good chat about many things: my traumatic first birth, my healing water-vbac, my birth rights activism, the future of maternity services, and then he told me about his wife's miscarriage. He described the flowers he saw that day, and how blue to sky was. He told about how devastating and desperate it feels. We finally did the ultrasound and he told me that the miscarriage was almost complete. The placenta was sitting on top of the cervix, blocking the passage of blood, so he warned me not to be shocked if I bleed heavily right after passing the placenta. He expected that it would happen within the next few hours, couple of days max.

I went to pick up my daughter and started bleeding heavily, passing a large blood clot. I assumed that this was the "placenta", maybe it looks different this early on. So I expected to bleed for a little while, 2 to 3 days maybe and then be able to start moving on. I was upset about not having something tangible but tried hard to accept it. The cramps were also subsiding, which was a relief. When my older got home from school, I explained that the baby had gone to Heaven with Jesus. Mummy had been unwell over the weekend, and that made the baby not strong enough to keep to be happy in this world. So Jesus took him to Heaven to be an angel for a little while. We agreed to pray that maybe one day he might be strong enough to join us in our family again, but for now Jesus and Uncle Mark will look after him in Heaven. She asked if both babies had gone, and I said yes. Then we headed to the garden centre and she chose a Bonsai to look after in memory of our angel babies in Heaven. There were lots of tears for both of us.

The next day I held a Momma Trauma Sacred Circle at my house. One mother left to pick up her son at noon, but the other was enjoying the like-minded company and stayed on. I started feeling spaced out and getting huge contractions. I had to politely ask the mother to leave after a while as I was in so much pain and feeling as if I was gushing blood. I saw her out and then rushed to the bathroom. I felt a heaviness and the need to bear down. So I grabbed a tissue and pushed. Out came another, even larger blood clot. I thought, maybe this was finally it, and now I even have something tangible to bury. My little one was running around the bathroom pulling it apart, and I realised the room was swooshing and swirling, and I was bleeding so heavily I couldn't get off the toilet. I tried to contact my husband and my mother, but both were unavailable, so I called my mother in law. I was worried as my daughter was due home on the school bus in a bit and I was not going to be able to go out to get her. She said she'll come as soon as possible but won't make it in time for the bus. So I leaned over the bath, washed my face and pulled myself up. I managed to get downstairs with the little one, and made myself a cocktail of iron supplements, manuka honey, propolis, vitamin c and a magnesium+potassium tablet in coconut water. It tasted awful but did the trick just in time for the bus driver to manically hoot the horn outside. We went inside and I flopped on the sofa and waited. When my mother in law turned up, she was shocked at the colour of my face. She kept saying that I should go to hospital immediately, but at that point I really did not want to be separated from my children, so I refused. I figured it is now over and I'll recover fast. I sat on the sofa for the rest of the afternoon, barely able to move. The midwife was not concerned and told me to take painkillers, rest and visit the following Tuesday.

I woke up feeling heaps better on Thursday but still not quite right. I just got through the day.

On Friday morning I had a school meeting. I chatted with a friend about the miscarriage and she told that I didn't look well. She said I should have stayed home. Half way through the meeting i started feeling contractions again. Not terribly strong but clearly contractions. On the way to pick up my little one, I stopped to get my care tyre fixed and kept feeling a heaviness and gushes of blood. I picked up my daughter and noticed that there was blood on my seat. I drove home carefully as I was feeling really weird but had an incredible urge to get home. I put it down to cutting a fine line to my older one arriving home from school. The little one slept on the way so I took her inside in her bucket seat and ran to the bathroom. I sat on the loo and bled and bled and bled. And then that familiar bearing down feeling overpowered me. I instinctively reached down and something plopped into my hand. The sickness stopped almost immediately. It finally occurred to me to look at what was in my hand. I recognized it immediately: placenta and cord. I felt dazed staring at it, slowly reaslising that I was seeing 2 cords. I thought maybe if I unfold it, maybe the other cord is attached to the sac. So I did, and again the surreal realization hitting me that there was no sac, but a second, slightly conjoined placenta with its own cord...and then another placenta with its own cord. 3. Three! 3 placentas...can only mean...3 babies. 3 babies. 3! Babies! Oh my God, did that hit hard! Really really really hard right through my heart and into my soul. I screamed hysterically. So loud that I woke my sleeping baby downstairs. So loud that it felt like my throat ripped. And then I heard the baby crying, and just like a switch, I put the placentas down next to the skin, rinsed my hands and went to her. I picked her up but realised I was shaking uncontrollably. She clung to me and at some point I spoke to my mother in law on the phone. She couldn't comprehend a word of what I was saying, she just said she'll be on her way and hung up. She made it there before my daughter arrived home, but I really have no sense of time.

Once I calmed down, I went back upstairs and looked at the placentas again.  I took photos and posted them to a private group of like-minded people for advice. All told me the same: looks like 3 placentas. 3 placentas=3 babies. I tried to call my husband but he was unreachable.

My mother in law needed to leave by 4pm, so I kept our playdate at the park and somehow got through it. My husband got home quite late from work. He assumed that once I had the strength to take the kids out, then I was likely ok. Really it was just a mean of functioning and avoiding.

The next day we had 2 weddings to attend but I really was not up to meeting people. I took my kids to the shopping centre Halloween event instead and my husband attended the weddings alone. By Sunday, the gloom cloud was moving closer and I knew that something similar to the baby blues was about to hit. So I arranged for my little one to be picked up after the older one leaves for school. I spent the day moping around, crying, fuming, steaming, being sad, being angry, being dazed. By the time 3pm and the school bus rolled up, I was feeling more able to function and cope. Again, I took the kids out and when my husband called to say it was another late night, I decided to stay out and treat them to a naughty supper. It back-fired because I messed up routine which meant it was really hard to get them to sleep once back home. By Tuesday, I threw us all back into routine...anything to ignore my broken heart. It took another 4 days before I could close up my trousers properly again. Going out and facing people was hard. I wanted to close myself up in my little world and just indulge in my hobbies for distraction. Life with 2 toddlers doesn't allow that. Life as a PTSD survivor also doesn't allow that. PTSD survivors need to get up fighting everday. It can be a blessing and a curse all at once.

I am grateful though. I am grateful that I have something to bury, something tangible. That I will have a spot or a plant I can go to that represents my angel babies. I am grateful to have found this new, natural-oriented doctor on top of already having another. I am grateful that I am a member of a kick-ass online community who really allowed me to lean on them, cry and feel, process, discuss, bounce from emotion to emotion. They handled me with care and sensitivity. They checked in on me and I also made new "friends" in the process. I am grateful that I got to see an intuitive side to my 3.5 year old that I always knew existed. I am grateful that I was given those babies, even if it was only for a very short time. I am grateful that I now have a new tool in my childbirth educator/birth rights activist bag.

And I am enormously grateful for the 2 beautiful girls I get to hold and love here on earth. The journeys have not always been plain sailing, but they are here, in my arms every day and every night. And when I leave this physical world and my living babies behind, I will have 3 angel babies waiting for me on the other side. And I will get to hold them, and love them, and nurse them...and until then they will live in my heart.

To my beautiful little angel babies, Mark, Kian and Lara. Born to heaven 17th October 2013.

Tuesday 27 August 2013

21 reasons to say no to Pitocin, according to the manufacturer

It is not the reasons given by the manufacturer that are shocking, but that Pitocin is often touted a a perfectly safe induction method. Informed Choice would mean women reading this list before consenting to induction. I'd suspect many would fast refuse!

http://www.sicklycat.com/2012/05/24/21-reasons-to-say-no-to-pitocin-according-to-manufacturer/


Monday 5 August 2013

Just Another Breastfeeding Journey

I'm not a bloggy person. Despite having been a very disciplined academic, since having kids I don't seem to have the discipline to sit down and write like I used to. There's always something more important to do - like laundry, cooking, groceries, feeding or dressing or entertaining the kids...

But over the weekend I got involved in a heated discussion in a mothering group on Facebook. A lactation consultant friend of mine posted a request for interest in creating a Big Latch On event locally. The only people who responded (and rather quickly might I add), were non-breastfeeding mothers, or mothers who did not succeed at breastfeeding. Blinded by a migraine, I read through the comments and was totally disgusted by what I was reading. These mothers ridiculed the event, the post and the lactation consultant. I was incensed and called them out on it, but naturally, the mummy-wars were on, and it became a typical 'breastfeeding vs formula feeding' war. I was accused of being narrow minded, and judgmental of mothers who don't breastfeed. I really got the impression that they thought breastfeeding came easy for me...Well, I wonder if they knew my story if they would have perhaps been less aggressive...

My first baby was born 5 weeks early via cesarean-section and under general anesthesia. There wasn't any real labour to speak of before she was born. Suffice to say that the circumstances under which she was born were anything but ideal for a breastfeeding relationship. My baby was immediately fed formula from a bottle at birth, and then again a couple of hours later while I was still either somewhere in recovery or being transported to my room. Records show that the baby was not brought to me much,(there were a few latching attempts) mostly fed formula by a bottle and threw up. I was told it was the best thing for baby. My husband knew I had really wanted to breastfeed so he encouraged me to pump. I pumped and pumped and pumped but kept being told it's not enough. I was doing the best for baby by feeding formula, I was told. Baby kept throwing up. Finally, one midwife decided to give the baby a little bit of expressed colostrum...and baby didn't throw it up. But she did throw up the next formula feed. We knew that she needed my milk if she was to thrive. But still, a couple of the midwives refused, until my husband had a good yell at the head midwife and she finally conceded that we should try. We had to teach baby how to latch on, keep her awake long enough to suckle and patiently keep rousing her again as her exhausted preemie body couldn't cope with the work of breastfeeding. We knew that babies find bottle feeding easier. We knew that a different set of muscles are used. We knew it was easier to take the route of formula feeding. But the moment she was "topped up" with formula, she'd throw up the lot.

On the fourth day the baby turned blue in her cot whilst alone with me in my room. I instinctively tipped her forward and let the milk pour out of her. The pediatrician dismissed it, and almost implied I was exaggerating. "Babies do that", he said.

We went home the next day and my milk started to come in slowly. Baby was 5 days old, but she should have still been gestating. I was breastfeeding when I could and expressing at least 6 times a day to make sure she feeds the required amount every 3 hours. Breastfeeding was excruciating. Every suckle brought on huge contractions. I would hold the baby tightly to my chest, a breastfeeding pillow holding her off my scar, and I would SCREAM in agony. I don't know how to describe the sheer torture I felt. Several told me to just give up, it's not worth it, just give her formula. But the more I researched, the more I felt the need to give her my milk. I knew in my heart my milk was made just right to help her. See, when a baby is born premature, the mother's milk is unique to the gestational age of the baby. Colostrum may be produced for longer because the baby would need it's high-calorie, high-nutrition makeup to thrive. So I plodded on.

Over the the next week, my little baby turned blue several times. Sometime whilst in her cot, sometimes during a feed, sometimes whilst in my arms. Long story short, I took my baby to another dismissive doctor and then a supportive doctor. He was concerned, but wanted to attempt keeping her out of hospital. He said I was to call him should my "mummy instinct" tell him I needed to. He told me to carry on feeding her my milk because it was the only thing keeping her going right now. That any milk going into her lungs would not harm her because breastmilk has natural anti-bacterial properties. So for the next 3 days I did. I stuck my boob in her mouth at every opportunity. I wanted to get the calories into her.

I'll never forget that Thursday. She was 4 weeks old, but instead of of rejoicing, I was frantically calling the doctor. She was going limp in my arms and had refused all feeds by breast or bottle for almost 6 hours. We were told to rush to hospital. Once there, they placed a very tiny oxygen mask on my tiny little girl, and a canula in her invisible vein. But she kept on turning blue. So we were rushed to NPICU. My little girl was taken away from me for well over an hour. We called our priest. I geared myself up to say goodbye to my perfect little baby. Finally a nurse came to tell us that they had stabilized her and that the hospital priest had been informed to be on standby in case things take a turn for the worse. They were not going to feed her for a few hours, so I had to sit next to my precious girl and listen to her whimper with hunger, unable to hold or touch her. Finally a nurse said that I should go home and to rest, but I refused to. I had to be there if she needed me. So the nurse suggested we feed her a few drops of milk by finger just to soothe her. I diligently whipped out a boob and squeezed, but nothing came out. Nothing. Not a drop. The nurse suggested I go to a quiet room and express. I rang my husband and he said he would bring my frozen milk in the morning in time for her first scheduled feed. So I pumped and pumped and pumped. I sat in the breastfeeding room for almost an hour, moving the pump from side to side and gulping huge amounts of water. But I couldn't fill the bottle more than 10 ml. I cried so hard. The nurse fed it to the baby and said that if my supply doesn't return they would start mixing formula with my frozen milk and then switch to formula. Fortunately, my husband arrived in time for baby's first feed. I knew she was drinking up to 50 ml but they would only give her 30ml. At the time I was mad that she had to be left hungry, but now I can see that small blessings can come in the strangest of disguises. The reduced feeds meant that my frozen milk lasted that little bit longer. I asked my husband to pick up a can of the hypoallergenic formula that was being recommended, but he refused. He said that the moment I see them give her that formula, I will give up. I am so grateful that he was able to be so focused and such a rock.

So instead of a can of formula, I sought advice, and requested fennel tea, milk stout, vitamins. I was told my milk had stopped with the shock and as a means of coping with potential loss. I googled and googled. And I stopped trying to pump in a different room. I sat next to my baby, even though I couldn't touch her. I had my pump ready as soon as she cried. Feeds were always late, so the poor thing cried a lot. But again, small blessings, because it did the trick. For a few hours I needed 10-15 minutes of stimulation to bring on let down, and would only provide up to 20 ml. But by the next morning, I was producing up to 80ml per pumping session. One nurse complained that there was not enough milk for the next 24 hours, and another nurse retorted that not even a cow pumps 24 hours worth of milk in one session. I was pretty sure a halo appeared above that nurse's head that day. I stayed up all night and pumped and pumped. And when the doctor and his team visited at 7.30am, I was sitting next to my baby's incubator pumping. He gave me the biggest grin and told his team that whilst they were doing the best they possibly could for my baby, I was the one providing her with the exact nutrition to help their job succeed. I cried some very happy tears when they left.

That night, as I sat near the baby, pumping again, a nurse walked in and noticed tears streaming down my face. I told her I missed my baby. I needed to hold her. That the baby was turning her face away from me when I spoke to her. She said she'll be right back and returned shortly with a smile. She said that she had no direct orders that the baby was not to be held so she'll be back after her rounds to see what she could do. And she kept her promise. When I removed my shirt and explained that that is what I had done at home instinctively, she told me "Pupa (doll), do you know you saved your baby's life? Your skin to skin, your continuous efforts to give her your milk. She is here because you are her mother and you followed your heart. Never forget that. That is how much you love her." I treasure those words and that wonderful nurse so much. She then got my little girl out of the incubator, put her to my chest and wrapped us up. She fed the baby with a syringe and then left us there together, wrapped up in love. She checked on us often but left us there til I was too tired to hold my baby anymore. I slept for 3 hours straight and so did baby. The nurse checked on us before she left and told me that baby had really improved overnight, and that she has left strict instructions in her hand over that I am to hold my baby as much as possible.

I was still not allowed to directly breastfeed her, but they let me pump while holding her, and I got to hold her quite a lot. They came to tell me to stop pumping so much because there was no more space in the fridge. The next day we were moved out of NPICU. The pediatrician visited us and said we could go home tomorrow after some more tests were done. I was to carry on pumping and bottle feeding the baby, and I could put her to my empty breast "every now and again to remind her how it's done". We were to be reviewed in a month.

So for a month, I pumped and bottle-fed. At any one point I had up to 5 feeds worth of frozen milk. It was not easy. I had to pump to feed and pump to freeze. My routine became: Baby wakes, change, feed baby upright, burp and hold upright for  30 mins, place baby in cot, pump, sleep for 30 minutes. If I missed one cycle, that came out of my frozen milk reserve. And then we hit a growth spurt. And boy did I have a hungry little girl. In one day, my frozen reserves were depleted because I simply could not physically pump any more. At the end of the second day, I was at my wits' end. Baby could not stop asking for more milk and I just had no more expressed milk to give. I prayed. And then I picked her up and put her to my breast. I had never, and have still never felt let down like I did that day. I had milk spewing out of me. Baby was laughing and guzzling it all up, sometimes taking breaks and ducking away from the spurt. I think I called everyone I knew because I could not contain my sheer joy. And best of all, Baby handled it all really well.

So does my story end here? With this milky happy ending?

No. No it doesn't. Because no breastfeeding journey does not hit other bumps in the road.

When my little girl was 18 months, she fell and broke her 2 front teeth. One was broken right up to the root, the nerve exposed. The other had a huge, sharp chip. She couldn't eat from the pain and started relying solely on my milk. The attempts to cover the nerve did not work, so 2 weeks later she had surgery to remove the remaining nerve and root. In those 2 weeks, my nipples became a battle zone. They were literally shredded and bleeding from the broken teeth rubbing against them. I tried to take a break and give her soft foods or a bottle but it just hurt her too much. After the surgery, it took a number of weeks before the chipped tooth smoothed out a little.

And then 2 months later, she started to scream half way through her feeds. She seemed mad at me and I couldn't figure out why. It felt like she was biting me, but I could see that she wasn't. It appeared that my milk may have changed taste or reduced, because, unbeknownst to me, there was a little sister growing inside me. Bean and I carried on our nursing relationship until she was 23 months and I was 20 weeks pregnant, when my milk completely dried up. Again blessings in disguises, because my body was telling me that I had nourished my girl to the very best of my ability, but now it was time to focus on the new baby inside me and the challenging journey ahead of us.

Squish's was a beautiful, natural water birth with no medication. She latched on within minutes of her birth and guzzled for all she was worth. She fed every 2 hours for short feeds, and carried on that way until she was around 5 months. When she was 3 weeks, I began to realise that her feeds were more frequent and much shorter than Emma's had been. I also noticed her latch was not quite right. Her upper lip would not flip upwards and she did not "gobble" my breast the way Emma did. I hired a lactation consultant who confirmed that she had a lip tie. A lip tie is a piece of skin called a frenulum that ties the upper lip to the gums. There are varying degrees of lip tie. I sought medical advice but the consultant simply said "If the frequent feeds bother you so much, just switch to formula". I was truly annoyed at his flippant attitude. But the more I thought about it, the more I realised that I was only able to persevere because I had the knowledge and experience I had had. Another mother would have been easily discouraged and given up.

It was tiring, feeding every 2 hours and taking care of a demanding toddler as well (hey what toddler isn't demanding, huh?). My life cycled in 2 hour slots, often requiring me to abandon my shopping cart, or find quick parking to feed the hungry baby. You see, another problem with lip tie is that it requires holding your breast just right with one hand, and putting pressure on the baby's chin in just the right way with the other. Not to mention that you also need to shove the boob in just right, and flip the upper lip as best you can. Really, 4 hands would be quite ideal. So feeding in the sling was not really possible, hence many abandoned shopping carts. Fortunately, I always shop at the same place so I had support from the staff there. Also fortunate was that she would sleep a 4-6 hour stretch almost every night from quite early on. So the night got some respite. Although I enjoyed feeding her at night best, when she was relaxed, drinking for comfort, me lying on my side. I've since learnt that side-lying is the best position for lip-tie.

A lip-tied latch can also be quite painful, requiring several unlatching and re-latching attempts. For us, the hardest was when her top teeth came in. Lip ties cause gaps between the teeth, and when Amy suckled, my nipple would sometimes get caught in this gap. Oh the pain! And as she got older, her suck became stronger and unlatching her much harder. We mostly work together though, and now at 13 months, she can recognise a bad latch and will reposition herself, by herself, unless really desperate.

My breastfeeding journeys were not plain sailing. Many see me feeding my babies, or listen to my encouraging comments or "pro-breastfeeding" stance and comment that breastfeeding came easy to me. I think my breastfeeding journeys had their challenges and tested my resolve to give my babies my milk on several occasions. But when I think back to all those precious moments, the milk-drunk look, the insane love in their eyes as the let down begins...when I think about how I was challenged, put to the test, and how I persevered...when  I think how my husband shone true and really advocated for me at a time when I felt defeated...I know I was, and am, extremely blessed to have had, and still have, a breastfeeding relationship with my daughters.

So when I am told I am one-track minded, that it came easy, that I look down on formula or bottle feeders, my heart sinks a little, because it couldn't be further from the truth. I know first hand how society does not encourage breastfeeding. I know first hand how little support there is. I know first hand how much support is needed. I know first hand the myriad of challenges one can face. I know first hand that every mother feeds her baby with love, be it from her breast, her milk in a bottle, or formula in a bottle. I just feel sad that because of who knows what reason, a mother may not be experiencing the insane joy that breastfeeding brings. It is not about the benefits of breastfeeding for both mother and baby. It is much more than that. And whilst I fully believe that every mother and every family needs to make the lifestyle/parenting/feeding choices that are right for them, I do wonder how often that choice is really a choice, and I do wonder if that mother feels wretched inside, feeling that she had no choice and that she's a failure. I don't understand why those mothers are so vociferous in breastfeeding matters, otherwise. Why they are convinced that any awareness campaign is an attack on their parenting ability. Because, as far as I am aware, it is not!


Ps. I'd like to add that I have several close friends and family who made the choice to not breastfeed. They know they had my support because it was the right thing for them. I have close friends and family who couldn't breastfeed for medical reasons even though they wanted to. They too had my support and my empathy (not sympathy-pity would have just made them feel worse). I don't begrudge them their situations, and they neither begrudge nor envy my breastfeeding. They know my journey. They know how I have helped them where I could, offered what I could, however I could. These people know who they are, and they know I applaud their courage to make the choice that was right for their baby and family. But when I see a mother awkwardly breastfeeding her tiny baby, feeling and looking hopeless, I want to hug her and tell her it will be ok. That breastfeeding is a journey, not a destination. I wonder if that mother needs just one person to lift her spirits to give her the boost she needs. And when I see a mother confidently breastfeeding her baby, I give her a knowing smile, because I know that in our society, it is rare for a mother to have a completely plain-sailing breastfeeding journey.

Saturday 27 April 2013

A huge step in the right direction for maternity services in Malta.

 "Health Minister Godfrey Farrugia highlighted the fact that the majority of expectant mothers in Malta were healthy and had a very low risk of childbearing complications. He said pregnancy was a state of “well-being” and not an “inherently sick state”." 

http://www.timesofmalta.com/articles/view/20130427/local/-Unnecessary-Caesarean-sections-are-a-waste-of-valuable-resources-.467270



Unnecessary Caesarean sections cost the national coffers €3.7 million in 2011, money that could have been invested elsewhere had mothers been encouraged to give normal birth.
There has never been a more critical moment than right now to change the medicalised system
Malta Midwives Association president Mary Buttigieg Said estimated that the cost of childbirth is rising as the rate of C-sections increases.
“In one single year, from 2010 to 2011, the high rate of C-sections meant an additional expense of more than €1.5 million,” she said, deeming the money spent “a waste of resources”.
“Savings from the unnecessary interventions could be used for other useful projects such as a midwifery-led unit,” said Ms Buttigieg Said when addressing the International Confederation of Midwives’ conference at the Vivaldi Hotel in St Julians, attended by representatives from all over the world.
She said such unnecessary expenses were depriving women and their families of a holistic model of care.
“What if we were all forced to come to this conference wearing burnt orange dresses? Childbirth is not a one size fits all,” she said.
The World Health Organisation recommends an annual average of C-sections of 10 to 15 per cent. Malta’s rate stands at 34 per cent, the highest in the EU.
At the moment, all pregnant mothers are expected to give birth at hospital but the association is insisting that “low-risk women” should be given a “safe choice”.
She said midwives were constantly told to promote epidurals and analgesics in childbirth and that “labour pain” was deemed as “unacceptable”.
“There has never been a more critical moment than right now to change the medicalised system into one which is built around what is best for the woman and the baby,” she said, expressing hope that the system would change before she reaches retirement age.
Thirty midwives were working on a project entitled Normalising Childbirth, in collaboration with the University of West England Bristol.
“The project highlights the importance that all pregnant women have the chance to experience childbirth in a normal and non-medicalised aspect,” Ms Buttigieg told The Times.
“We need a system that is built around what is best for women and for babies.”
Health Minister Godfrey Farrugia highlighted the fact that the majority of expectant mothers in Malta were healthy and had a very low risk of childbearing complications. He said pregnancy was a state of “well-being” and not an “inherently sick state”.
“Let’s practise good management by minimising the amount of unnecessary interventions that not only drive up costs but possibly even increase health risks to women and newborns,” said Dr Farrugia.

Women who received models of midwife-led care were:

• 8 times more likely to experience foetal loss before 24 weeks;
• 21 per cent less likely to have regional analgesia;
• 14 per cent less likely to have instrumental birth;
• 18 per cent less likely to have an episiotomy;
• Significantly more likely to have a spontaneous vaginal birth;
• Initiate breastfeeding and feel in control.
Source: Cochrane Systematic Review of midwife-led care

Thursday 25 April 2013

The Face of Birth official teaser

A film about pregnancy, childbirth and the power of choice.

I really want to host a screening of this during the month of May. More details soon...