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/
Fighting for improved maternity care one day at a time.
Tuesday 27 August 2013
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.
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.
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