That would be the sound of a breastpump's motor.
Every four hours for twenty minutes. Because that's how long it took. At least I didn't have to pump every three hours anymore. I could go four... and sometimes six at night. But now Sam didn't need the milk, since he was drinking a medical grade formula. I dumped some of it before it occurred to me that I could donate it. Unfortunately, I couldn't donate all of it. A good portion of it was too old to be accepted according to the standards of WakeMed's milk bank.
That was great, at least that much wouldn't be wasted. Now I could stop pumping! I could almost taste the freedom. So. How...do...I....stop...? Because you can't just STOP. "Engorged" is easily one of my least favorite words of all time, so I won't use that word here. It is effectively banned from this blog. I remembered very clearly what it was like to have mastitis, and I didn't want to experience that again.
I had read quite a few books on breastfeeding. I looked up "drying up milk supply" online, read online forums... all my resources led me to the same dead end. If you need to increase your milk supply, there are lots of tips and suggestions out there. But if you've been pumping for ten months around the clock and never nursed at all and need to decrease your milk supply, there aren't a lot of options. It's possible that I was too dedicated to my routine. I had become a milk producing machine. Moo. I was a slave to my schedule. I followed the protocol; I started going longer between pumping sessions in order to decrease production. Weirdly, this didn't work. Pumping less frequently didn't cause me to produce less milk, it just meant that when I did finally pump, I needed four 8 oz bottles to contain it all. I was completely out of control. Even if I went 8 hours between sessions, all that I accomplished was bottle overflow and discomfort. I've heard urban legends about a pill that you can take to dry up milk supply. Years ago, this was something available to new moms that chose not to breastfeed. This pill is no longer available. It was recalled and pulled off the market due to risks and side effects. I went to the doctor to get help- and they had none to offer me. "Keep doing what you're doing. Stretch out the sessions. Or you can just keep pumping. Your milk will dry up eventually... probably..." I was haunted by the suspicion that I was one of those that could produce milk for years. Since I had no desire to hire myself out as a wet nurse, this needed to end. I was tied to that pump. My body was tired and worn out. According to some sources, sage tea can help slow milk production. I drank a LOT of sage tea. I read somewhere that it's possible for sage to have a hallucinogenic effect, but only in extremely large quantities. This is true. Also, it didn't accomplish the desired purpose. I just ended up with a lot of un-donate-able milk that smelled a little like sage. I tried cabbage and sudaphed. I followed all the directions and advice. I did everything right (and even tried some things that were downright weird) and still- my body kept over producing and my discomfort kept increasing.
Finally, in desperation, I decided to try going cold turkey. What options were left? Two days into my cold turkey campaign = agony. On a Saturday night, after going about 18 hours without pumping, I honestly thought that I might die. This verse came to mind:
"Give beer to those who are perishing, wine to those who are in anguish;"
Proverbs 31:6 (NIV)
So I sent my husband out for a bottle of wine. I drank that whole stupid bottle of wine. I don't reccommend this method of coping. Instead of giving me some relief, all it accomplished was making me fuzzy headed and agonized. It didn't numb the pain at all. Which, in retrospect, is a great thing. If it had numbed my pain, it may have proven to be a snare to me later on- but as it stands currently, alcohol is not an attractive coping mechanism for me. In fact, the very taste of alcohol makes me feel ill. That was a long night. The pain didn't allow for much sleep and by the time morning rolled around, I was a miserable mess of a woman. So. Much. Pain. My husband didn't know how to advise me. He was concerned about the risk of mastitis, but at the same time, he was ready for me to be done with the pump. By mid morning, I was slumped on the kitchen floor in tears. My baby was crying, but it hurt like fire to hold him. My daughter was scared. My husband was done. "I can't stay here with you like this. I'm leaving." And he walked out. There was nothing left for me. I couldn't help my baby. I couldn't help myself. I had neglected my daughter's needs in trying to care for my son. My body felt broken. My baby cried- and I couldn't pick him up. My daughter fell apart, crying hysterically. We sat on the kitchen floor together and cried and cried. In an earlier post, I talked about falling down a hole and wondering where the rocks were. I'd heard people talking about the rocks at the bottom, but I just seemed to keep falling without ever landing on them. That day I found the rocks.
So what do you do when you hit rock bottom?
You lie there with the wind knocked out of you. Eventually, though, you realize that you are still breathing. You check to see if any bones are broken. And you slowly get to your knees and find that you can still crawl.
I got up. I gave up. Ka chunk. Ka chunk. Ka chunk. I thought, "I will be tied to this pump forever." But that day, there was less milk. Eight hours later... I pumped again... but there wasn't as much pain. Over the following week, I was able to scale back even more. 12 hours between sessions. Less production. I could hold my baby again without feeling like screaming. I could go places without taking the pump and my nursing covers. My husband didn't really Leave. I thought he was really Leaving and so did my daughter. He was back after about a half hour. Apparently he walked outside for some air, but I didn't know that at the time.
I know mothers who have had wonderful experiences breastfeeding their babies. I hear it's a bonding experience like none other. I don't know this from personal experience, since Sam never nursed. My trials with breastfeeding were absolutely horrific. In retrospect, I can say that I am glad that I did it, even with all the pain and lost sleep and psychological damage. If I hadn't done it, I'd always wonder, "What if I had? What if that had been the thing that would have worked for Sam?" I'd be burdened with the guilt of not knowing while saddled with all the facts about the glories of breastmilk, it's healing powers, it's golden aura of unparalleled caloric perfection. Having said that, I will say this: I am not a die hard Le Leche Mom. Ultimately, breastmilk was not the best thing for Sam. His body had different needs. Some babies are like that. As I scroll my Facebook newsfeed, I see almost daily posts by moms I know that either are breastfeeding or who just like to advocate for the cause. Those posts still arouse feelings of guilt in me. "Did I REALLY do all I could? Maybe I didn't try hard enough..." But I did. I did try. I was hospitalized. I was fevered. I cracked. I bled. I pumped. I cried. I lost sleep. I still feel defensive because it wasn't enough. And carrying around my 10 month old baby with a bottle and a can of formula- I felt like people judged me. "If you'd breastfed, maybe he wouldn't be like this." I wanted a t-shirt that read, "I TRIED. I FAILED. GO AWAY." (Do they sell those? Because that would be kind of awesome.)
As a mother, I am my own worst critic. I seriously doubt that anyone judges me as harshly as I do. My biggest challenge hasn't been feeding Sam, getting through the day with very little sleep, or any of the other mountains I've crawled up. My biggest challenge is remembering that I am God's precious child. And that Jesus would have died for me- even if it was only for me and no one else.
Even though I didn't succeed at nursing.
No comments:
Post a Comment