Listen to Lena

Perfecting the Art of Conversuasion

A Tale of Two Boobs

A Tale of Two Boobs: Chapter 4

By

Thought all that boobie talk was behind us? No way – I just had to start the new year with an update on my progress!

It’s no surprise that it was a very important goal of mine to breastfeed my son. Having chosen the formula route the first time, I wanted to do everything in my power to give breastfeeding my best effort. (Check out chronicles of my initial attempts – and success – here.)

Well, almost 8 months in, I’m happy to say that Reid is still a boob man: on 100% breastmilk and a happy, healthy baby. But it hasn’t been all smooth sailing.

Just over a month ago, three things happened simultaneously: Reid began solids, started to teethe profusely and stopped sleeping through the night. As a result, I was stressed out and incredibly over-tired – and within days, my breastmilk supply went from abundant to barely there. Previously, I was able to pump 3-4 ounces between feedings in under 10 minutes; you can imagine my surprise when barely 1/2 an ounce trickled through the pump after 15-20 minutes. I freaked out – did this mean my milk was drying up prematurely? Was Reid getting enough to eat? Was it time to wean to formula? His diapers, once heavy and soaked, became light and barely wet. Oh no.

So I pulled out the formula and mixed him a bottle. Coaxing him in my arms, I slowly brought the bottle to his mouth while I hummed a lullaby. He greedily took the nipple in his mouth (he is accustomed to drinking expressed breastmilk) but after just half a sip, pulled away and frowned at me in confusion.

“Go ahead,” I encouraged. “Try it, you may like it!” After one, two more sips, he angrily let out a growl. And within seconds, I witnessed a tantrum like no other. Swinging his head to and fro, crying, screaming – even batting the bottle away with his hands – he looked at me accusingly.

“What the hell’s wrong with your boob, woman?” he seemed to be demanding. Ugh.

I suspected I had waited too long to introduce formula – his window of being reasonable and accepting of manufactured milk had long since passed. Panicked, I worried about the best way to go about satisfying his needs. My breasts stilled seemed utterly deflated and I knew my supply would not meet his demand in the long run. What to do, what to do, what to do.

Then I remembered that help was available. Denise! I thought. I’ll see Denise! She was the sole person responsible for helping me succeed at breastfeeding in the first place, and, thankfully, most regional clinics do not set a limit on the time that you have to seek assistance. So I called Peel Public Health and sure enough, was able to bring my then 7-month old in for a visit.

Words cannot describe how happy I am that I followed up. First, I had the reassurance of seeing a qualified lactation consultant – someone who understands how breastfeeding evolves past the first couple of weeks. Second, I was able to ask as many questions as I wanted, and Denise did her absolute best to alleviate my concerns and provide an explanation for my “perceived” drop in supply. And finally, Reid was weighed and cuddled, and I was reassured that he was doing just fine.

Now I say “perceived” drop in supply because it turns out my body was just adjusting to Reid’s changing needs. Since he’s quite the solids enthusiast, he naturally had less need for breastmilk. His teething also curbed his appetite, and at 7 months, he seemed more interested in the outside world – again, making his feedings shorter and less frequent. So I simply increased my water intake, stopped stressing about my supply, and took naps whenever possible to catch up on sleep. And like magic – two weeks later, my supply is back up again to what it once was! You can bet I’ve been freezing all that excess milk – in fact, I put aside one 4 oz pack every day so I’ll be able to take longer breaks from him in the new year.

I suppose the moral of my story is that it is NEVER too late to seek breastfeeding support. If Reid had taken to formula, I may have weaned him early for fear that my supply was low or that I had dried up prematurely. The truth is, it was just a normal variation that was easily overcome. That is not to say that I won’t try to wean him onto formula again – breastfeeding must be enjoyed by both mother and baby to work, but for now, I’m happy to keep him on the boob and use expressed milk when necessary.

Eternal thanks once again to Peel Public Health, and, of course, Denise (I ♥ You!) – and to all the mamas out there, may your children (breast and/or bottle fed) enjoy a healthy and happy 2011!

A Tale of Two Boobs: Chapter 3

By

Read previous chapters here.

It’s been a while since I posted – I won’t lie to you; it’s because I’ve been very busy… breastfeeding. I’m happy to say that Reid has been on 100% boobage for 58 days now, with the occasional bottle of pumped and stored breastmilk (more on my fabulous Medela Freestyle breast pump later).

Still, I want to tell my story, and so I’ll pick up where I left off…

… There was a knock on the door and Denise, a beautiful woman with a kind face, walked in.

Denise would be the third lactation consultant that I met with in three days. After not recalling my time with the first, and not sure I even understood the advice of the second, I decided to lay everything out on the line and verbally ambushed Denise the moment she sat down.

I talked about my past – my failed attempts at breastfeeding with Ryder. I spoke of my unrelenting guilt for much of his first year of life. I explained how desperate I was to give it my all this time around. And I cautioned her about my “problem” left boob; even relayed some of the techniques I had been shown by the other nurses. I talked and talked and talked.

Denise perched on the edge of my bed and listened intently, barely interrupting me as I let everything out. Finally, she said “Well, why don’t we just go ahead and get started.” I have to admit that after 2 days of pain and frustration, I had little hope this session would be different from the rest.

Now here is the one piece of advice I have for everyone trying their hand (boob?) at breastfeeding: It’s not about getting help, it’s about getting the right help. If things aren’t going well for you even after seeking assistance, keep persisting until you find someone who will break it down in a way that you can relate to. Don’t give up. Just 2 minutes into my consultation with Denise I could see that she not only knew her stuff (phew!) but she also recognized that breastfeeding requires cooperation from both mom and baby. She therefore took the time to explain to me the mechanics behind what Reid was after, and what I would have to do to satisfy his needs.

Specifically,

1. Most babies are born knowing how to lap up milk – like a tiny kitten, if you will. However, they do not necessarily know how position, latch and direct the flow of milk into their mouths – that’s up to mom. Recognizing that breastfeeding is work and isn’t always instinctive is critical to shaping your expectations.

2. Who says you can’t help baby along? I complained that Reid could not successfully latch on to my left breast, because the nipple was slightly larger and had a tougher texture than the right. Instead of suggesting I throw in the towel and simply pump the breast as other nurses had, she literally gave me a look as if to say, “So? That’s the best you’ve got for me? Smarten up sister.”

Denise then showed me how to slightly press down on Reid’s chin to elongate the position of his mouth on my nipple. VOILA! Instant, perfect latch. It was such a simple manoeuvre, I couldn’t believe that no one had thought to demonstrate it before. Position. Latch. Help Baby Along. WOWZERS.

Instantly I felt somewhat more confident – if I could actually re-position Reid’s latch on my breast, I could avoid the painful tugging I normally felt. I definitely felt a glimmer of hope, and gleefully pulled Reid off to position him again. Latch. Help Baby Along. It worked! I actually sat back to admire my handiwork, and took in the very precious sight of baby lapping away.

I’m not going to lie; it wasn’t exactly pain-free. BUT, it was indescribably better – so much better that for the first time in 72 hours, I actually felt that I may stick with breastfeeding and see it through. I immediately made a follow-up appointment with Denise, hoping to see her again in 3 days. I wanted Reid weighed, I wanted to re-evaluate my technique, and most of all, I wanted reassurance. Denise gave me a thumbs up; confident I would be able to succeed. I know this sounds weird, but I left the hospital that day hoping that I wouldn’t let her down.

And here’s my second piece of advice: follow up. In most cities in North America, you can find wonderful lactation consultants who are only too happy to help you along. Don’t feel that your visit in the hospital has to be your last – breastfeeding support is available in person, over the phone, and even online. With Ryder, I made the mistake of trying to figure it out all on my own, and abandoned my attempts too soon when I felt it wasn’t working. This time, I truly credit my success to staying on top of it, finding the right help, and following up.

Well, it turns out that just three days later, Reid had re-gained his birth weight and was thriving. I was learning how to get comfortable with him, and even though I had to clench my teeth when he latched (I don’t feel the need to do this anymore, thank goodness!) his actual time at the breast was enjoyable for both.

And here’s an open THANK YOU to Denise – you are quite honestly one of my favourite people in this whole world. I cannot begin to describe how meeting you has changed my life – and Reid’s, for that matter. You are very much appreciated.

Today, I’m happily breastfeeding and pumping like a champ! In the next chapter, I’d love to share my experience with the PTPA Award Winning Medela Freestyle – the breast pump which has allowed me to find balance in my life while continuing to provide breastmilk for Reid. Stay tuned for my review… and you just know that there may be a HOT giveaway involved (hint, hint!)

A Tale of Two Boobs

By

Chapter 2. (Read Chapter 1 here.)

It’s now just over an hour after Reid’s birth and I’m still smarting from the after-effects of the drugs. A lactation consultant arrives to help me put Reid to the breast – but I am so loopy that I literally fall in and out of slumber as she instructs me. Since I still have no feeling from the waist down, Reid is laid on the bed alongside me and is literally pushed on to my breast.

“Does that feel alright?” the consultant asks. “Humph…” I breathe in response.

That is literally the only memory I have of the first lactation consultant I met with, and I was shocked to learn from Mike that she actually spent about an hour with me, talking and instructing me on feeding positions. So much for my quality time with an expert immediately after delivery…

“Couldn’t you guys tell I was out to lunch?” I demanded hours later, when the fog finally lifted. He raised his hands in defense and told me I actually looked quite coherent, other than falling asleep a few times while she was talking. Gee, that’s not a red flag at all (rolls eyes).

So at that point I was back at square one – I had one baby, two boobs, and absolutely no idea what to do. Nix that – I had an idea of what to do, just no plan on how to follow through without pain and frustration. I thought I’d wing it and brought Reid to my breast, only to pull him off after about 5 minutes. Ow. How can it feel like biting when he doesn’t have teeth?

New plan. Call a nurse every time I’m ready to feed to get help with the latch. So that’s what I did over the next 5-6 feeds: before I put Reid to my breast, I made sure a nurse was present to guide me into positioning, latching and holding the baby the correct way. Mike watched on and thought I was doing just great, but inside, I was reeling. Every nurse had a different technique – and the amount of conflicting advice I received was just staggering. Specifically:

1. Two nurses told me to “scoop” the baby onto the breast, while demonstrating something that looked more like a three-point turn. I can tell you this; the only thing I scoop is ice cream, thank you very much. Scooping did nothing to lesson the pain of latching and actually had me considering running out to Walmart for some formula. (To add insult to injury, I later learned that “scooping” was an outdated technique and proven to be ineffective at establishing a good latch.)

2. One nurse told me to create a “boobie burger.” I kid you not. She literally grabbed my breast and compressed it horizontally between her hands until it resembled a beef patty. Then she proceeded to let Reid take a bite. Um, FAIL.

3. Two others took one look at my left areola and cautioned it was a “problem” nipple. Slightly thicker and larger than the right (sorry if too much info), this was the very reason I quit breastfeeding with Ryder – I found it impossible to establish a firm, painless latch.

“What can I do?” I asked them helplessly.

“You may not be able to breastfeed on that breast,” they both replied. “Instead, you can try breastfeeding on the right only and pumping the milk out of the left.”

I wanted to cry.

Now it may seem like I’m slamming the nurses, but I’m not. I LOVED everything about my hospital stay; unfortunately, the reality is that you really need to see a qualified lactation consultant for the correct advice. The nursing staff, while helpful, all have their own ways of suggesting tips to make breastfeeding easier, but for a boobie novice such as myself, I really had to bring in the big guns.

I spent the rest of Saturday fumbling through a combination of techniques – the good news: Reid had a strong suck and seemed content with the amount of colostrum he was extracting. The bad news: I was still positioning him incorrectly and it hurt, hurt, HURT… especially on the left breast. I stayed up through the night and started to make excuses (the problem nipple strikes again; maybe I can supplement with formula and just give as much milk as possible; perhaps I was a fool to try this all over again). All I knew is that I wanted out.

How do women do it? How do friends, family, strangers, even those African women who breastfeed while harvesting wheat do it???

Sunday morning arrived, and with it came the promise of a new lactation consultant. The nurses informed me that “Denise” was in and would stop by my room within the hour. I sat in the corner with Reid on my lap, clearing my head of all the excuses I made the night before. I wanted this, and I wanted it bad. It had only been 48 hours, and I all but slapped myself, willing my mind to focus; to remember the guilt and frustration that I felt when I didn’t breastfeed Ryder. To start over and stick with it.

There was a knock on the door and Denise, a beautiful woman with a kind face, walked in. I didn’t know it then, but she would prove to be one of the most positive influences on my experience with breastfeeding.

To be continued…

A Tale of Two Boobs

By

Chapter One.

This is the first of a series of posts detailing my journey with breastfeeding. I can promise you two things – I will talk about my personal experience and I will go into detail. If that makes you uncomfortable, stop reading now! Just hit “Home” and scroll up or down until you find a lighter topic :)

So here’s the story. Three months before Reid was born, I began researching everything to do with breastfeeding. Lactation consultants. Latches. Feeding positions. Help. I was bound and determined to breastfeed my baby-to-be.

His big brother Ryder did not enjoy the same privilege. Through a combination of innocence and ignorance, I simply didn’t prepare myself for the total and selfless commitment associated with putting the baby to the boob. Sure, I paid attention in prenatal classes. But learning about BF’ing ahead of time is like watching a cooking show at 2 a.m. Everything looks simple until the raw beef is in front of you (wow, even I think that’s a strange metaphor). But I’m sure you know what I mean – it’s only when you’re actually in the situation that you either sink or swim.

Here’s my list of excuses:

1. I was discharged from the hospital just 24 hours after Ryder was born, so there I was- a first time mother, who had no idea how to hold a baby, let alone take care of one. I was showed all of 4 times how to put the baby to the breast, and while it looked so simple in the hospital with the nurse guiding the baby, at home on my own was a different story. It hurt. He broke off and fell asleep more often than not. I couldn’t successfully latch him on the left breast. It sucked.

2. Speaking of the left breast, it was the bane of my existence. With a slightly larger areola and thicker texture than the right, Ryder simply slid off every time I tried to have him latch. After several fruitless attempts, he would cry in frustration. Then I would cry – and proceed to dump him back on the right. My left breast became engorged to the point that I leaned to the left when I walked (well, not really, but you get the point).

3. Ryder was born with a cephalhematoma, which is essentially a bump on the noggin. Although it didn’t occur to us at the time, he must have had one hell of a headache. And as such, he was more interested in sleeping than nursing. Wouldn’t you want to sleep off a hangover? So Ryder continued to lose weight, and I began to panic. The formula was in my house, I could give it to him. I could nourish him. I could feed him. So I did. Bye bye breast milk.

So that’s why Ryder was breastfeed for a total of four days, and I went on to experience postpartum guilt and depression for at least four months after. I felt like I had failed my son, and myself. There were resources available to me; I could have made it work. But I chose the right route for me at the time in order to keep my own sanity and make sure my baby was nourished.

Looking back, sure, I could have done things differently, but I no longer beat myself up over the decisions I made. Ryder is a healthy, active little boy with a tough-as-nails immune system (who despite warnings, has only been sick ONCE in two years with ONE ear infection, BF’ing Nazis be damned) and he’ll grow up knowing that his mommy did her best with what she was given.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t start all over again.

This time around, I was prepared. I all but demanded to see a lactation consultant while I was in the operating room (at which the nurse laughed at me, telling me to wait until they handed me my baby). Once I was wheeled to my room to recover, I refused to put Reid to my breast without a nurse present, because I wanted feedback on positioning, technique, etc. In short, I wanted to succeed. Was it easier this time? Hell no.

To be continued…