Before I got pregnant, I knew nothing about breastfeeding. Literally, nothing. No one in my family had breastfed. I was the first in my social circle to get pregnant, so none of my friends were helpful. I just assumed I'd use formula, because it's what everyone did, and I knew nothing else. My husband, Lee, is a scientist, though. He did know a bit (not a whole lot, since he's a Physicist) about the benefits of breastfeeding, and told me that I needed to really look into it before coming to any conclusions.
So I did. Everything I read said that breastfeeding was superior to formula. Also, from what I was reading, it didn't even seem hard! Everything talked about how natural it was, and that there should only be a mild soreness. I could totally deal with that! I have a crazy high pain tolerance. So, it was settled, I'd breastfeed our child. I mean, how could I ever have considered otherwise? It was the most logical, natural choice!
I told everyone my plans to breastfeed. I was so pleased with myself. I said that I'd go as long as my child wanted, a year, two years, even three! In my small town, where no one breastfeeds, I was now an even bigger weirdo than I had been already. "You want to do that?," one of my coworkers asked in disgust, as she went on to talk about her breasts being "only for [her husband] to play with." She giggled, and I tried to suppress my urge to vomit.
I couldn't help but feel really good about myself. I was going to breastfeed. I was doing the "right" thing for my child, even when so many people around me didn't. I was, obviously, the better parent.
Then Gabriella was born. Even after our traumatic birth experience, I had high hopes for breastfeeding. Except that they kept her for hours after she was born. I had only held her for a single minute. When they brought her back to me, three hours later, she was fast asleep. She didn't want to breastfeed at all. So we waited. Eventually, she woke up, and a nurse helped me get her latched. It was odd, but not horrible. We switched sides, and for some reason, she seemed to get really upset. She sucked for only a moment, pulled off (painfully, I might add), and began wailing. What was wrong with my baby? What was wrong with me? Why did she hate me?
The lactation consultant was no help at all. She said, "everything is fine," and she never came back again. Meanwhile, Gabby just kept screaming. A little sucking, ripping away from me, and screaming. It was horrible.
It didn't get better when we got home. Instead the ripping away got worse as she got bigger and stronger. She started arching her back away from my breasts. She wanted nothing to do with them. She hated them. She cried all the time. I began to suspect that she had GERD, but her pediatrician said that we needed to "wait and see." She told me that even if she did have it, they were not going to prescribe any medication, and that I would need to find a specialist instead. They wouldn't even give us Zantac.
Then came the day when she refused to nurse. I couldn't even get her latched. She just arched away from me. I called her usual doctor, who asked if it was a "true emergency." I screamed at her that my child, "has gotten no fluids for the past 18 hours, did that feel like an emergency [to her]?" I hung up on her before she could answer, and called my uncle Tony, who is a pediatrician. Without seeing her once, he immediately diagnosed her with GERD, and told me that I needed to find a way to get fluids in her ASAP. He told me to try a bottle with Pediasure. I knew that you aren't supposed to give bottles if you want breastfeeding to work, but seriously, what else should I have done? My child was getting dehydrated by the minute! I gave her the bottle, and she reluctantly drank it. He told me I should try pumping and giving the bottle to see if she can handle that.
I officially switched her to my uncle as her doctor, even though he is over an hour away from us. He prescribed a few different prescriptions in an effort to treat, what was determined to be, severe GERD, and we fiddled with them until she seemed to be okay. Not perfect, but a lot better.
I continued to give her pumped milk for weeks while we were adjusting the meds just right. When things settled down, I tried breastfeeding again, but she wanted nothing to do with it. She cried as soon as I started to unlatch my nursing tank. She refused to latch. My boobs were absolutely scary to her. They were a source of pain, and sickness. For other babies, nursing is a source of comfort and bonding, but not for Gabby. She knew them to provide nothing but discomfort.
I kept trying for several weeks longer, and she continued to flat-out refuse. My uncle said she developed a feeding aversion when it came to nursing, and that it was very unlikely that she would ever get over it. He told me I could keep pumping, or I could switch to formula, which was "okay too."
I felt I needed to keep pumping; it was the least I could do at this point. Except, every time I would hook myself up that dreaded device, it was like the joy was being sucked out of me. Then one day, I thought, "wouldn't my family be better off without me?" I knew something was really wrong.
I was diagnosed with PPD, and the only medication that helped was one that was not safe for breastfeeding. There really was no choice to even think about. Without this medication, my child wouldn't have breast milk anyway, because her mother would likely kill herself. The choice was obvious.
My friends and family all said to me, "see we told you breastfeeding wasn't worth it," and, "we knew it wasn't going to work for you." Not the words of "encouragement" I needed. Online communities were no better. The breastfeeding moms would tell me that I did my child wrong. That I didn't try hard enough to get her back on the breast, that I should have "chosen" a PPD med that was safe for nursing. No matter where I went, I couldn't win.
It was my husband that really made everything better for me. He said, "Samantha, you are an amazing mother. Our daughter is so lucky to have you. Who cares how she is getting fed, the point is that you're feeding her with love." He's a great guy :-)
Now we have a 100% healthy, funny, smart 17-month old (can't believe she's that old!), and I'm 100% at peace with everything.
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