I spent hours researching breastfeeding. What were the best ways to get a latch, what did I need to look out for, how could I set myself and my newborn up for the best possible breastfeeding experience? I read books, blogs, articles. I asked friends for their experiences and their tips. I made Steve go with me to a two night class just on breastfeeding. I had an inkling it wasn’t going to be an easy journey for me, but I knew if I could at least set myself up for the best possible start, I’d have a chance. I remember after my knee surgery, in college, someone told me “you just have to get through the first 4 weeks and then it gets easier.” Someone also said the same thing about breast feeding, “the first 4-6 weeks are brutal, but if you can get through that you’ll be good.” Just like my knee surgery, I mentally prepared myself to go to battle for the first 4-6 weeks and then if it still wasn’t flowing for me, I could always reevaluate. All of this to say I knew the journey wouldn’t be easy, but I felt it would be worth it. I was excited to at least try.
As I’m sure you know by now, I never had the chance to start this journey. After I was taken off ECMO, they attempted to pump me but most of my supply had to be thrown out given all of the medications that were in my system. They continued to pump me once they eased off my sedation, until one day when my mom and best friend realized how much I was suffering. I cried every time they pumped me and was defeated when they told me how little they had collected. The pain was excruciating when added to the abdominal surgeries, chest tubes, and numerous other lines. They asked the lactation consultant to speak with me. She reminded me that it was unlikely my supply would come in due to the trauma of my injuries and that it was okay for me to stop trying at this point. She also explained the benefits of formula for my specific situation. Now, I know there are plenty of LC’s and pro-breastfeeding moms out there who may disagree, but in that moment that LC knew exactly what I needed to hear. She gave me the permission I needed to stop and I am forever grateful to her for that. I was in so much pain and dreaded when the nurses would come in with the pump every 4 hours. I needed to focus on my healing and nothing else. I made the decision to end my breastfeeding journey, although it didn’t feel like a decision to me. It felt like my hand was forced. I had prepared for the chapped nipples, the painful latch, the long sleepless night, the engorged breasts, the frustrating moments that I would need to dig deep to get through. What I wasn’t prepared for was an AFE. I didn’t prepare to die and be brought back to life during child birth. I didn’t prepare for the amount of trauma my body would be able to endure to keep me alive. I didn’t prepare for my breastfeeding journey to not exist.
I didn’t have any space in my brain to consider this loss until a few weeks after discharge. My hospital bag sat in our house unopened for this time. I finally decided that it needed to be unpacked. I opened it and immediately saw my nursing bra and nipple cream. Neither of which I would need. Then there was the breast pump that, to this day, hasn’t been taken out of the box. So many of these were reminders, not only of my missed breastfeeding journey, but of the chaos and trauma that was my birth story. Nothing went as expected, including the feeding of my newborn. The most difficult part for me in grieving this journey is not just my loss of breastfeeding Cal, it’s the loss of ever having the chance to breastfeed. Something that I view as an amazing superpower that only us women have, is the thing that I will never get to try. This finality to the end of my breastfeeding journey is what devastates me. That is where the grief compounds.
