The Beginning of the End

It was bound to happen sometime, but it's still disappointing.

My milk is drying up.

I've been sick for over a week. I'm getting better, but I just can't stay hydrated enough. My supply has diminished, and I'm wondering if it's even worth it to continue sitting for pumping sessions. Of course it is. It's just so disappointing to come out with so very little milk at the end of 15 minutes... 20 minutes... no difference. I'm lucky if I get two ounces anymore.

I had wanted to give R breastmilk for a year. That was the idea. We're almost at 9 months. She's doing fine, she's great, really. She doesn't NEED it in the sense that formula disagrees with her. No, the formula sits with her just fine. I want to give her milk because of the immunity. Get her through the winter. That was my thinking. But I got sick. She didn't, which is huge in favor of continuing breastmilk, but I have to consider my health. My mental health is pining the loss of its ideals, my emotional health is going down with it, my physical health is getting better, but like I said, I'm just not hydrated enough to produce more milk, and I don't see that getting any better. I'm a sinking ship.

So do I continue? All signs point to no. Order a bulk batch of formula from Amazon and let that be it. Stop the depressing pumping sessions and use up what little milk is left in the freezer. But what about the two ounces that I am still getting? Will I really be okay with... giving up? Beat around the bush, but while my body still makes milk, that's what this boils down to: giving up. I had thought that I would pump and pump and pump until the bottles came out dry. I hadn't considered the mental or emotional effects of such steadfast ideals. My heart is already broken at two ounces, what will I feel with empty bottles? Am I already there? Is this the worst I can feel about it?

I can't just give up.

I'll continue to fight. My heart won't let me give up. Not yet. Not while I can still squeeze some drops of liquid from these dried up breasts.

She Grieves

Even though I have no reason to be up this late anymore, tonight I just can't sleep. I learned tonight that a pregnant friend had attended a Le Leche Club meeting, and it was an emotional tipping point for me. I have not yet grieved for my inability to breastfeed. It stabs me in the heart each time I hear about my friends breastfeeding their babies. I really wanted to be able to do it, too... I really wanted to do it. I sit here trembling and tearing up over the injustice of it, and I need to let this go. Just let it go.

I couldn't help that R was born premature. Before actually going through it myself, I had thought that the women who developed preeclampsia had been under too much emotional or work-related stress. I thought if I just quit my job and took it easy during pregnancy, then preeclampsia couldn't happen to me. I mean, I was a massage therapist for all that matters! Aren't massage therapists supposed to be the relaxation EXPERTS?? But even though I had stopped working and wasn't under emotional stress, I hadn't considered physical stress. I've been a type 1 diabetic for over 20 years. Poorly controlled. I may have a clotting disorder called protein s deficiency [Update: the test for protein s deficiency came back negative. See here]. Hypothyroidism. Even though I try to eat well and exercise, you can't call me healthy. So this time around (it's not for certain that it'll happen again) my body could not handle pregnancy. HELLP Syndrome manifested, and that baby had to get out... to save us both.

Instead of staying in my bed after birth, nuzzled up against my chest, learning how to suckle from my breast, R was in an isolette in the NICU, being reminded to breath with caffeine, and receiving her nutrition from a tube down her throat, while I was in my hospital room, sleeping all day long and recovering from a taxed liver. I was able to pump breastmilk, the supply was there for her, but she was just as tired as I was. Getting her to drink from a bottle was such a challenge. The strength and stamina simply were not there for her to breastfeed. As she grew, I started working with a lactation consultant at the hospital, and we thought we had it. We really thought we had it. Until she came home.

I was so tired of pumping, and so thrilled to have my baby home, that I did not want to continue. No more pumping for me, I've got my baby now!! So I stopped pumping, and I did not give R supplementary bottles. She's breastfeeding! She doesn't need bottles. After a rough week of endless feedings, nonstop for hours on end, and a disgruntled and very sleepy baby, I called the lactation consultant and she said R was still too weak to breastfeed. I needed to wait at least until her due date, which was three weeks away. That was not what I wanted to hear... it was back to pumping, back to bottles, and even back to formula since my milk supply had diminished.

By the time R's due date came around, she had completely forgotten about my breast. Plastic was more familiar to her than skin, and bottles delivered the milk so freely and easily. She didn't want to breastfeed. I made an appointment with another lactation consultant. This woman helped me get R to latch on, but she also propped me up with lots of pillows and took care of burping R who was just getting into her colic. There was hope during the appointment, but it was so hard to then take R home and do it all by myself. I had to squish the pillows underneath R who was already in my arms, hope I had the positioning right, try to calm her down, and then toss all of the pillows aside so I could stand up and bounce her to try to settle her/remove gas. Wash, rinse, repeat... give up, give the screaming baby a bottle.

It was so hard to keep trying because she escalates so fast. She doesn't just cry, no, she'll cry for all of one second before suddenly she's screaming at the top of her lungs and I'm wondering where the mute button or at least volume controls are. I'll be deaf before I know it. Breastfeeding this baby is nothing short of impossible. It will take a miracle. I don't know where to find a miracle.

If I were Pollyanna playing the glad game, I can be glad that R is healthy. I can be glad that R is getting my breastmilk. I can be glad that R has learned to drink from a bottle. But my heart still grieves the lost and missed experience of breastfeeding. It's the one piece of the puzzle that somehow doesn't even fit anymore. I wish it would.