For those of you just joining the blog, let me catch you up. My husband and I just had our first biological child about 8 weeks ago. Our son was conceived via IVF due to a very rare genetic condition. Our IVF cycle only produced 2 embryos, one is which was deemed non-viable and is currently in long term storage with the hope that we may be able to retest the embryo or that science will come up with a cure. My husband and I have come to the firm decision that we will not pursue further IVF treatments. So, basically, unless by some miracle that second embryo is actually viable, we will not have anymore biological children.
I am at peace with this decision, and it’s honestly relieving to be “off the hook” from pursuing IVF. I’m more than happy with my life and my two amazing sons and know that I want to expand our family again either through the existing embryo or adoption from foster care in the future (or both 😉). It was a gift going into this pregnancy armed with that knowledge because it allowed me to cherish each and every moment that much more.
All that being said, I was desperate to experience everything associated with pregnancy, childbirth, and those early newborn days. And, truth be told, the one thing that I was most excited to experience was breastfeeding.
I took about 10 breastfeeding courses during my pregnancy. I wanted so desperately to be successful at it. However, when the time actually came to breastfeed, the excitement faded into panic as I quickly realized that I had virtually zero milk supply.
While at the hospital I consulted with about 5 different lactation consultants. Each had a separate theory as to why I was unable to produce any milk: my breasts were too small, too far apart, nipples the incorrect shape, I was psyching myself out, unable to tolerate the pain, and/or simply not giving myself enough time to be successful.
I was so frustrated at my body for failing my precious son, and terrified that my son was starving, which only exacerbated my panic. I was not in a great place mentally or emotionally. This mental state was made worse by the fourth lactation consultant who suggested taking my son to the nursery because I “seemed tired.” Y’all, when I tell you that it took every ounce of self restraint not to yell at this lactation consultant, I’m telling you the truth. I immediately told her “no” and asked her to leave. I felt like I was being punished for not being able to breastfeed and my punishment was having my son taken away from me.
Finally, my lovely recovery nurse, Nazia, came to my room around 4:00am at the 36 hour newborn check and weighed my son. He had lost half a pound in just 36 hours. It was at that moment that I made the executive decision: he was going on formula immediately. Nazia didn’t judge me and told me that I was making a good decision. She immediately got him a bottle and he chugged down that formula in a matter of seconds.
I was so relieved.
The next day I met with yet another lactation consultant and told her about the plan to switch Zac to formula. I asked her if I could try pumping and supplementing his food supply with formula and she laid out a game plan to help me achieve this goal: I had to pump every 3 hours around the clock from here on out. I understood the plan and was prepared to move forward. When I got home, I immediately started executing the plan, but after 2 days of giving it my all, it was clear, I didn’t have a milk supply and was just hurting myself in vain.
The truth was that Zac was more than happy and fed on formula. And so, I quit trying to breastfeed and pump all together.
I was free. Quitting breastfeeding is the single best decision that I made in my postpartum journey.
I’m honestly convinced that I would have experienced postpartum depression had I continued to try breastfeeding and pumping. I have been blessed not to have experienced postpartum depression and in my case, I credit it to accepting what my body already did for Zac, and letting go of what my body could not do.
I made peace with the fact that my body had done enough.
In looking back on my journey, I do believe that the reason that I was unable to produce milk was directly linked to the medication, Cabergoline, that I was on for months to treat my prolactinoma (a non-cancerous tumor on my pituitary gland discovered during the course of my IVF treatment). But, honestly, the reason doesn’t matter.
I know that so many mothers believe that “breast is best” and I don’t dispute that. But I also believe that fed is best. I’m grateful to have a healthy, fed son who is thriving.
The Lady Esquire 