Category Archives: Women’s Health

Lactation Stories: The Mother’s Group

Posted on August 10, 2010 | 2 Comments

Start the story here.

So, I was in excruciating pain every time Elsa nursed and my mood was deteriorating quickly. I started to DREAD night times, especially. Getting up every two hours with a newborn is exhausting, but getting up with a newborn every two hours and experiencing WWF Breastfeeding Smackdown – that made it unbearable. She would struggle and cry and, when she did latch, I would see stars as her razorblades slid back and forth across my nipples. As 5pm rolled around, I would get more and more depressed as night time loomed closer.

The lactation consultant (LC) at the hospital where I birthed gave me the number of another LC out in the community. After 13 days of miserably nursing Elsa at home, I finally admitted that things were not getting better as I had been told they would and we called the number. I called and explained our problems: excruciating pain, very sleepy baby, watery orange poop, generalized sense of misery and failure. She sounded very concerned and told us she could make room for us that evening at 6pm – GREAT! She also explained why it was so important for us to see her ASAP: “Your baby is nursing so ineffectively that she no longer has enough calories to sustain herself and stay awake. She is conserving her energy by sleeping.” I looked down at my little hibernating, starving baby and cried (for the 30th time that day).

Busy hibernating and starving.

Prior to our appointment, she was hosting a “mother’s group” of her clients and she invited me to attend. I showed up two hours before our appointment (minus John) and walked into a room of about 5 moms and their babies/toddlers and one middle-aged, hippyish woman who I determined was the lactation consultant. I lugged Elsa in her car seat over to a corner of the room and settled in on the floor. The LC asked that everyone introduce themselves since there was someone new in the group (me) and the women started going around the room:

“I’m Sarah and [pointing to her baby] this is Diwali. We babywear, co-sleep, cloth diaper, exclusively breastfeed [of course! chuckles all around], and we are tree nut/soy/gluten/dairy free!”

“I’m Amy and this is Sunshine and we cloth diaper, co-sleep, babywear, breastfeed, and we TOO are allergic to gluten/soy/tree nut/dairy [knowing glances all around the room]!”

“I’m Kathy, this is Farsi and over there is my little Lotus. We cloth diaper, bed-share, babywear, don’t vaccinate, don’t circumcise, and, while we are gluten/soy/dairy-free, we are starting to approach tree nuts again with some trepidation [chuckles and murmurs of agreement]“

“Um. I’m Georgia. This is Elsa . . . she is 13 days old. Um. . . We cloth diaper?”

At this point, my hackles were up and I knew I was probably in the wrong place. But I was scared and desperate for advice and I was happy to be surrounded by other moms for the first time. . . even other moms who made me want to tear my hair out. I thought to myself, “What is with all these allergies?” I took note of the self-righteous, weird, parenting identity politics – but honestly, I was just happy to be out of the house and anxious for someone to address our breastfeeding woes.

At some point during the ‘mother’s group’ – which was really just a meeting for all these women to talk about their food allergies and unbalanced energy chakras – someone mentioned the ills of carrying babies around in car seats. At this point, Elsa was in my arms, but everyone glanced nervously at my car seat like it was liable to start roving around the room, tearing their children limb from limb. The mother looked at me: “Oh! No offense! It’s just that I see women with their babies in those seats and I just think, ‘Why don’t you hold your baby!?’” I mumbled something about, “It’s February and 24 degrees outside. It just seemed like the easiest, warmest way to transport her.” Then the conversation thankfully shifted back to energy healing and attachment parenting.

So, basically, the mother’s group was weird. And I felt anxious about this woman and her seeming ability to give everyone around her food allergies . . . but, again, I was desperate.

The mother’s group broke up and finally it was time for our appointment – time for someone to fix us!

Continued in, Lactation Stories: Poisoning my Family

→ 2 Comments

Posted in Nursing (boobs), Women's Health

Tagged , , , , , , , , ,

Lactation Stories: Razorblades Arrives

Posted on August 3, 2010 | 3 Comments

I’ve been meaning to write about my experience breastfeeding for months now. In honor of World Breastfeeding Week, it seems like I should get going on the project. I wrote a little introduction here.

I had a really wonderful natural birth which gave me the best possible start for breastfeeding. Elsa was born alert, furious and healthy. She was placed on my chest immediately after birth and was only separated from me for a few minutes, about 20 minutes after the birth (at my request: I HAD to know how much she weighed – she was a giant!). She promptly returned to my chest where she remained for the next three months.

After writhing around naked and having my vagina waving about for the past 2 hours, it was funny that I felt a little embarrassed about breastfeeding for the first time. Rather, I felt anxious that I really didn’t know what to do. We have the whole thing on video, so these are all direct quotes: About 15 minutes after birth, John asked, “Do you think you should try to . . . put your breast in her mouth?” My reply was, “I don’t know. Should I?” and I remember looking around, asking blankly, “Should I breastfeed her?” Given the situation down below and the previous 3 hours of total insanity, my brain was pretty scrambled.

I remember how awkward it felt trying to position her – meanwhile with my legs up in the air and my midwife stitching away. My doula tried to help, but it was not the oh-so-natural experience I had expected. Elsa was still furious about the whole ‘my-head-has-been-squeezed-in-your-vice-like-vagina-for-two-hours’ thing and seemed pretty uninterested. There was a lot of nipple pinching and yowling from the babe and, once my midwife was done stitching, she came over to help. She pinched my nipple into a “sandwich” and stuffed the meal into Elsa’s mouth.

Figuring it all out . . .


“OW!”

“Is it supposed to hurt this much?” My midwife and doula chuckled. This was added to one of the many ridiculous things I had asked that night: As I exited transition and my body immediately started pushing, I demanded, “Aren’t I supposed to get a break before I start pushing!?” About 5 minutes after she was born: “Is everything OK in my . . . vagina?” promptly followed by, “I’m still in some discomfort. Is that normal?” I was full of genius that night.

So she latched for a few minutes and didn’t really get much accomplished (which is normal). I handed her off to John so I could get cleaned up and dressed and experience the terrifying first pee, post-birth (which was actually not so bad). Once we shuffled down the hall to our room (at about 2:30AM), John and Elsa passed out and I remember lying awake, marveling that now, on the other side of childbirth, I was a totally different person. I don’t even remember if she nursed that night – the whole thing is a blur.

The next morning, my nurse asked if I wanted to see the Lactation Consultant and, since nursing still hurt, I said, “Sure.” Little did I know that this would be my first of many, many meetings with a slew of lactation consultants. I saw one in the hospital. When Elsa was hospitalized for jaundice for 24 hours, I saw TWO lactation consultants. Oh – and speaking of hospitalization for jaundice. . . that sucked. Here is a picture to prove it:

Goggles so my eyeballs don't burn? Check. Mitts so I don't scratch myself? Check. Gross bellybutton stump just for good measure? Check. Ready for the blue lights.

During all these meetings with lactation consultants, I had my nipples squeezed and flicked and I heard the same things over and over again:

  • “Breastfeeding should NOT hurt at all. If it does, something is wrong with the latch.”


  • “1-10 scale, how badly does it hurt?” I would answer “8″ and then clarify, “Listen. I just gave birth to a 9lb. child without any medication. . . and I’m saying that this is an 8, OK!?”


  • “Make a nipple/areola sandwich!” Which was always followed by a LC pinching my boobs and stuffing it in Elsa’s mouth.


    • Once we left the hospital after Elsa’s jaundice, we went home and were left to our own devices. Her latch looked OK, but I still had an 8 out of 10 on the screaming-nipples-scale. I took to joking with people that her new nickname was, “Razorblades Burmanetti,” – which would actually be an awesome mob name. The pediatrician told me, “You just have to get used to it. That’s why a lot of people give bottles.” My mom told me, “Oh yeah, it hurts like hell. Just grin and bear it and it will get better.” My mother-in-law looked at me, baffled at my persistence, and pleaded that I just “Give her the powder!”

    And for a few days, I did just grin and bear it. Every time she latched, I closed my watering eyes, my toes curled and I marveled that something so natural and biologically necessary could be so horrifically painful. I kept saying to my dad, “It’s a biological imperative that this whole thing work. It MUST work.”

    As the days went by, Elsa was sleeping more and more and eating less at each meal. She would suck for 5 minutes max and then drift off to sleep. No amount of cajoling, jostling or flicking her feet would wake her up (I couldn’t bring myself to try the ice cube tricks people had told me about). Her poops were getting watery and orange – not at all the yellow, seedy stuff that every nervous, new mom looks forward to like Christmas morning. She was getting frustrated every time she nursed – screaming maniacally while I tried to position her awkwardly. The whole thing was a total fracas: Elsa yelling, me trying to manhandle her into a comfortable position, John pinching my nipples into sandwiches and desperately arranging pillows strategically.

    THIS WAS NOT THE EXPERIENCE I HAD IMAGINED!

    I only remember snapshots of those desperate moments:

    John giving Elsa a bottle of expressed breastmilk while I sobbed next to him, feeling like a failure.

    A quiet moment breastfeeding Elsa, where we are both reasonably comfortable: John taking a photo of us so that we can use it at our next feeding for positioning tips. John, holding the picture for me to see, exclaims, “See – you are holding her head with your right hand and holding your breast with your left. Your left leg is crossed. This is exactly how we will do it next time, but reversed for the other breast.” A man of practicality and science, John was determined to find a foolproof positioning system.

    This is actually that picture. Head in right hand. Breast in left hand. Left leg up. Oh - and notice my postpartum glow. Yuck.

    More sobbing while I sniveled, “I don’t even know why I’m doing this. I hate breastfeeding her and I hate dreading being with her.”

    Standing in the middle of the bedroom, soaked in milk, engorged like hell, miserable.

    Fat. Leaky. Miserable. Don't let the smile fool you.

    Finally after about a week of this, we called . . . . The Lactation Consultant from the Fifth Ring of Hell. Continued in, Lactation Stories: The Mother’s Group

    → 3 Comments

    Posted in Nursing (boobs), Women's Health

    Tagged , , , , , , ,

    Lactation Stories: Rough But Worth It

    Posted on June 22, 2010 | 1 Comment

    Though it has only been four and half months, our breastfeeding journey has felt like a very long road. Another one of the [many] paradoxes of parenthood: Elsa has been alive for only four and a half months (less than half the time I was pregnant with her!), though I can’t imagine we ever existed without her. I have been breast feeding for only four and a half months, but I can’t fathom that I am the same mother who cried for hours every day, fanning my nipples, staring with a mix of awe and resentment at the tiny child who gnawed her razor-blade gums against my flesh every two hours. The rules of time are bent for new parents: days whizzing by while simultaneously spanning eons. Some nights surely lasting weeks while the daylight hours dissapear in an instant.

    There have been fiery, screaming nipples, many strategically-placed tubes of nipple cream around the house, countless frustrated nights in the LaZboy, a number of lactation consultants – but only one very special woman who told me I was poisoning my child (she deserves a post by herself). There has been bucketloads of self-doubt and countless moments of “Why am I doing this?” – a question I still contemplate but which no longer plagues me. Now – finally – four and a half months later – there is a really wonderful relationship with my daughter that was worth every second of misery [and it was miserable].

    having a snack at HOLYLAND, U.S.A.

    For more about our arduous, but ultimately successful, breastfeeding journey, try Lactation Stories: Razorblades Arrives

    → 1 Comment

    Posted in Nursing (boobs), Women's Health

    Tagged , , , ,

    First Born: Part 3

    Posted on May 29, 2010 | 2 Comments

    When Paula came in and listened to me having one of these crazy grunty, bearing-down, contractions, she happily announced that it sounded like we were getting somewhere – and much sooner than she had expected. She checked me (which, by the way, didn’t really hurt. I’m sure everyone is different, but I thought getting my cervix checked would kill and it really didn’t. In fact, I didn’t really feel it at all) and I was 7cm. She asked me if I wanted to go to the birth center, and I just laughed at her . . . the suggestion was like I get up and fly to Albania. I had spent so much time trying to avoid the hospital and, in the end, it really didn’t matter where I gave birth as long as I was doing it my way and I had my midwife, John, and my doula. So, I ended up birthing Elsa right there on the labor and delivery floor in the hospital – and it was just fine.

    Then – transition. Which was just as intense as people say it is. I threw up once (but maybe you wont!) and, while I was throwing up, I was farting like crazy, laughing hysterically and yelling. I felt like the Exorcist, minus the crucifix. I tell you this because, hopefully, if super embarrassing things feel like they are happening to you, then you can just remember that I was throwing up, farting like an old man, and yelling, “This is so violent!!!”. Transition was probably the most out-of-control part but it only lasted about 3 contractions. Paula checked me again – finally 10 cm.

    11:31 PM. Paula just told me I'm ready to push. Oy.

    So – pushing. I don’t even know what to say about it. Here is the deal. I read about 600 birth stories before I actually gave birth. And I was expecting some things. I thought I would get a break after transition and be able to gather myself a little before pushing. I thought pushing would feel good (that is what all the hippies say!). I thought I would give birth squatting. None of these things happened.

    Pushing on my hands and knees. Unhappy.


    12:32. An hour into pushing. Both of us are feeling a little defeated.

    So – for me – pushing was totally crazy. For you, it might feel good. All the hippies describe it like, “I knew my baby was close so I was happy to push.” To be honest . . . I was totally uninterested in the baby at this point. My midwife kept cajoling me, “Don’t you want to see your baby?” but I wasn’t able to connect labor/pushing with the fact that a baby was going to be the end product. Maybe because Elsa wasn’t planned? Some women work SO hard to get pregnant, so by the time they are pushing, they feel really excited to see their baby. I just felt totally wrapped up in the whole physical experience . . . I almost forgot that a baby was coming out.

    More pushing. Still unhappy.

    So I pushed. And I could feel what I had to do but I was scared to do it. It was very, very intense. And finally, about an hour into pushing, I came to the realization that I was not going to get out of the whole situation unless I faced the scary feeling. There were some dark moments and some quite a lot of whimpering about how scared I felt.

    That scary place I talked about.


    Johns pushing too.

    But in the end, you have to go to that horrible scary place. And I did. I pushed. And about 30 minutes later, Elsa appeared. Ring of fire? One of the few things that I read about that was an accurate description. But it’s transient. And it goes away. And a tiny human will be laying on your belly. A human will emerge from out of your body. I don’t think our culture pays enough attention to this fact . . . small humans come out of bigger humans’ vaginas. I mean, what??? Why are people not talking about it ALL the time?

    Amazed!

    1:13 AM. 1 minute before Elsa's birth. I assure you I was not smiling.


    1/29/2010. 1:14 AM!

    "Don't pull her up too high, She's still attached." Says Paula.

    Taking a look at our daughter for the first time.

    First moments as a family.

    Oh – and the poop? My midwife joked afterwards, “And not even one little bit of poop – I’m dissapointed!”

    And a few tidbits that didn’t fit into the story:

    1. Stitches are not so bad (I was TERRIFIED of them before I gave birth) – I had a superficial tear and had never had stitches before. I barely felt them. You are somewhat blissfully numb down there initially. Plus she used numbing medicine.

    2. It took me about 4 days to be able to walk like a normal person. The great bowling ball of birth that I had in my ass? It stuck around for about 4 days and made me walk like Quasimodo for awhile. By 1 week later, I could truthfully say I felt fine.

    3. I gained a lot of weight during my pregnancy. 45 lbs. And in the first 24 hours, I lost 14 lbs. (9.2 of which was baby). That kind of body shift feels CRAZY. I felt all of my organs rearranging and shifting during that first 24 hrs as they took advantage of all the extra room. I had a hard time readjusting to breathing again without a giant baby pushing on my diaphragm. I kept telling the nurses I felt short of breath – especially when I got up to walk around – but my vital signs were all normal and they told me not to worry (which I did anyway). It was all very weird feeling – but like the rest of the whole experience – also very fleeting.

    4. Sex after birth is possible – and for me, painless. I know that is not the case for everyone, but I think that natural chilbirth without any episiotomy makes sex more possible afterwards. I remember I really needed to hear that when I was pregnant and immediately postpartum when I was convinced my vagina would be broken forever. Now, having a sex-drive after childbirth? That is a different story – but also varies individually.

    5. My vagina is not the same. And that is OK. It’s not horrible – but it is a bit different. And maybe – someday – it will return to its former self. And perhaps it will not. I cried about it at first and spent hours googling “What happened to my vagina after childbirth?” for the first 6 weeks. Four months later, as it slowly recovers and starts looking more normal, I have gotten over it.

    → 2 Comments

    Posted in Birth, Women's Health

    Tagged , , , , , , , , ,