My feeding story began harmoniously. After a traumatic birth that ended in an emergency caesarean birth, I met my baby only four hours later. The midwife brought her in, saying that she had started suckling the nurses thumb, she was hungry. I thought they could have brought her to me earlier, I would have coped, but I was happy to finally meet her.
I was not too prepared before giving birth, I thought that I might need formula and not knowing whether it would be provided at the hospital or needed to be brought, I had taken a pack of formula and a bottle with me. I had read through the ABC of breastfeeding, I had attended courses, but I hadn’t heard that after caesarean, feeding can be troublesome.
Ignorance is a bliss, because without stress I attached the little one to my breast without knowing that there may be some problems.
The baby started nursing immediately, the midwife only said — good job, everything worked out! I did not have experience with my breasts being squeezed to check for milk supply or the amount of milk being theorized, my milk flowed well, the baby ate and everything was good.
The first night the baby was asleep for 12h, previously the nurses said that the baby should be fed every two hours, except overnight, because then the baby sleeps. In the morning the nurse asked when the baby was last fed, to which I told her that 12 hours ago and the nurse scolded me that the baby cannot go without a feeding for any longer than six hours! I said that I was told to sleep overnight, which she answered — not for twelve hours! Only then did I find out that there can be no longer than six hours between feedings.
The next two hours I tried to wake my baby up, put her to the breast, but she did not wake up and eat. In desperation, I asked the nurses what to do, to which they answered — well, what to do? She should be put to the breast and fed.
Then a very nice midwife came to us, poked baby on her cheeks, squeezed my breast, and put the little one to it and she started nursing, as I remember, the midwife remarked – with the vigor of a really hungry child. I was so happy that I didn’t even say anything about the little one biting. The midwife noticed it and, smiling, told the the baby — do not bite your mum, stay calm, there will be milk! And there was!
I had all my clothes soaked, no compresses, no ointments, no nursing pads with me, they were brought by my friend, because during the pandemic my husband could not run out and get the necessary things.
Feeding for me was a very natural and peaceful process because of the ability to give my child what is considered the best. But at the same time I had very disgusting feelings. I remember that I just told my husband that I didn’t like to nurse very much. These were probably the hormones, an influx of oxytocin, I do not know, but somewhere deep in the body, for me, it recalled my own rape. It was a physical feeling that went on for the first three or four days. Fortunately, when the hormones subsided, this feeling also remained in the past, but I still remember that the first days I planned not to feed for a long time because I didn’t want to feel it.
Another problem I encountered was holding the baby. After the caesarean, feeding was difficult. But during childbirth, I got an infection, which meant three systems a day for a week. I don’t have “good” veins, so I had been poked all over.
The day before discharge, I no longer had veins to puncture. The nurse tried to puncture the vein on my hand, but she must have touched a nerve, because it hurt so much I cried. She told me that I couldn’t whine like that, I had to endure a little bit. It must be said that the bruise at the site of the puncture did not heal for a whole month afterwards. At that time it was decided to puncture in the vein of the foot, but a more skilled nurse was called, who, however, found a vein in my hand.
But having been punctured in all the veins of both arms, I was not able to hold my child.
Both the caesarean and the punctured arms, and the unpleasant feelings made nursing very difficult. I felt like a terrible mother, because I could not put the baby to the breast myself, I needed a pillow on which to feed her and my husband needed to hold her head.
I could rejoice that the baby was able to get any milk at all in such a pose and lach. But my breasts… Already in the hospital they ached, burned and were very painful, I felt discomfort from my own clothes touching my nipples.
When I came home, I immediately expressed milk and gave my baby a bottle to rest my breasts. I know that I shouldn’t have, I know I had to fight on my own, but there was no room left in me for a fight.
Although I had an electric pump, the milk came very slowly, I cried thinking that my whole life would pass pumping, and pumping did not hurt much less. I was determined to heal my breasts and try again, but the baby did not like the bottle very much, so I started nursing again. Crying, bleeding.
I contacted a Breastfeeding Consultant who was unable to visit me during the pandemic, so the communication was via WhatsApp. I sent her a video with my breasts, nursing, she sent me poses, latches and other tips.
After adjusting the latch, the pain subsided instantly. It was not that it did not hurt, but I could tolerate it, no longer crying that it was time to feed again. When the pain was already bearable I realized that I wanted to feed as long as my child would like. Everything was fine again.
Then we went through the roller coaster — no sleeping at the breast, only sleeping at the breast, everything that moms get condemned for. Sometimes, if it was necessary to go somewhere, I expressed milk and gave a bottle, because it was not altogether alien to her.
I ended my feeding story shortly before she was a year and a half old. That, however, was mine, not her decision. I realised that my time had come and we respectfully concluded this process.
Now thinking about my feeding story, I remember it with a smile, completely forgetting both painful breasts and disgusting feelings at the very beginning. And know that if I have another baby someday, I will try to breastfeed and will already know more about how to take care of myself with ointments, compresses and seeking immediate help if something fails. But this is the case with childbirth – with passing time, all the bad is forgotten and only the good remains.
