Why I Don't Breastfeed/My Birth Story

Formula feeding was not an option for me. I balked at the idea, and when I received free formula in the mail when I was 7 months pregnant I immediately was trying to find a way to pawn it off on someone else.

I was breastfed until I was 2-years-old. I have vague memories of being breastfed. My mother breastfed all three of her children and none of us were fed a drop of formula. I never understood women who didn't breastfeed...it was free! Why would you spend all that money on formula?

I understood certain medical reasons as to why some women couldn't do it or why some babies couldn't digest it. I got that.

The other thing I didn't "get" were breastfeeding classes...was it really that difficult to breastfeed your baby? You give 'em your breast and they start eating. What else was there to know?

My mother gave birth to both my brother and myself at home. She was, and still is, a true advocate for natural childbirth. So, naturally, I became one too.

This brings us to June 5, 2011, my birth story. (WARNING: I hate "scary" birth stories intended to frighten pregnant women. Unfortunately, this is an unpleasant birth story but it is NOT the norm.)

I started having contractions Sunday night, June 5, 2011. They weren't bad and I was able to sleep right through them. The next morning, June 6, they got a little more intense but were still bearable. My Doula, Erin, told me to sit in the tub and let me know when I needed her. Sometime in the early afternoon, I told my husband that I needed Erin to come over. They were more intense and more painful. Erin came over and helped me through the contractions. As the afternoon went on, I was in and out of the tub and the contractions were getting more painful. They were long, too. Longer than 30 seconds. They lasted about 2-3 minutes each time. I was getting pretty miserable. But I could do it.

I labored throughout the day and that night, we decided it was time to head to the hospital. When I arrived, I opted to walk to the maternity ward instead of riding in a wheelchair. I had to stop every once in a while to get through the contractions, which were now very intense and also very long, but I made it up there. By then I was exhausted and in a lot of pain.

I was finally in my room early, early in the morning, maybe around 1 or 2 but it might have been earlier. (By now, everything's pretty hazy and the times will be approximate.) It was now June 7. I got in the tub again. When the midwife finally came in, I very slowly and painfully got out of the tub so she could see how much I was dilated. When she checked, she said I was 6 centimeters. Still intent on delivering naturally, I labored for a few more hours. I was miserable. They had hooked me up to a machine that tracked how long my contractions were and they were still lasting 2-3 minutes each.

When the midwife came back, she checked to see how far I was dilated again. 8 centimeters, she said. Victory! It wasn't too much longer now. She then bid me adieu, as her shift was ending. Jenny, the next midwife, came in around 6 am to start her shift. She checked to see how much I was dilated after learning that I had just been 8 centimeters. When she checked, she said, "Well...you're actually 6 centimeters." This was a blow. I thought I was progressing. She assured me that I was still doing ok and sometimes different midwives measure differently.

It was about 9:30 in the morning and by the way I was moaning and screaming, one of the nurses said, "This baby will be coming soon. You'll have a baby here by noon at the latest, I'm sure." When Jenny checked me a little later, I was still 6 centimeters. I was pretty exhausted at this point but still had hope that it wouldn't be too much longer. A few hours later, I was STILL 6 centimeters. At this point, I spoke up. I said something I never thought I'd say: "I need something for this pain. I don't care. I need something." After hashing it out with Erin, my husband and my mom, they gave me something that would help me fall asleep and help with the pain. We also decided to add some Pitocin, something else I was vehemently against but decided to go for since I didn't seem to be progressing. Hopefully after a few hours of sleep and some Pitocin, certainly I'd dilate further. But after a few more hours, I was still 6 centimeters. And my contractions were still lasting 2-3 minutes.

As we headed into late afternoon, I decided I wanted an epidural. Something else I was very much against. But I honestly didn't care anymore. I wasn't progressing and I was in too much pain. And yes, I was still 6 centimeters.

I was feeling much better after the epidural and was able to get some sleep and was able to act like a normal human being. As the hours went by even more, she would check to see how far I was. Still 6 centimeters. They came in to do an ultrasound to check if the baby was breech...he had been breech earlier in the pregnancy but had eventually flipped head down. They checked to see if he was breech again. He wasn't. Honestly, at this point, I was a little upset. I kind of wanted him to be breech so they could just go ahead and do a c-section.

As late afternoon turned into early evening, my midwife sat down with me and we discussed our options. "At this point," she said, "Your baby is not in distress and neither are you. We can keep going and shoot for a vaginal birth, that's not a problem. Or, we can go ahead and do a c-section." I wanted a c-section. I did. She left the room and I discussed it with my husband. "Do you really want to do this?" he asked, "In your birth plan, you said you didn't want to do a c-section unless it was medically necessary."

"I know," I said, "But I am ready for this kid to come out. If we waited until he was in distress and had to do an emergency c-section...I wouldn't want that."

So we decided on the c-section. The anesthesiologists came back in (after a very, very long wait) and I got another epidural. When everything was ready, they wheeled me into the OR.

And at 10:40 pm on June 7, 2011, my son was born via c-section. My husband stood by my head and talked to me while they did the operation and when I heard him cry, I started crying. I was so happy and overwhelmed and I couldn't wait to see him. But then I was overcome by a really intense feeling of fatigue. I was exhausted beyond belief.

I fell asleep in the recovery room and I remember my mom and the nurse bringing him to me to try and breastfeed.

Recovery from a c-section sucks. It is so painful and you're bedridden and you can't even pick up your baby. When they brought him to me the next day to breastfeed, the nurse took one look at my nipples and said, "You have flat nipples. You'll need a nipple shield to help you breastfeed."

The nipple shield was awkward and obnoxious. My son kept knocking it off. And to top it all off, my breasts are extremely small. My milk hadn't come in yet and it wouldn't for the next 3 or so days. I was being prodded and pillows were being stacked around me and the nipple shield kept falling out and my baby would start crying and they would push his head onto my nipple and it hurt. One of the lactation consultants squeezed the colostrum from my nipples and feed it to him via spoon. I know that they only need the colostrum for the first 3 days or so, but he was crying like a crazy person. Crying and sweating. I still didn't have any milk. They eventually had me start pumping with a breast pump and we got some donor milk. We fed him through a syringe that was attached to a feeding tube that went underneath the nipple shield. This way, he would be drinking the donor milk through the nipple shield. This was a very precise act. He still kept knocking the nipple shield off. Plus it was still painful. My nipples became sore and raw and bloody.

Every two hours they'd come in and say, "It's time for him to eat again!" I was miserable. I hated feeding him. It was painful, awkward and difficult. I couldn't even pick him up myself. And I felt guilty that I hated feeding him. Feeding is a pretty important part of motherhood. My nipples honestly felt like they were on fire.

After pumping for awhile, my milk eventually came in and I was able to feed him my own breast milk. We attempted to breastfeed without the syringe and feeding tube and it felt like my nipples were being cut in half with a knife. It was awful. He would cry because he couldn't get as much milk as he wanted (the milk had come in but wasn't exactly plentiful) and I would cry because he was crying and because I was in so much pain. We continued with the donor milk and the syringe. I was exhausted and not only did my nipples hurt, but so did my recovery from my c-section.

This all lasted until Sunday, June 12 when I was supposed to be discharged. The pediatrician gave me the option of staying an extra day in the "Boarding House" where I could get specific help with lactation. I decided to do it. I pumped milk and met with a bevy of lactation consultants. It got to the point where I started crying (again) and asked how many women exclusively pumped breast milk and fed their babies through bottles. I wanted to do this. I didn't want anything else touching my nipples until they healed.

I went home and pumped milk. I was still not allowed to walk up and down stairs and pick up any heavy objects. I was still bleeding. It was still very painful. When my nipples fully healed, I was still reluctant to put him to my breast. I was scared. When I did, it still hurt. BADLY.

I went to see another lactation consultant who told me she was sure we'd be able to fix his latch so it wouldn't hurt. We worked on it, I used that stupid nipple shield. It was still awkward, he kept knocking the nipple shield off, it still hurt and he was squirmy and wouldn't stay still. Plus I still wasn't supposed to be picking him up and my c-section scar still hurt. I was still pretty disheartened by the fact that he needed to be fed every 2 hours. I had to do this every 2 hours?? It didn't seem fair. Why couldn't this be a great experience? I wanted to breastfeed so badly. I was looking forward to it.

We worked on his latch but I still pumped milk and fed him through bottles. As the days went by, it got more difficult to keep up with how much he was eating. I spent the majority of my time pumping. That in and of itself was a pain. After a few weeks of this, I realized I wasn't really able to keep up with him. I decided to feed him the formula that was mailed to us. So I proceeded to feed him my pumped breast milk and formula.

I still felt guilty about the formula, so I went upstairs with my son and attempted to sit with him and breastfeed. He was wailing and crying because he couldn't get enough milk out of me and I was crying because it hurt, I was frustrated and angry. Why couldn't I do this?? I lay in bed and cried. I was so depressed and upset.

Then my husband came upstairs and said to me, "Listen, I understand you're upset and that's ok, but it's no reason to be THIS upset. You're a positive person and our baby is healthy and it won't be the worst thing in the world if he doesn't breastfeed. We'll keep working on it, but in the meantime we can feed him formula." He was right.

During the remainder of my 8 week maternity leave, I continued to pump milk and feed him formula. I also attempted to breastfeed him but the pain never subsided. The thing that was annoying about pumping, was that not only did the actual pumping take awhile, but I also had to set everything up beforehand. I usually tried to do it while my baby was sleeping because he would cry if he was awake and I wasn't holding him. Obviously, I couldn't hold him while I was pumping. My milk supply dwindled and near the end I tried to bring it up again, pumping more frequently. But it got to the point where I realized that the time I spent pumping, I could be spending bonding and holding my baby. I hated seeing him cry while I pumped because I couldn't hold him or touch him.

At 3 months now, my baby is exclusively formula fed. But I'll tell you this: I enjoy feeding him now. I still cradle him in my arms when I feed him and I look into his eyes just like I would have if I were breastfeeding.

I hate spending money on formula, but I've signed up for coupons and am always looking for deals. I realize now why some women exclusively formula feed.

I am still a huge advocate for breastfeeding and encourage all women to do it as long as they possibly can. I am a supporter of women who breastfeed in public. And I still support and encourage natural childbirth.

This was a looong, confusing journey. But I'm good now.