Consider this post a formal resolution that I am going to rededicate myself to blogging. Really, the voices in my head are commanding me to to share with you all the random thoughts and useless information inside me.
The voices tell me to talk about my abnormally large breasts. Yes, that is what inspires me today. I found my stash of Palmers nipple cream, nursing pads and various other tools to assist me in nourishing my child. As I was organizing, I had a decision to make - toss it, donate it, or keep it. See, my breasts let me down, or my biology did. I failed miserably at breastfeeding. Before giving birth, I was an avid potential breastfeeder. I read everything - The Womaly Art of Breastfeeding, The Breastfeeding Book, and Breastfeeding Made Simple. The ultimate bonding experience! I was going to do this!
But then...
My labor and delivery was EASY! Granted, I was induced and had an epidural, but thing went fairly smoothly. I pushed for an hour and half...my husband and I marveled our 8 pound, 22 inches long little Oucha Bucha (nickname). I heard the midwife tell my husband our sum scored a 9 on his initial APGAR, then 8 five minutes later (great). A few minutes after the cord was cut, the midwife and nurse started working furiously to work out the rest of my placenta, they seemed to hurry to a worried pace - not panic, but close. I felt warm, gooey stiff ooze out of me. I apologized because, I thought I peed. The midwife smiled and said, that I was bleeding alot.
They ushered my husband out of the room, then brought out son to the nursery. I remember telling him to get me a Subway sandwich before the shop closed. He said, he would and was going to head home to pick up a few things I had forgotten.
I was still oblivious that something was wrong. The midwife gave me a shot of this god-awful stuff to stop the bleeding. I cannot even get myself to write what this drug made my body do...a few hour later, I felt like I had been hit by a train. They almost gave me a blood transfusion because I had lost over a pint of blood. Bedraggled and crazy looking they brought me to my hospital room. My stuff was there and a Subway sandwich was on the nightstand. It was nearly midnight.
Naturally, minutes later, they brought my baby to me. Great, here is the moment - I was going to nourish my offspring. He latched beautifully, the nurse smiled and said that I had great nipples - they were meant for this! He drank for nearly 15 minutes, then switched to the other breast. He soon fell back to sleep, this routine carried on every two hours.
We brought him home, he seemed hungry and fussy all of the time. He lost a great deal of weight, turned yellow from jaundice. They has a bilibed delivered to our house because his bilirubin counts were high, he was not thriving. The doctor told me to pump, I did - producing a measly ounce of milk from both breasts. I called his pediatrician, she scheduled an appointment with the lactation consultant. In the meantime, I supplemented, mixing what little breastmilk I had with formula. Oucha Bucha drank with a vengeance. His bilirubin numbers slowly declined, we returned the bilibed.
We spent the week working with the lactation consultant, she was puzzled as to my lack of breastmilk, despite his good latching and my "great" nipples. I took fenugreek like a madwoman, still nothing. A little over a week after giving birth, I was rushed to the hospital with a fever of 107. I had retained placenta that caused a nasty infection. It was flushed out my giving me methergine. Great, now my body will realize that I am not pregnant anymore and my milk supply should go up - RIGHT?
No, weeks later, pumping 12 times a day for less than 2 ounces, it wasn't going up. One late night my husband woke to our son screaming, he found me asleep downstairs with the pump in my hand. He quietly prepared a bottle, fed and diapered little man and brought me to bed.
The next day we talked about what to do, both of us felt like we were going crazy. He smiled and told me I was doing a good job, but maybe we should just call my large breasts "false advertising" and move on to formula. Soon, our son was sleeping regularly and by three months, we were feeding him every 4 hours. By six months only twice a night.
Nearly two years later and I still obsess about this. My breast betrayed me. Next time will they, I hope not, that is why I decided to hang on to these lost nursing treasures.
The voices tell me to talk about my abnormally large breasts. Yes, that is what inspires me today. I found my stash of Palmers nipple cream, nursing pads and various other tools to assist me in nourishing my child. As I was organizing, I had a decision to make - toss it, donate it, or keep it. See, my breasts let me down, or my biology did. I failed miserably at breastfeeding. Before giving birth, I was an avid potential breastfeeder. I read everything - The Womaly Art of Breastfeeding, The Breastfeeding Book, and Breastfeeding Made Simple. The ultimate bonding experience! I was going to do this!
But then...
My labor and delivery was EASY! Granted, I was induced and had an epidural, but thing went fairly smoothly. I pushed for an hour and half...my husband and I marveled our 8 pound, 22 inches long little Oucha Bucha (nickname). I heard the midwife tell my husband our sum scored a 9 on his initial APGAR, then 8 five minutes later (great). A few minutes after the cord was cut, the midwife and nurse started working furiously to work out the rest of my placenta, they seemed to hurry to a worried pace - not panic, but close. I felt warm, gooey stiff ooze out of me. I apologized because, I thought I peed. The midwife smiled and said, that I was bleeding alot.
They ushered my husband out of the room, then brought out son to the nursery. I remember telling him to get me a Subway sandwich before the shop closed. He said, he would and was going to head home to pick up a few things I had forgotten.
I was still oblivious that something was wrong. The midwife gave me a shot of this god-awful stuff to stop the bleeding. I cannot even get myself to write what this drug made my body do...a few hour later, I felt like I had been hit by a train. They almost gave me a blood transfusion because I had lost over a pint of blood. Bedraggled and crazy looking they brought me to my hospital room. My stuff was there and a Subway sandwich was on the nightstand. It was nearly midnight.
Naturally, minutes later, they brought my baby to me. Great, here is the moment - I was going to nourish my offspring. He latched beautifully, the nurse smiled and said that I had great nipples - they were meant for this! He drank for nearly 15 minutes, then switched to the other breast. He soon fell back to sleep, this routine carried on every two hours.
We brought him home, he seemed hungry and fussy all of the time. He lost a great deal of weight, turned yellow from jaundice. They has a bilibed delivered to our house because his bilirubin counts were high, he was not thriving. The doctor told me to pump, I did - producing a measly ounce of milk from both breasts. I called his pediatrician, she scheduled an appointment with the lactation consultant. In the meantime, I supplemented, mixing what little breastmilk I had with formula. Oucha Bucha drank with a vengeance. His bilirubin numbers slowly declined, we returned the bilibed.
We spent the week working with the lactation consultant, she was puzzled as to my lack of breastmilk, despite his good latching and my "great" nipples. I took fenugreek like a madwoman, still nothing. A little over a week after giving birth, I was rushed to the hospital with a fever of 107. I had retained placenta that caused a nasty infection. It was flushed out my giving me methergine. Great, now my body will realize that I am not pregnant anymore and my milk supply should go up - RIGHT?
No, weeks later, pumping 12 times a day for less than 2 ounces, it wasn't going up. One late night my husband woke to our son screaming, he found me asleep downstairs with the pump in my hand. He quietly prepared a bottle, fed and diapered little man and brought me to bed.
The next day we talked about what to do, both of us felt like we were going crazy. He smiled and told me I was doing a good job, but maybe we should just call my large breasts "false advertising" and move on to formula. Soon, our son was sleeping regularly and by three months, we were feeding him every 4 hours. By six months only twice a night.
Nearly two years later and I still obsess about this. My breast betrayed me. Next time will they, I hope not, that is why I decided to hang on to these lost nursing treasures.
