Being out of control is not my strong suit, in fact it’s a
place of discomfort for me and I don’t like it one bit. As a cancer patient, I
find myself there often.
During my pregnancy with Madeline, a kidney issue was
detected and I was eventually referred to a nephrologist who followed me
through the end of my pregnancy. We discussed many theories around the cause of
the kidney issue, including the fact that it was related to pregnancy in a
roundabout way. When the issue didn’t resolve post-partum, we started testing,
and lots of it. Everything suspected came back negative and eventually a kidney
biopsy was needed to understand the root cause. The results of the biopsy
revealed an autoimmune disease where antibodies were being created to attack my
kidneys. Riddle solved? Not so fast; now she needed to understand what
underlying disease was at fault. More testing was scheduled, but in the
meantime I needed to start medication to protect my kidneys. Medication that
was not compatible with breastfeeding.
I breastfed Anna and Charlotte until they weaned around one
year of age. It was something I wanted to do, something I enjoyed, and something
I vowed to do with each of my children as long as it was worked for all
parties. For almost a year with both of the big girls my life revolved around a
feeding schedule, bras that unlatched, clothing that was easily accessible, and
a mental note on the number of ounces of milk were in my freezer at any given
moment. It was a sacrifice of love, but one I was more than happy to make
because it was my choice and what worked for our family.
Weaning Madeline early hit me hard. Because it wasn’t my
choice and because I had no control. I didn’t know how to tell her I couldn’t provide
food for her. How to tell her she had to take a bottle instead of the comfort
she’d known her entire life. I felt like a failure in all sense of Motherhood.
*Dramatic much, I know … *
I saw my doctor on November 30 and received my prescriptions
that same day. I cried when she left the room and made a half-assed attempt to
pull it together when her (really bad) MA came back to review the details. My
doctor understood I’d need some time to wean the baby, but had also already given
me some leeway until she knew exactly which drugs were needed, and was frank
that not starting the medication could put me at a higher risk for eventual dialysis.
The choice was clear, but emotions made it hazy, as did the tears. I needed to
be a good mother to my baby and other girls, and I couldn’t do that if I was
sicker than need be.
My goal was one bottle the first day, December 1. And one additional
bottle each day after. I’d pump in between for comfort, and used the small
frozen milk supply I’d accumulated, slowly mixing formula and increasing the
ratio each day. Breastfeeding experts recommend that first bottles be given by
someone other than the Mother to ease the confusion, but in this case, I needed
to be the one to make this transition. And it was one of the hardest things I’ve
ever done. I was heartbroken. Madeline cried for 30 minutes straight before
eventually drinking her first bottle. I’ll never forget the confused look in
her eyes. I’ll never forget the sound of her cry. We both cried. A lot. I was truly
in mourning, and to this day I still feel pangs of sadness and tears well up
when I think of that week.
The second day was a tiny bit better, but still grueling.
Each day she cried a little less … 25 minutes, 20 minutes, 15 minutes. We found
bottles we both liked after some trial and error and I asked around for tips to
make the process easier (formula pitchers, bottle warmers … all the gear). I
bought into the old wives tales and took Sudafed and stuffed by bra with
cabbage leaves to help ease the pain, and pumped only for relief. After about a
week, we’d made it through and I’d started my medication; there was no turning
back. Formula and bottles were our new normal.
Parenting is full of important decisions, and each one comes
with judgment or opinions from someone. The way you feed your baby should work
for your entire family and should be your decision. At the end of the day as
long as your baby is thriving and happy and healthy and being FED WITH LOVE,
you’re doing your job as a Mother. And that’s what I’m doing … feeding with
love. And health. And knowing that I’m doing what’s best for everyone. The road
travelled doesn’t look the same, but that’s what life’s all about, right? Where
there’s love, there’s life; and we sure do have a lot of both in our home.
Post script:
As sad as I was to close my breastfeeding chapter, there are
silver linings. Regular bras! No more leaking! DRESSES! Nudging your husband to
take on a middle of the night feeding. All that mental free space where frozen
milk ounce counts used to be.
