I am the Mama

October is breast cancer awareness month, so I’m going to talk about boobs for a minute.  It’s a topic that a lot of people avoid because they think it’s indelicate or indecent or whatever word you want to use to label it.  But it’s something that’s important, so do your best not to freak out and run screaming from the computer, OK?

My first son was not breastfed.  I tried.  I met with lactation consultants, put him to my breast over and over, even relactated after I had lost my milk supply because he refused my breast.  That involved pumping every 2 hours around the clock, an herb called fenugreek that made me smell like maple syrup, and a prescription drug called Reglan.  It didn’t work and after 2.5 months of pumping constantly I gave up because the half ounce of milk I got each day (really, that was all I got from 12 pumping sessions) just didn’t seem worth it.  I tried, I failed, I vowed to know better next time.  His sensory issues along with absolutely terrible care at Cape Fear Valley Medical Center in Fayetteville sabotaged it for me.  I won’t elaborate further, but after that and several other experiences there I’d die rather than go back to that hospital.  Moving on…

My second child was better.  Though he was technically full term at birth (almost 38 weeks) there were complications that are typical with what you’d see in a preemie.  This led to a difficult start breastfeeding.  Luckily, I’d met with the lactation consultant at Central Carolina several days before he was born and she reassured me and told me we’d make it work.  And we did.  She was endlessly patient, and by the time I was discharged we had established breastfeeding.  It was still touch and go sometimes, but I managed to continue and successfully breastfed him for 2 years.  I weaned him about a week after his 2nd birthday because I was pregnant again and I really needed to be done breastfeeding, even temporarily.  He never took any formula and I am very proud of the nursing relationship I had with him.

When Violet was born, things happened just like I’d always dreamed they would…I put her to my breast for the first time an hour or two after she was born and she latched on immediately.  She’s 8.5 months old and I’m still proudly nursing her.  She gets the (very) occasional bottle of formula if I’m out with friends or in pain or simply need a break, but she happily switches back and forth with little to no complaint.  It’s great, and I am glad that she’s capable of this kind of routine.

All of that said, I do not really enjoy it.  It can be painful.  It wreaks havoc on my hormones.  It can make me feel tied down.  I often feel “touched out” by the end of the day.  I’ve battled doctors who have tried to tell me I’m starving my babies.  I’ve endured nasty comments from people who felt it necessary to make the way I feed my baby their business.  And I’m tired.  Oh so very tired…I have now been nursing and/or pregnant for almost 4 years.  Sometimes I just want to lay down and have responsibility for absolutely nobody else in the world.

But then I think about the good stuff.  The little giggles around my breast when I’m nursing.  The fact that no matter what, at the end of the day, this little person will come back to me…not daddy, not grandma or grandpa, not an aunt or uncle, but ME.  Knowing that I can calm a fussy baby in moments.  Knowing that they are less likely to get whatever virus is making it’s way through my household at any given moment.  Knowing that I am doing something for this child that nobody else can do.

And now, it is even more important for me to do this.  For myself.  Because it may help to protect me against breast cancer.  A couple of months ago, breast cancer was only a vague concern.  I had no family history.  I had convinced myself that this meant I would never have to worry about it.  WRONG.  Remember, family history has to start somewhere.   It started with my mom.  She is fine, and they caught her abnormal cells very early, got everything out and she does not have cancer.  But now she’s at risk.  Now *I* am at risk.  There isn’t a whole lot you can do to decrease your risk, but one of the things is breastfeeding, so I will continue to nurse my baby.  Even when I hate it (like I do today) I will keep it up.  If doing this one thing, this thing that benefits her as much as it benefits me, gives me even the remotest chance of being her one day longer to see her grow up then it is the least I can do.  I don’t know how much longer I’ll nurse her.  I don’t know how much longer she’ll be interested.  But I’m giving her this for now.  For today.  And hopefully it’s the gift that keeps on giving, in more ways than one!

But remember, regardless of whether you were able to breastfeed or whather you chose to, you need to be checking yourself.  Self-exams monthly, mammograms as recommended.  It’s the least we can do for the people who love us.

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