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This post is a continuation of my breastfeeding journey. You can read part one here. This post contains colorful descriptions of painful events, and may be triggering to some.
“Option 2”
I just had one of the shittiest weeks of my adult life.
I found out that the extreme efforts I was taking with breastfeeding my daughter were not only not working, my daughter had only gained 6 oz in her first 6 weeks of life. On top of that, I was also diagnosed with abscess mastitis, secondary cellulitis, and had a painful procedure to remove the pus filled sac that had performed a hostile takeover of my boob. Then, I was told that procedure failed and they were going to cut my boob open to remove it instead.
Oh! Let’s not forget the hormone crash I was having from giving birth (holy shit), and the general stresses of handling a newborn at home.
Generally speaking, I was hanging on by a thread.
So, the doctor had just broken the news that he was moving forward with the dreaded Option 2, and he was going to do it that day. Like, right then. He left the room and I was alone to wrap my head around what was about to happen.
I called my husband and told him there was a change of plans. He was working an hour away, so even if he left right then he wouldn’t have gotten there in time. I called my sister who was watching my daughter, and let her know I’d be longer than expected.
A nurse came to bring me in and told me they sometimes will put a patient under for this but because I was alone and had to drive home, I’d just be getting local anesthesia. She assured me I wouldn’t feel anything and that if I needed her to stay with me, she would.
I quickly took her up on that offer.
Nightmare fuel
They laid me down, hooked me up to some monitors, and that’s when I started crying. There was definitely fear involved, but I think the tears were more out of anger. I felt betrayed by the lactation consultants who told me not to take antibiotics. I felt robbed of the “joyful experience” of breastfeeding. Slowly, I turned my face away from the team of people about to cut me open so they wouldn’t see.
The doctor explained that he would make the incision almost in my nipple, so I could wear a low cut top or bathing suit without showing my soon-to-be scar. He numbed me up and got started. I was silent as the doctor communicated to his team, and occasionally to me. It was clear he was trying to do his job while also distracting me from the situation at hand. I was busy trying to disguise my sniffles from crying and focusing very hard on not breaking the nurse’s fingers.
He told me it wouldn’t hurt, but it did. I could feel him digging around, trying to get every little bit of the infection. At one point I thought for sure I was going to faint. Maybe 15 minutes had passed when he announced he was done.
In retrospect, I realize he was intentional in not explaining the healing process beforehand.
Shoestring
He calmly explained to me that because this was an infection, he could not give me stitches. Instead, he was going to pack the wound with gauze that I would have to change daily. That was the first time I looked at him.
“What do you mean?”
There were several reasons why he needed to leave the wound open. The wound was pretty deep, so he wanted to make sure it healed from the inside out. The only way to guarantee this was to leave it open.
The nurse packing my wound explained exactly what she was doing; I would have to do this by myself tomorrow. She sat me up and helped me get dressed. I still hadn’t stopped crying, so she brought me some crackers and juice. Apparently I had been shaking.
She sat with me for a few minutes helped me calm down. She asked about my daughter, and told me I was brave for doing this alone. I thanked her for being so sweet and found my way out of the room to get my stuff.
6 week check up
My husband met me at home, but not to console me. In less than 2 hours, we had my 6 week postpartum check up. The day felt unreal.
I washed up a little, held my baby, and walked back out the door.
I bled through my shirt before my midwife could see me, so I asked a nurse to help me rebandage my chest.
The check up went well, but the midwives were floored by the breastfeeding complications I had faced in such a small window.
The next day
Usually Saturdays were my favorite day of the week. My husband was finally done with work and we got to spend time with family and our sweet baby. That Saturday felt pretty different.
I didn’t tell…anyone about my surgery except my mom and sister. I just didn’t really feel like fielding all kinds of well-meaning-but-totally-invasive questions from friends or family. Frankly, I kind of just wanted to forget what I was dealing with.
My chest felt as if it was filled with needles, and pumping only amplified that. I managed to figure out that if I put an extra padding of gauze and then cover that with saran wrap, I could maintain suction with my pump.
There was an added layer of rage when I pumped because I didn’t feel like I wanted to “dry up” yet, but I was on crazy antibiotics so I had to dump out everything I produced until further notice.
Shoestring, 2
It was time to re-dress my wound. I felt nauseous all morning just thinking about what kind of fresh hell was waiting for me under the thick layers of gauze. Time to find out what’s behind door number 1.
I’m going to just tell you exactly what I had to do every day, but definitely skip ahead if you have a vivid imagination.
The nurse told me she packed it with a long, skinny piece of gauze, but failed to emphasize just how long it actually was. I’m thinking it was approaching 3ft. I forced my husband to help me in case I had to barf, but instead it was both of us dry heaving the entire time.
Once the gauze was out, I had to shower with the wound exposed. In the shower, I had to kind of flush out the wound and make sure the water ran clear before I stopped. This hurt like a bitch and I can feel the stinging as I type.
Then, I had to take the wooden end of a one sided q-tip and SCRAPE the inside of my wound and along the edge. The object was to “motivate” my body to generate new tissue so it healed in the right order. Once I was BLEEDING again, I could re-pack it and put a clean bandage on.
Repeat this daily until the wound closed completely.
If you were curious what Hell might be like, its probably that.
The healing process
All said, it took about 4 weeks to get the wound closed fully. Each day got less painful, and I never thought I’d be so good at packing a wound, but life is weird.
I went on my sister’s bachelorette party (to Disney!!!!!) with a big hole in my boob but I didn’t let it stop me from having fun.
I ended up staying on antibiotics for nearly 6 weeks. Every time I ended a round, a lymph node would swell up, or a lump would appear in my “good boob”. I really could not catch a break, but I pumped every day.
The holidays rolled around and my supply was really suffering. I was too scared to try nursing again, but I would have a physical reaction to my stupid breast pump.
Finally, on New Years Day I gave up. 4+ months of desperately trying to hang on to the idea of breastfeeding my daughter; my mental health was being sacrificed, but for what? My daughter gained amazing weight, she was happy and sleeping well, and I was torturing myself because the internet said I was a shitty mom for using formula.
Bye, haterz.
Formula saved my sanity. It gave my daughter the vitamins and nutrients she needed to gain weight. It allowed me grace when my body simply couldn’t handle any more stress with breastfeeding.
The internet can be a wealth of information for new moms looking for advice, solace, tips, or whatever. But it can also be the source of great anguish and judgement when you can’t/won’t/don’t do what is “natural and right for baby”.
I’m still angry at how things went down with my breastfeeding journey. But then I look over at my now toddler laughing and playing and shake the feeling off.
Fed is best. A healthy mama is best. You can’t take proper care of your baby if you don’t take proper care of yourself.
Resources
If you’re having trouble breastfeeding or just want more info, I found these websites to have very helpful sections. You won’t find much on switching to formula because surprise! There isn’t much. Just remember to take what you need and leave the rest. Breastfeeding is not a one-boob-fits-all. Don’t treat it as such.
Also, please please PLEASE advocate for yourself! No one knows exactly what’s going on but you. Don’t let a stranger with a fancy piece of paper brush you under the rug. If you think you have mastitis, or anything funky in those first weeks postpartum – speak up. My biggest takeaway from all of this is that I just let people tell me what was happening to me. Even when I felt like it wasn’t right, I didn’t trust my instinct as a mom.
Legendairy Milk – I used several of their supplements and did see improvements! It was just too late for me. (this and this)
