To Breastfeed or not to Breastfeed: Is it a legitimate question? |
Breastfeeding. It’s a word that evokes a plethora of opinions and emotions for many moms. When I was pregnant with my first child I had heard and read all about “breast is best.” Why, I wondered, with all the studies and research showing the myriad of breastfeeding benefits would any mom do anything but? I concluded that a mother who chose to bottle feed must be either selfish or hung up on some kind of body issues. I was neither. I would breastfeed.
In retrospect, although I had taken a short class on the subject, I was woefully naïve and unprepared for what was to come. I had these visions of hushed, halcyon hours, blissfully nursing a beautifully calm baby, a picture of maternal serenity. The reality was painfully different. Latching was a process I could only equate with driving a burning hot needle through my nipple. After the pain subsided my son would promptly fall asleep, my nipple still in his mouth. I would then take him off the breast which would inevitably provoke a fit of crying. So it was back to the white hot needle again. On and on this went through all hours of the day and night. After two weeks of watching his wife disintegrate into a raving, blubbering madwoman, my husband finally had enough. “That’s it!” he said. “You’re not doing this anymore.” It was the permission I wouldn’t grant myself to stop.
When I was pregnant with my second child I was on a mission. I refused to be poorly prepared again. So who does a Canadian woman look to when she wants the best information possible on breastfeeding? Dr. Jack Newman, of course.
Widely referred to as the “breastfeeding guru” in North America, my introduction to Dr. Newman came in that short class I took when the instructor handed out his material with the proviso that he was a radical. To be sure, his breastfeeding articles often dismissed certain beliefs as “nonsense, pure and simple.” He was not a man who held back. But I needed a doctor who believed this passionately in breastfeeding! So I bought his book, Dr. Jack Newman’s Guide to Breastfeeding, and read it cover to cover, manically going over and over chapters about proper latching and sore nipples.
One of the keys to a successful breastfeeding experience, I learned from studying Dr. Newman’s book, was to have a proper latch right from the start. Reading this, a memory surfaced of the angry red welt that appeared across my nipple right after the very first time I nursed my son. The harbinger. This time, I had to get the latch right from the beginning. I was fascinated by Dr. Newman’s description of newborn babies who, placed on the mother’s abdomen immediately after birth, would blindly inch up to the breast and latch on all by themselves. Mothers whose babies “self-attached,” he asserted, had fewer nursing problems later. In my head, my previously held ideal of nursing quietly in the wee hours of morning was replaced by this one. I explained the theory to my midwife who knew my history. I also went to see a highly regarded local lactation consultant beforehand, in case I did run into any problems. I was set. All that was left was to have my baby.
Nine days late on December 16, 2004, without any time for pain medication, my beautiful daughter Sarah came screaming into this world after just two pushes. As requested, she was placed directly on my stomach … but how could I just leave her there?? Dying to hold her in my arms, all those weeks of anticipating the crawling up and “self-latching” went out the window as I scooped her up close to my face so I could examine her amazing little red body. And I was impatient for her to nurse right away. I held her to my breast and the midwife, in a move certainly not described anywhere in Dr. Newman’s book, pinched my nipple and popped it into Sarah’s mouth. She nursed. And it didn’t feel bad. After she came away I examined my nipple closely. No angry red welt. Maybe this was going to be okay.
Or not. After a few days of nursing Sarah, the welts leading to cracks started to appear. The lactation consultant said my latch was fine, as did the midwives and nurses at the hospital. Everyone seemed confident that things would heal and work out. But they didn’t. I was desperate. I emailed Dr. Newman himself. This close to Christmas he was on holidays, but his assistant, Edith Kernerman, was available. I drove from Hamilton to Toronto with my week old baby to see her.
After all the healthcare professionals I had seen regarding breastfeeding, both with my son and now with my daughter, I thought I knew the lactation routine. I would wincingly latch my baby to my breast, the consultant would stare at my nursing baby, she would tell me everything was fine, I would go home and cry. But Edith’s approach was different. She had me strip Sarah down to her diaper, got me comfortable in a chair with a special nursing pillow, showed me the “sandwich” hold, where Sarah was sandwiched between my forearm and stomach, got behind me and, with a surprising amount of force, pushed my baby onto my breast. I braced myself for the familiar pain. But none came. All I felt was a tugging. And the milk flowing into my baby. It was really beautiful. For the first time in my life I was nursing completely pain free. I was so stunned, amazed and grateful, I burst into tears.
I would love to go into the happily-ever-after bit at this point but, unfortunately, it doesn’t end here. I tried recreating the latch Edith showed me at home, but it was difficult. I just couldn’t generate the same force that she did when she pushed Sarah on to nurse. The strong push is what would make my nipple go into the back of the baby’s throat so that her tongue was more on breast tissue and less on the areola and nipple where the damage was. Sometimes my husband or mother-in-law would help me. But I couldn’t help feeling that getting seated, arranging pillows and then having someone else jam my baby onto me seemed … unnatural. Not to mention the startled look poor Sarah would get on her face! I can only imagine what it would be like from her end, having this huge boob shoved in her tiny mouth. I saw other mothers nursing at the park with ease and grace. What was wrong with me?
Nursing without pain was only part of the problem. The rest was what to do in between feedings. Now brace yourself here, things are going to get ugly. People with weak stomachs should stop reading. The thing is, I’ve been referring to sore and cracked nipples. But actually my situation went way beyond this. There was no skin left on more than 50% of each nipple. No skin. Raw, open flesh. So any of the ointments that people, including Dr. Newman, prescribed were pretty much useless. How can I apply ointment onto skin that isn’t there? Also, it’s recommended to keep nipples that are sore and cracked open to the air to help them heal. Well, when I did this, they would dry out and when I would go to nurse Sarah on these now dried out sores (don’t say I didn’t warn you!) the pain would be excruciating. If I kept them covered it was less painful but then I was worried about yeast or bacteria growing on sores kept in a moist, dark, warm environment. Not to mention, what do you cover them with? Breast pads stuck, breast shields dug in and promoted leaking. I was a sour smelling, aching, miserable, disgusting mess.
I persevered for about five weeks. During which time I couldn’t see or talk to anyone without bursting into tears at the mere mention of my baby. One day I was seated at the kitchen table, lamenting my problems ad nauseam to my mother-in-law, and I started to cry. I heard a noise behind me. I looked over and there was my precious son Max, lying on the floor, his head buried in his arms, crying. Crying because mommy was crying. That was it. This wasn’t even about nourishment anymore. It was like an obsession I had that was hurting my family. I called my GP and asked him to prescribe me the bromocriptine mesylate he prescribed me the last time I stopped nursing my first born, to inhibit the production of breast milk. I was quitting.
That night, after taking the pill to cut off my milk supply, I sat in my rocker holding my little baby girl, smelling her hair, listening to her soft breathing. “I’m sorry my darling,” I whispered. “I know we both tried our best. I really wanted it to work. I’m so sorry.” Tears streamed down from my eyes and splashed on her cheeks. I was a failure. Again.
The next day, while my husband and son were out shopping for formula, I was studying my nipples, which sounds weird but it was something I would do obsessively after each time I fed Sarah, desperately searching for some indication of healing. After weeks of staring at the unchanging line formed by the border of healthy skin and damaged, raw flesh that divided my nipple, it was etched on my brain. But today was different. I stared in disbelief. They were starting to heal!
I emailed Dr. Newman in a panic. What should I do? I had taken the medication to stop milk production. Could I still nurse my baby? Dr. Newman emailed me back assuring me with an emphatic yes, I could. So I did.
From the time Sarah was born it took less than a week before the severity of the trauma to my nipples was evident. It took five weeks before they began to heal. It took about eight weeks before I could say I was nursing in a reasonable amount of comfort and about three or four months before I was completely without pain and latching in a more natural fashion. But when spring came and the weather was starting to warm up, I took my little boy and baby girl to the park. While Max climbed and cavorted on the play structure, I watched him from a bench where I sat calmly nursing Sarah. Success at long last.
Or was this success?
Nearly three years have passed since I stopped nursing Sarah. Time away from the emotions of that period of my life allows me to reflect back with some objectivity. And now I’m left to wonder: Do we put too much pressure on women to breastfeed? Yes, in the end I was able to nurse my baby, but at what cost? Certainly I put myself and my family through hell while I struggled through months of physical pain and emotional turmoil. Would I have done this to myself if it weren’t for the enormous pressure we put on women to breastfeed?
I’m still happy that I was able to have a positive breastfeeding experience in the end. And having experience as both a bottle and breastfeeding mom, I definitely think that, when it’s working well, breastfeeding is not only healthier but easier. But I also would never judge another mom who’s chosen to bottle feed her child. Perhaps, after our mothers’ generation was steered toward choosing bottle feeding as the easier, more modern approach to feeding babies, it’s only natural that the pendulum would swing this far back, to the point where I was embarrassed to be seen with a bottle of formula.
And perhaps the pendulum will eventually settle midway, where a mother can be fully informed and determine: to breastfeed or not to breastfeed? And have full support whatever her decision may be.
In retrospect, although I had taken a short class on the subject, I was woefully naïve and unprepared for what was to come. I had these visions of hushed, halcyon hours, blissfully nursing a beautifully calm baby, a picture of maternal serenity. The reality was painfully different. Latching was a process I could only equate with driving a burning hot needle through my nipple. After the pain subsided my son would promptly fall asleep, my nipple still in his mouth. I would then take him off the breast which would inevitably provoke a fit of crying. So it was back to the white hot needle again. On and on this went through all hours of the day and night. After two weeks of watching his wife disintegrate into a raving, blubbering madwoman, my husband finally had enough. “That’s it!” he said. “You’re not doing this anymore.” It was the permission I wouldn’t grant myself to stop.
When I was pregnant with my second child I was on a mission. I refused to be poorly prepared again. So who does a Canadian woman look to when she wants the best information possible on breastfeeding? Dr. Jack Newman, of course.
Widely referred to as the “breastfeeding guru” in North America, my introduction to Dr. Newman came in that short class I took when the instructor handed out his material with the proviso that he was a radical. To be sure, his breastfeeding articles often dismissed certain beliefs as “nonsense, pure and simple.” He was not a man who held back. But I needed a doctor who believed this passionately in breastfeeding! So I bought his book, Dr. Jack Newman’s Guide to Breastfeeding, and read it cover to cover, manically going over and over chapters about proper latching and sore nipples.
One of the keys to a successful breastfeeding experience, I learned from studying Dr. Newman’s book, was to have a proper latch right from the start. Reading this, a memory surfaced of the angry red welt that appeared across my nipple right after the very first time I nursed my son. The harbinger. This time, I had to get the latch right from the beginning. I was fascinated by Dr. Newman’s description of newborn babies who, placed on the mother’s abdomen immediately after birth, would blindly inch up to the breast and latch on all by themselves. Mothers whose babies “self-attached,” he asserted, had fewer nursing problems later. In my head, my previously held ideal of nursing quietly in the wee hours of morning was replaced by this one. I explained the theory to my midwife who knew my history. I also went to see a highly regarded local lactation consultant beforehand, in case I did run into any problems. I was set. All that was left was to have my baby.
Nine days late on December 16, 2004, without any time for pain medication, my beautiful daughter Sarah came screaming into this world after just two pushes. As requested, she was placed directly on my stomach … but how could I just leave her there?? Dying to hold her in my arms, all those weeks of anticipating the crawling up and “self-latching” went out the window as I scooped her up close to my face so I could examine her amazing little red body. And I was impatient for her to nurse right away. I held her to my breast and the midwife, in a move certainly not described anywhere in Dr. Newman’s book, pinched my nipple and popped it into Sarah’s mouth. She nursed. And it didn’t feel bad. After she came away I examined my nipple closely. No angry red welt. Maybe this was going to be okay.
Or not. After a few days of nursing Sarah, the welts leading to cracks started to appear. The lactation consultant said my latch was fine, as did the midwives and nurses at the hospital. Everyone seemed confident that things would heal and work out. But they didn’t. I was desperate. I emailed Dr. Newman himself. This close to Christmas he was on holidays, but his assistant, Edith Kernerman, was available. I drove from Hamilton to Toronto with my week old baby to see her.
After all the healthcare professionals I had seen regarding breastfeeding, both with my son and now with my daughter, I thought I knew the lactation routine. I would wincingly latch my baby to my breast, the consultant would stare at my nursing baby, she would tell me everything was fine, I would go home and cry. But Edith’s approach was different. She had me strip Sarah down to her diaper, got me comfortable in a chair with a special nursing pillow, showed me the “sandwich” hold, where Sarah was sandwiched between my forearm and stomach, got behind me and, with a surprising amount of force, pushed my baby onto my breast. I braced myself for the familiar pain. But none came. All I felt was a tugging. And the milk flowing into my baby. It was really beautiful. For the first time in my life I was nursing completely pain free. I was so stunned, amazed and grateful, I burst into tears.
I would love to go into the happily-ever-after bit at this point but, unfortunately, it doesn’t end here. I tried recreating the latch Edith showed me at home, but it was difficult. I just couldn’t generate the same force that she did when she pushed Sarah on to nurse. The strong push is what would make my nipple go into the back of the baby’s throat so that her tongue was more on breast tissue and less on the areola and nipple where the damage was. Sometimes my husband or mother-in-law would help me. But I couldn’t help feeling that getting seated, arranging pillows and then having someone else jam my baby onto me seemed … unnatural. Not to mention the startled look poor Sarah would get on her face! I can only imagine what it would be like from her end, having this huge boob shoved in her tiny mouth. I saw other mothers nursing at the park with ease and grace. What was wrong with me?
Nursing without pain was only part of the problem. The rest was what to do in between feedings. Now brace yourself here, things are going to get ugly. People with weak stomachs should stop reading. The thing is, I’ve been referring to sore and cracked nipples. But actually my situation went way beyond this. There was no skin left on more than 50% of each nipple. No skin. Raw, open flesh. So any of the ointments that people, including Dr. Newman, prescribed were pretty much useless. How can I apply ointment onto skin that isn’t there? Also, it’s recommended to keep nipples that are sore and cracked open to the air to help them heal. Well, when I did this, they would dry out and when I would go to nurse Sarah on these now dried out sores (don’t say I didn’t warn you!) the pain would be excruciating. If I kept them covered it was less painful but then I was worried about yeast or bacteria growing on sores kept in a moist, dark, warm environment. Not to mention, what do you cover them with? Breast pads stuck, breast shields dug in and promoted leaking. I was a sour smelling, aching, miserable, disgusting mess.
I persevered for about five weeks. During which time I couldn’t see or talk to anyone without bursting into tears at the mere mention of my baby. One day I was seated at the kitchen table, lamenting my problems ad nauseam to my mother-in-law, and I started to cry. I heard a noise behind me. I looked over and there was my precious son Max, lying on the floor, his head buried in his arms, crying. Crying because mommy was crying. That was it. This wasn’t even about nourishment anymore. It was like an obsession I had that was hurting my family. I called my GP and asked him to prescribe me the bromocriptine mesylate he prescribed me the last time I stopped nursing my first born, to inhibit the production of breast milk. I was quitting.
That night, after taking the pill to cut off my milk supply, I sat in my rocker holding my little baby girl, smelling her hair, listening to her soft breathing. “I’m sorry my darling,” I whispered. “I know we both tried our best. I really wanted it to work. I’m so sorry.” Tears streamed down from my eyes and splashed on her cheeks. I was a failure. Again.
The next day, while my husband and son were out shopping for formula, I was studying my nipples, which sounds weird but it was something I would do obsessively after each time I fed Sarah, desperately searching for some indication of healing. After weeks of staring at the unchanging line formed by the border of healthy skin and damaged, raw flesh that divided my nipple, it was etched on my brain. But today was different. I stared in disbelief. They were starting to heal!
I emailed Dr. Newman in a panic. What should I do? I had taken the medication to stop milk production. Could I still nurse my baby? Dr. Newman emailed me back assuring me with an emphatic yes, I could. So I did.
From the time Sarah was born it took less than a week before the severity of the trauma to my nipples was evident. It took five weeks before they began to heal. It took about eight weeks before I could say I was nursing in a reasonable amount of comfort and about three or four months before I was completely without pain and latching in a more natural fashion. But when spring came and the weather was starting to warm up, I took my little boy and baby girl to the park. While Max climbed and cavorted on the play structure, I watched him from a bench where I sat calmly nursing Sarah. Success at long last.
Or was this success?
Nearly three years have passed since I stopped nursing Sarah. Time away from the emotions of that period of my life allows me to reflect back with some objectivity. And now I’m left to wonder: Do we put too much pressure on women to breastfeed? Yes, in the end I was able to nurse my baby, but at what cost? Certainly I put myself and my family through hell while I struggled through months of physical pain and emotional turmoil. Would I have done this to myself if it weren’t for the enormous pressure we put on women to breastfeed?
I’m still happy that I was able to have a positive breastfeeding experience in the end. And having experience as both a bottle and breastfeeding mom, I definitely think that, when it’s working well, breastfeeding is not only healthier but easier. But I also would never judge another mom who’s chosen to bottle feed her child. Perhaps, after our mothers’ generation was steered toward choosing bottle feeding as the easier, more modern approach to feeding babies, it’s only natural that the pendulum would swing this far back, to the point where I was embarrassed to be seen with a bottle of formula.
And perhaps the pendulum will eventually settle midway, where a mother can be fully informed and determine: to breastfeed or not to breastfeed? And have full support whatever her decision may be.
About the Author
-
Paula Culp
Paula Culp is the full-time, stay-at-home mother of Max, 6, and Sarah, 3. She is currently on a quest for her authenticity (while struggling with potty training and making healthy lunches … not in that... Learn more about Paula Culp
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Cheryl Anne Schmidt | November 21, 2008 at 10:01 am - §
Good day,This is quite timely and touches me personally in so many ways on so many levels! Thanks to you for sharing this journey - the good the bad and the very "Ugly" and it isn't ugly at all - it is our course in this life as women and you are right at every turn. Who are we to judge - for the stories of our sisters vary so greatly, that it is selfish to ever point that finger again!I am wiping the tears away - both with sadness and pride. Congratulations to you and your family, you are truly blessed as are they.Cheryl Anne
Paula Culp | November 25, 2008 at 1:48 pm - §
Thank you so much for your kind comments, Cheryl Anne. I am honoured that this piece touched you. Paula
Kelly W | November 26, 2008 at 4:24 pm - §
Thank you Paula for raising an issue that I think is lost on so many lactivists. There is so much more to nurturing our children than whether or not they are breastfed. We are unable to study the long term effects of a mother's emotions towards her child on that child, but my guess would be that a happy mother results in a happy child. Furthermore, our emotional well-being has a very positive influence on our health.Nutritionally, it would be hard to argue that formula even comes close to breast milk, but bottle-fed babies still benefit from the same emotional bond that breastfeeding mothers have with their babies. Bottle-fed babies might even be more secure because a bottle-fed child would receive that benefit from more than just his/her mother. Perhaps this emotional well-being compensates for all that formula lacks? Perhaps having a mother that looks forward to feeding time instead of dreading it compensates for all that formula lacks? Does anyone know the harm that is done when the mother has negative feelings towards breastfeeding, but soldiers on for the sake of her child? Would it even be ethical to design a proper study to find out since a lactivist would argue that children who are formula-fed are harmed by this action? So without evidence to the contrary, who are we to judge a mother that does what she feels is best for her child? So many lactivists make non-breastfeeding mothers feel inferior because the campaign tells the mother that they aren't giving their baby "the best". There is also the insulting implication that these mothers have been woefully mislead by formula marketing campaigns and lack the intelligence to make their own decisions as to what is best for their family. I think lactivists get so hung up on the nutritional superiority of breast milk that they lose sight of the big picture. I have always felt that breast is not best for every one. When I mentioned this to a lactivist she agreed by saying "the breast is NOT best, just every other feeding method is inferior". She could not see what was wrong with that sentence and that attitude. I tried to explain that only a mother has all the information to know what is best for her child and that is what we need to start supporting. If a mother feels breast-feeding is best but needs help achieve that goal, then that help should be there. If a mother feels that formula-feeding is the best then we shouldn't make her feel that she is a stupid woman that is poisoning her child and assigning that child to a lifetime of poor health.
Dani Arnold | November 26, 2008 at 9:34 pm - §
I felt so much anguish reading your article. I went through excruciating pain nursing my youngest daughter too....but because I'd already had 2 amazing nursing relationships to support me, I was able to "bite the bullet" and continue. Because I had a supportive husband who knew I could do it, who knew I would of been completely devastated if I gave up, I was able to continue. Because I had the support of some amazing women here on CPO, I was able to continue.Is it because I was pounded with the chant "breast is best"? on all sides and felt that I HAD to nurse? No. it was because I KNOW that formula is worse. It wasn't a decision. A decision is choosing between steak or roast chicken for dinner. A decision is choosing an outfit for the party. Breastfeeding shouldn't be a decision. It should be normal.If all women had access to the support they needed, Breastfeeding would be Normal. If the medical machine actually promoted breastfeeding as Normal, not as a decision to be made, then Breastfeeding would be normal. If medical personnel were properly educated about lactation to support women so that they could breastfeed without having to travel to another city to see the country's leading expert,...... then Breastfeeding would be normal.Breastfeeding will never be normal until we make it normal. And that means not "deciding" to breastfeed. It means Breastfeeding because that's how you feed your child.