My Piece of Humble Pie

April 13, 2014 in Doulas, Gratitude, Robyn, Temple, Uncategorized

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I was having one of those pity party days when you choose to just see everything in a negative light.  I kept making excuses for why I shouldn’t go to the temple but somehow we got there.  Not only was I in a bad mood, I was annoyed with myself for being in a bad mood.  After a very quiet 45 minute drive to our temple, we didn’t waste time getting inside.  We were on a tight schedule to be back in time for when the baby would be hungry again.

Just as I left the recommend booth, someone called my name.  It was a dear, sweet friend.  We had been through a lot together.  Years ago we had both buried a child within 3 months of each other and grieved their absence together.  I had not seen her for about a month.  I was surprised to see her in the temple because she was still rehabilitating after a serious car accident.  She had lost control of the left side of her body as a result of her injuries.  The last time I saw her she was still in the hospital.  I immediately felt humbled as she shuffled in with her walker. How hard was it really for me to get to the temple that day?  Not very.  My pride hit the floor and ran out the temple doors.
I quickly realized why I needed to be there that day.  I offered to help her get ready. I took her temple bag from her husband and promised to take good care of her.  This was an easy role for me to take.  I thought back to the times I had supported her as a doula* in two of her births and reminded her of that. I told her not to worry if she needed help changing.  She laughed, “Well, you have seen it all already, haven’t you?”  As she changed we reminisced about her births.  She had been in fits of laughter right into her transition of labor.  (The only woman I had ever supported to ever do that.) It was one of the things that endeared her to me that she was so joyful.  Today she was just grateful to be in the temple.  Full of joy that she could move the toes on her left foot.
I helped her change, go to the restroom, get her temple packet and find a seat.  It took a while.  She had to move much slower than usual.  I was so grateful for that.  I had been rushing, rushing, resisting the spirit.   She helped me slow down and find her rhythm, just like when I supported her in birth.  I felt like her temple doula.  It was such a privilege.  She apologized for inconveniencing me.  I was quick to tell her that there was nothing I would rather be doing right at that moment. And I meant it. After I helped seat her in the assembly hall next to her husband, I hugged her and thanked her for letting me help her.  I told her that I really needed that today and then rushed out.  Tears were stinging my eyes and I was so ashamed of my previous pity party.
I’m sure if I had not been there that day that one of the temple workers would have helped her and taken on the role of a “temple doula.” But I really needed to experience that.  We can be a “doula” for God’s children on both sides of the veil.  The truth is I felt like I was the one benefitting.  I did not end up having time to do the ordinances I had planned in the temple that day so I sat in the waiting area and studied my scriptures while my husband completed his.  These words graced the entrance:
“But the Lord is in his holy temple: Let all the earth keep silence before him.” Habakkuk 2:20
I sat there silent, asking forgiveness, and giving thanks for a small and simple moment in his holy temple.  The ordinance work we do there is every so critical but there are other kinds of service offered there too, like what my friend allowed me to do, and that is what my heart needed.
*Doula is a Greek word meaning female servant.  Today it is a term used to describe professional labor support, doing whatever is needed to support the mother through pregnancy, labor, birth and postpartum.

Breast is Best… Unless You Can’t

October 14, 2013 in Breastfeeding, Guest Post

Michelle sent this story to us and said she felt very prompted to share her story about breastfeeding her four children. I very much appreciated her experiences and her honesty. I hope that her story will reach the people who need to hear it. My one addition to her story is to say, “Don’t feel guilty! Don’t feel guilty about how you need (or want) to feed your baby. Just do the best you can. That is all God expects of any of us.”

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My first pregnancy was very easy. The only unusual thing about it was that my breasts didn’t grow, but since it was my first, I didn’t notice. After a traumatic delivery with 4th degree tearing, I struggled getting my baby to latch but she eventually did. 72 hours postpartum, my milk came in and we started our nursing relationship.

At five weeks postpartum, my milk supply suddenly dropped. I thought it was because of two reasons– the first being that at two weeks postpartum, I had gone back to school to finish my last year of college and, since I didn’t have a breast pump, instructed the babysitter to feed my daughter formula when she was hungry. The other reason, I thought, may have been because my daughter was going through a growth spurt.

After two weeks of near-constant nursing and lots of crying, I realized I needed to supplement. I had been co-sleeping, drinking a lot and taking brewer’s yeast (the solutions suggested to me by my lactation consultant) but I simply wasn’t producing enough. I started supplementing a lot but continued nursing a little until we weaned at eleven months.

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My second pregnancy was also easy and this time my breasts did grow a little. I had a much easier labor with very little tearing and nursed almost immediately after. My milk came in at 48 hours and all seemed to be going well until I got mastitis twice the second week postpartum. After that my milk never recovered and I started supplementing at three weeks postpartum. I also experienced postpartum depression, which negatively impacted my milk supply and my daughter weaned herself at 7 months. I was very sad, but my daughter was finished.

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My third pregnancy was a joyful one and healing in many ways. My breasts grew a lot and I had an easy, natural delivery. My third daughter latched easily and nursed well. My milk came in well at 48 hours. I was determined to do everything right and nurse full time, so I obtained a hand pump and for the first six weeks, I would pump one side while nursing on the other–even in the middle of the night. I got mastitis but caught it early enough that it didn’t affect my supply.

At six weeks I figured that I had established a good supply and stopped pumping. At around four weeks my daughter had started crying every night for hours and was growing slowly, but I felt like I had enough. When I stopped pumping however, I saw a very fast decrease in my supply. At seven weeks, I began taking fenugreek daily to help my supply, which I did until she was about four months old. At that point I had to start supplementing, in spite of the fenugreek. Once I started supplementing, my daughter stopped crying at night and started growing faster. We supplemented and nursed until she was 14 months old. Supplementing brought about a huge personality change in her and she turned into a happy, easy baby.

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My fourth pregnancy was harder. There was a lot of stress, some antenatal depression and I had incredible hip/sciatic pain. I would crawl to the bathroom in the middle of the night because it was too painful to walk. I was determined to breastfeed, but I started getting concerned when I couldn’t express any colostrum one month before her birth. My breasts grew, but not nearly as much as my third pregnancy.

Her birth was an amazing, unassisted home birth. She started screaming as soon as she was born and didn’t stop for 30 minutes. I tried to get her to latch and finally she latched at 30 minutes postpartum, but didn’t nurse well or frequently the first 24 hours. I kept her at the breast for nearly 36 hours, but she struggled with her latch and bobbed on and off. She figured out her latch around 72 hours. My milk also came in about then, but I wasn’t engorged. I never suffered any engorgement at all.

At 6 days postpartum, we received a call from her pediatrician stating that her newborn screening results had come back abnormal. We spent the next 3 days meeting with doctors and specialists, with a huge amount of stress and very little sleep. She was diagnosed with MCADD, a rare but fairly easy to manage metabolic disorder. One of the management techniques was frequent feeding, every three to four hours. She was a good sleeper, so I had to set alarms throughout the night to wake up to feed her.

By the time she was 10 days old, I was on Reglan to increase my supply. We were in the middle of selling our house and the stress of that, combined with the stress of her diagnosis and lack of sleep, impacted my already tenuous supply. My supply had dropped the few days we were learning about her diagnosis and I simply couldn’t keep up.

In order to build my supply back up after taking Reglan, I started sleeping nine to ten hours a day, consuming about 100 ounces of fluid and about 3000 calories. I put on weight. I obtained a double electric breast pump and pumped in between nursing sessions. I co-slept, took my Reglan prescription (even convinced my doctor to give me a refill) and began taking the MoreMilk Plus tincture. I nursed her as frequently as she wanted, often sitting for three to four hours in the evening just to get her to sleep. I continued this regimen of milk-increasing tactics until she was 9 weeks old. By this point, we were getting ready to move and she was so hungry she screamed all day in my arms. I would nurse her every 45 minutes for 20 minutes, pump during or in between and do all the other things I had been doing. She would bob on and off, cry the whole time we were nursing and was not satisfied after. She would scream most of the day and nursed constantly at night. I was completely exhausted, mentally and emotionally.

In order to make our move easier, I began to pump instead of nursing so people could feed her while I was packing. I have an overactive letdown reflex and can easily pump. It was then I realized that I was only producing seven to ten ounces a day in spite of everything. I had only been supplementing with four to six ounces of formula a day up to this point. I realized her crying wasn’t because of colic, but because of hunger. I was basically keeping her fed just enough to avoid a metabolic crisis.

So at eleven weeks old, six days before our move, I stopped nursing. The first day on the bottle, she ate five ounces every two hours. I wasn’t even engorged. We realized that she was starving. We also realized that as part of her metabolic disorder, she was only able to use a certain amount of her food as calories and needed to eat twice as much as my other children in order to get enough calories. Even now, at four months, she is very petite but eats voraciously.  I wasn’t producing enough to feed a regular baby, much less one who needed extra calories.

That decision proved to be the right one. We were able to move much more easily. She started putting on weight. She hadn’t smiled much but she began smiling more. I could finally take a short shower without her screaming. I could even put her down to do the dishes!

The biggest difference was her personality change. When we bottle fed her, she stopped screaming. She was still a needy baby, but she was actually content in my arms or a carrier. She slept peacefully. She cooed at me. She was a different baby.

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In the midst of the challenge with my fourth daughter, I came across some articles that talked about lactation failure and insufficient glandular tissue. I don’t have all the physical characteristics, but I do have very wide set and small breasts. I found that there were almost some genetic markers in my family that could have clued me in too. In talking with my father’s mother after the birth of my fourth daughter, I learned that her breasts never changed during pregnancy and her milk never came in with any of her three children. My grandmother has three sisters, and none of them had their milk come in. My great-grandmother and great-great-grandmother were also unable to nurse and relied on other things to feed their babies. My great-great grandma had 13 children and gave them all meat broth!

It has been two and a half months since we weaned. I so desperately wanted to nurse all of my children, and, despite exploring every option, I simply can’t nurse. The realization that I will never be able to nurse a baby successfully has been excruciating.I truly love nursing. I treasure the moments of closeness. Cuddling skin to skin in the middle of the night. I miss the peace that comes from nursing.

I also feel guilty. Looking back on my third daughter, I realize that I wasn’t producing enough for her. I feel a lot of guilt over my selfishness in wanting to nurse her and being unwilling to see she wasn’t thriving. I feel guilty knowing that I’m not providing antibodies for my fourth daughter. I feel guilt that I’m using formula.

I pleaded with God to change my body, to help me nurse my babies. I pleaded that He would give me a miracle. But it seems that this experience has been one to humble me.

Breast is best and I love to breastfeed. I am grateful for the times I was able to breastfeed my daughters. I will always cherish those moments.