When I found out I was pregnant, there was no question whether I would breastfeed or not. Immediately I knew it was something that I wanted to do. I spent hours researching it and even took the class supplied by the hospital where I had little Peanut. Matter of fact, it was the aspect that I researched the most…with the exception of perhaps cloth diapering, but that is a post for a different day. Everything warned me about how difficult it would be, even in the best circumstances.
Fast forward the requisite months, or more accurately 36 weeks, Peanut decided to let us know right away who is in charge around here. (Spoiler alert: It is not me or my husband.) The early arrival was not entirely surprising secondary to some complications, the details of which may be another blog post for a later time. The day Peanut was born we spent every second with her in our room with the exception of a few routine tests. I cherish those memories, although they have sadly been overridden by what transpired at the end of that day and the ones that followed.
There were issues nearly immediately with the little one latching and discussions with lactation consultants began shortly after. That day was a busy one, full of learning all kinds of things while trying to recover from delivery itself (which is no easy task). I definitely remember getting a crash course in how to use a breast pump. They informed me that my little one was not eating enough and kept reminding me of the complications because of her preemie status. The details of how/why they said that are a bit fuzzy. Clear as day, though, I remember the conversation when the nurse came back from the car seat check. I had expected to be able to take my baby home and instead was told they had to take her to the NICU.
That entire next day is a blur in my brain; a blur of tears, hormones, and sleep. The distance between my baby and I felt so vast it was difficult to breathe. I don’t remember them telling us much; in fact, I wasn’t even aware that I could hold my baby until the day was almost over. Looking back I wonder how much that affected this breastfeeding journey as they tell you those early days are the most important. I will note that during this time I was pumping with the hospital pump, but I do not remember breastfeeding most of that day.
Peanut and I spent eight days in the NICU due to elevated bilirubin (jaundice). (There are more frustrations related to this, which I will not get into here and may be another post in itself.) Throughout her NICU stay, the little one was nursing and depending on the day got a mixture of my pumped breast milk, donation breast milk, and perhaps some formula (?). Unfortunately, he continued to have difficulties with her levels as well as having a dirty diaper. We saw half a dozen lactation consultants and still, she was not gaining weight. In fact, it was a struggle for her not to lose more weight and nighttime was agony as I held my breath hoping that she gained even an ounce. Because, apparently, she could only be weighed at night.
Finally, the last lactation consultant who visited us provided some insight as to what might have been happening. Little Peanut was not swallowing as often as she should have been. It is mysterious to me this was the first time I had heard this as a possibility. Eight days in the NICU, half a dozen lactation consultants, hours of frustration, and nobody brought this possibility to our attention. This lady was excellent and developed an entire feeding plan for my little one. Another thing that everyone else had failed to do. Thanks to her we were able to develop a plan and go home with our baby…But the story does not end there.
There will be a part 2…What happened after the baby was home?