In 1995 I gave birth to our first son. I was very keen on breast feeding but none of the women in my close family had gone down this route so I just had to give it my best shot and see how it went. Because of the whole ‘breast is best’ attitude from the medical professional there is a certain amount of pressure and you are encouraged to persevere but, let me tell you, it can come with its own idea of hell at times.
I have never been particularly well endowed nor would I really describe myself as ‘flat chested’ but I would say “more than a handful is a waste” could well have applied to me in my youth! In my teens and early twenties I owned very few bras! I waltzed through my days in silky little camisoles and crop tops with my pert little ‘B’ cups ‘hanging’ loose (well actually, I don’t think they ever ‘hung’ or ‘swung’ if I’m honest) or braved backless tops with no extra support at all! It was a certain kind of freedom that I didn’t appreciate enough. Little did I know that my longing for a ‘bit more’ would mean uncomfortable bras that I couldn’t wait to remove at the end of the day.
The first time I suspected I might be pregnant I was at the theatre! I can’t remember the show but I do remember having to restrict my applause at the end of the show because clapping was a killer! I’d never known such discomfort in my boobs. My suspicions were confirmed that week. After nine months of trying, my dream to have my first baby was in sight. For the first time in my life I actually NEEDED a bra!
If I thought my boobs were at maximum during pregnancy I was in for a shock! After the birth of my beautiful son I had to stay in hospital for an extra night as he was jaundiced. The labour was short but traumatic with concerns about pre-eclampsia when my blood pressure shot through the roof. He was born using the Ventouse along with an episiotomy. Basically cuts and stitches in the most intimate region of my body. This all happened in the middle of the night and he was born in the early hours. I’m not telling you this to highlight a horror story of labour (because it was just one of those things and if it was that bad would I really have gone on to do it three more times?!) but to help you understand how tired and sore I was having had no sleep that night, then faced with a hungry newborn baby who understood none of that! Why should he wait? He was now the most important and precious person in my life and I had to attend to his needs, however I was feeling.
My first baby was born in a very old Victorian hospital with one long maternity ward. I had the luxury of remaining in the labour suite until around lunchtime that day because they didn’t have a spare bed on the ward. If only I could have stayed there! The ward was busy, noisy and daunting. Also once there the visiting rules kicked in and I could no longer have my family around without restrictions so I was on my own. With a very grumpy baby who I was informed probably had a thumping headache from being suctioned out by the top of his head…..
Sleep was not an option. He just wouldn’t settle. I asked for some help and was told to give him a bit longer. In those days the maternity ward had nursery nurses to help out but, as I found out, the help wasn’t readily offered. In fact, it was wanton reluctance! On ringing my call bell again, a nurse came over and very harshly said “well you didn’t give it very long!”. Up to that point in my life I don’t think I’ve ever felt so vulnerable and alone. If I thought that was the worst bit, I was very much mistaken. I can’t remember the timing now but at some point during my hospital stay an officious nurse came to ‘help’ me feed my baby. This is my memory of that experience – she roughly man-handled my boob and forced my poor baby to latch on, all while tears flooded my face as the ‘baby blues’ and sleep deprivation kicked in with almighty force. There were no gentle, encouraging words, just fierce conviction which felt like she was fulfilling her own personal agenda, not mine. If anything was going to put me off, that moment could have been it! However, this is where my determination to succeed and not be defeated came in handy. In hindsight, I believe that is what kept me going, not a bully of a senior nurse who reminded me of a stern old matron from back in the day. Thankfully they didn’t model ‘Call the Midwife’ (incidentally my favourite programme) on her inhuman, unsympathetic approach. There are ways of supporting new mums and some kindness wouldn’t have gone amiss. However, I would feel bad if I didn’t mention how wonderful the midwives were for all four of my babies. Not everyone has to demonstrate control to get results.
You may think I’ve gone a bit rogue and digressed from my story here but I’m getting there, I promise!
On day three of being a mum, my ‘real’ milk began to arrive. For anyone who doesn’t know, the first form of milk immediately following delivery of a newborn is called Colostrum. The bioactives found in colostrum are essential for a newborn’s health, growth and vitality which is why there are benefits even if you only breastfeed for the first few days. When the milk arrives, they need a bigger container and I can’t lie, I wasn’t expecting needing one the size of a milk churn! I will never forget the day I went to ‘Contessa’ with my best friend to be fitted for my nursing bras. I had grown from a modest 34B to an almost inconceivable 34FF! I thought if I ever put those bras on the washing line the scouts would be queuing up to borrow them for their next camp! We were in hysterics! They can try their hardest but making an underwear garment of that magnitude was never going to be attractive – two inch wide straps to scaffold the ample bosom and zips to allow their escape with the greatest of ease.
Before I continue, I feel I need to say that I don’t want to put anyone off breastfeeding. For me the pros still outweighed the cons. That close, intimate bonding with your baby, no making up bottles and warming them up in the dead of the night, rolling over half asleep and latching the baby on….
However, you do need to have a good level of tolerance and perseverance if breast feeding doesn’t come naturally to you. Often it is the baby who doesn’t get the hang of it for whatever reason. Please remember though, it is NEVER your fault and you are not a ‘quitter’ if you change your mind. Your baby needs you to be happy and relaxed, not stressed and upset. Cracked and bleeding nipples are no fun….
Unfortunately for me I was prone to Mastitis and suffered with every one of my babies. Mastitis is inflammation of the breast and symptoms include local pain and fever. I felt like I had the worst flu – terrible fatigue, aching and shivering. Basically I felt like I’d been hit by a truck! Without antibiotics the most effective way to get through this is to continue feeding. Can you imagine?! As if that wasn’t the last thing I felt like doing. Now, midwives are full of wisdom and I had total faith in mine but imagine my confusion when she asked my husband to buy a cabbage and freeze the leaves! I resisted asking if this was a joke but it wasn’t easy to do that when she advised me to slip the frozen cabbage leaves into my bra! It really does sound like an oldwives’ or, in this case, midwives’ tale but oddly it seems to do the job. The exact reason is not known but women have been using this practice for centuries and, believe me, I’d have tried anything…..
Mastitis can be caused by engorgement which can happen when the milk is not being effectively removed from the breasts and results in a blockage of the milk ducts. This makes complete sense to me as none of my babies were avid feeders, satisfied with small feeds, but I seemed to have enough milk to feed an entire reception class at every break time! I remember turning the bath water white as my milk sprang out like a shower from both breasts without any stimulation (yep, maybe too much information…!). So much so that when I weaned all of my babies off the breast my GP had to prescribe tablets to dry up my milk because it just kept on flowing long after it was needed.
Frustratingly I’m sure for fathers of newborns, the arrival of an abundant cleavage is unlikely to afford them any pleasure as they are quite literally out of bounds during that time. No-one else gets a look-in! Sad but true.
All I can say is, be careful what you wish for……
Hoping for a Happy Ever After 