Allegorical Faith

So far on my spiritual journey, I've come to realize and accept that there isn't one religion which will fit me perfectly, and that's OK.  Since one of the aspects of religion that I find life-giving is the emotional response I have when entrenched in it, I decided several years ago that I will stay within Catholicism, since this is the faith that I grew up with, it's the faith I'm most comfortable with, it's the faith I understand most (not to say that I understand it totally!  I don't think anyone does!), and it's the faith that brings me the most comfort emotionally and spiritually.

So when I came around the bend of my most recent crisis of faith, I knew that my resolution would not involve converting into any other religion, or even joining any other (non Catholic) church.  I still looked into different faiths, as I have in the past, but with a different motive in mind.  I long believed that at their core, all religions are one.  In high school, I presented my insights to a friend of mine by having her look at a doll and describe it to me, while I did the same while sitting on the opposite side of the doll.  Not surprisingly, we had different perspectives, and yet the doll was one and the same.  In various Eastern religions, the story of the blind men and the elephant accomplishes what I tried to accomplish with the doll.  (You can find the original story here.)

Several years ago, I came across a website that so enthralled me that I read its entirety with captivation, and then contacted the author to thank him.  Unfortunately, since there wasn't follow up in the form of an in-real-life community where I could continue this angle of the Christian faith, over time it lost its grip on me.  I never forgot it, but it has been hard to apply it in my daily life.

Maybe I'm going to have a second chance now to unearth a meaningful version of Christianity.  I recently have been reading through another website which reminded me of the first website encounter and built on it.

The nutshell version of what I've taken away from both of these websites:  What Jesus taught and what became orthodox Christian dogma are not one and the same.  What Jesus taught is simple: compassion.  In essence, it's the goal of every religion.

With this in mind, I realized why I've been having such a hard time settling comfortably for a longer stretch of time within any one religious expression.  If it's not the dogma, then it's the practice that just seems so busy, so chaotic, so messy and confusion.  Underneath it all, I know it's as simple as "I Am".  Perhaps it's my own fault for wanting to assign labels to experiences and to put words where only silence comes close enough to the truth.

On Justice Before Charity, I was stopped dead in my track when I read these words about the Trinity, the very concept that has been giving me the most trouble on my quest for "pure monotheism":

"Basil's teaching of the Trinity was not meant to explain and define God, but rather to emphasize that God could not be explained and defined. God is a mystery. How can there be one infinite God with three separate, infinite parts? This teaching was not created in order to limit God, but rather to liberate our conceptions of God from the Arians who wanted to constrain God to a distinct, describable being. The Trinity is not literally true--it cannot be--but is a beautiful reminder that any conception we have of God--however helpful--ultimately falls short of describing God."  (emphasis mine)

Believe it or not, this wasn't new information.  How many times have I heard that God is a mystery?  And yet I kept hearing the Trinity discussed so nonchalantly, as if it really were a literally true expression of God.  Seeing the above words, in context with all of the other information I was picking up on this and the other website, finally helped me distinguish between "what is" and "what is taught".

Organized religion developed with the masses in mind.  Some would say it was to help the common person relate to God.  Others would say it was to enable the powers that be to control the masses.  I'm convinced it was both.  Understanding religion as a historical and sociological phenomenon liberates me from the literalism that has plagued my spiritual faith development.

Therefore, I'm embarking on recontextualizing the tenets of my faith within an allegorical framework, where I no longer allow them to hinder me, but rather allow them to accomplish what they are there for in the first place - to point me in the direction of truth.

A Buddhist teaching about the purpose of religious practice (which can be found here) goes something like this:

"A person is with a small child who has never seen the moon before. The person points towards the moon, and says, "Look, the moon." The child could very well conclude that the person's finger is the moon. But the child should look to where the finger is pointing to see the moon for himself."  (emphasis mine)

The first obstacle that I had to overcome before finally coming face to face with this conclusion was that I have been brainswashed with the ultimate guilt-trip.  Even writing this here now stirs in me the words I heard so frequently that were meant to put me on "the right path".  What are these words?  "Jesus died for you and me."  Think about it.  If someone DIES so that you may LIVE, then you are forever indebted to them and eternally grateful, right?  Or at least that's the decent thing to do.  This concept is so emotionally charged, that it was difficult for me to dig through all of the implications and insinuations and finally ask myself: Is this even true?

I'm not questioning whether Jesus was a historical person or whether he was crucified for threatening the sociopolitical status quo with his teachings.  I think these are facts beyond contestation and don't require faith.  It's when his suffering and death are directly linked to me, when I am essentially blamed for this horrible death Jesus endured, that the guilt reflex is activated.  I think the guilt reflex is what keeps a lot of people from questioning or seeking beyond what they are told.

During my most recent research, I kept telling myself (as if to force myself to believe it) that I love Jesus, that I want to follow him, but that I just don't believe God has one unique incarnation.  Either we focus on God being supreme and hence above our human existence, or on God being universal and thus within us all. (Hence my issues with the Trinity, since I kept taking it literally.)  Finally, I took an honest look at my life and thought; how can I say that I love someone that I don't really know?

Now, I know plenty of Christians who would agree with this last point, and stress the importance of a personal relationship with Christ.  I know the drill - read the Bible, pray, and mingle with like-minded individuals in order to reiterate that this Christ I say I have a relationship with is indeed a real person, since my fellow Christians also know him and love him and follow him.  With all due respect, I'm not convinced that simply reading about a person I've never met, and then attuning myself to his spirit is the same as truly knowing someone.  I can know "of" him.  I can say that I like him based on what little I do know about him.  But can I really say that I "love" him in the same way that I love a relative or even a good friend? 

I'm getting side-tracked.  The point I was making is that I paid lip service to wanting to follow Jesus because I love him when in fact I don't know him.  I know of him, and I like what I do know about him.  And I do want to follow his teachings, because the teachings I'm aware of that have been attributed to him really resonate with my inner sense of morality.  But I can't say that I want to follow him "because I love him".  That's not being honest with myself.  I also can't say that he is more to me than a good teacher.  The argument I've heard is that Jesus EITHER is who he (supposedly) said he is, OR he was mentally unstable, OR purposefully deceitful.  Now I see that there is one other option: the information we have about what Jesus actually did say (about himself and everything else) is incomplete and/or has been skewed in the process of being written down.  This last option finally frees me from the guilt reflex and allows me to indeed claim Jesus as my teacher without necessarily buying into Christian orthodoxy.

Smaller Spaces

We recently sold our house and downsized to an apartment within minutes of Alex's work. We are now on one level, as opposed to three in the house. This is  proving to be easier for us, as before it was a bit of a hassle navigating back and forth between the kitchen, front door, laundry area, and the upstairs bedrooms. The first couple of months after our daughter was born, we realized that we were only using the upstairs as our living space. There was no need for all the other square footage. If we could just get the kitchen and laundry on the same level as the bedrooms, we would be set. And so we are. But in addition, we're finding the more intimate space, well, more intimate.

We tend to want to put things back where they belong right after use, where before we could just find more space to move to, and things tended to pile up. It's also been easier to clean up, especially the bathroom, which is now the only one we have, so there's no excuse of cleaning "only the guest bathroom". 

Of course there have been a few sacrifices. While I can't complain about laundry access, our washer is tiny compared to what I'm used to. What used to be a single load is now two or three. But even this isn't all bad. I used to bemoan the "wasted" wash cycle on our whites or Maya's cloth diapers, but now they are just the right size for a single load.

And since we are in an apartment on the second floor, taking the dogs out is a proper chore. We can't just let them out in the fenced back yard anymore. So we, especially Alex, are finally forced to walk them, thus getting some built in exercise. What's more, we are facing the community dog park, so not only does it not have to be a planned monthly trip in the car, we can take them to socialize with other dogs when we see someone there. Alex enjoys this excuse to get to know our neighbors.

Too much stuff.

Time to dig ourselves out.

Alex with our dogs at dog park.

 Some people may question our choice to forgo home ownership. I have to admit that I, too, have entertained the thought of losing some sort of sense of subconscious superiority. But we have walked to a restaurant for lunch, and then stopped to get some groceries on the way home. Alex has come home for lunch to get an extra baby fix with Maya. And he regularly gets more sleep and uses less gas during the week. Our quality of life is better in this smaller space. We like to  think this is a Franciscan attitude, simplicity and all. 

Perhaps that has been the biggest obstacle for us...finding a new church home. To be fair, after experiencing the community of St. Francis, the bar for any new church has been set pretty high. But we are open to where God wants us to be, even if it is easier for one of us (Alex) than for the other (me). As long as we have each other, though, we will reap the full benefits of downsizing and moving, soon.

Maya being welcomed into our faith community by Fr. Kevin, at our old church.

Breastfeeding Frustrations

After going through all the pain and tears of the early weeks of trying to breastfeed, I thought that if I could just get to a point where it doesn't HURT for Maya to latch on, I'd be putting her on the boob all the time.  I actually said that to my lactation consultant, who assessed Maya and told me her low palate and lip tie are contributing to a shallow latch, showed me some positioning adjustments, and recommended OTC supplements to help clear out the suspected yeast infection caused by 3 weeks on antibiotics that my midwives all but poo-pooed.  The next day, I kid you not, I started nursing Maya more and more, without pain.  This past week, we went all 7 days without formula, and with only one or two bottles of expressed milk each day.  Success, right?

Yes and no.  Apparently, by getting what I wanted, Maya is loving the boob, prefers it over her binky, and wants to get on every hour all day long.  (Thankfully, she is sticking to her two longer stretches of sleep at night, which I LOVE.)  For three days now, I have gotten very frustrated at not being able to complete anything on my to-do list because Maya doesn't let me put her down.  Even her favorite swing that she loves so much is no good in the day time.  I can barely fix something for myself to eat, never mind finishing laundry, getting through all the dishes, or anything else.  She doesn't even want to be in the Moby carrier for some reason, unless we're dancing, which perhaps is good in that I only have about 10 more pounds to lose to be back at my pre-pregnancy weight, but still, if I'm dancing, I'm not doing chores!

And so I've had to really consider WHY is breastfeeding so important to me?  What IS the big deal?  Have I totally been brainwashed by the La Leche League subculture that, to be fair, is only trying to return breastfeeding to its rightful place in society?  Do I subconsciously feel like less of a woman if I don't breastfeed?  Am I worried about being judged? 

Perhaps the idea to breastfeed started with the most common reasons to do so:

1. it's free  (it hasn't been, it's cost me over $500 in medical bills (copays for breast surgeon and antibiotics), lactation consultant fees, nipple cream, nipple shield, nipple shells, supplements for yeast, breast pump, rental of baby scale and breast pump, and one nursing bra and one nursing tank)

2. it's easy/convenient (it hasn't been, it's been first and foremost painful, damaged my nipple, then my breast from the abscess, not to mention the frustration of it all)

3. it's environmentally friendly (this it is, unless you need the help of pumps and bottles and various other gadgets, like I've perused.  Then, is it really any different than formula feeding?)

4. it helps you bond (it didn't in the beginning, when I would nurse in tears, dreading the next feeding.  I distinctly remember when I broke down to supplement with formula in a bottle the night after a nipple piece went missing and mastisis set in, that I said to husband that I don't want to miss enjoying my daughter because I'm so fixated on trying to breastfeed).  Although I will say that now that the pain is under control, even if my supply doesn't get taken care of, I do enjoy comfort nursing with Natalia.

5. immunities/antibodies - this is probably the only one I can't argue with, but I don't consciously feel it as a big enough motivator to go through everything I've gone through.  Maybe subconsciously it is? 

Or is it possible that subconsciously I am wanting to connect to womankind on some primal level, knowing that by breastfeeding, I nurture my child the way women throughout the world and throughout history have done so and continue to do so?  Do I see it as some great equalizer that I am wanting to tap into?  Maybe.

As it stands, I am considering dumping all preconceived notions of why other women breastfeed, why the "experts" say that I should breastfeed, even why I used to want to breastfeed, and simply look at the future of breastfeeding in my home.  Since I already have a breast pump and bottles, it adds no cost for me to continue using them.  And since the inability to put my daughter down and get anything done is anything but convenient, I'll take the "hassle" of warming up and cleaning bottles that are so bemoaned in circles where exclusive breastfeeding is highly encouraged.  That will be a whole heck of a lot less inconvenient than what I've got going on right now.  And without the frustration of trying to live up to some self-imposed ideal, I'll be better equipped to bond with my daughter.

So perhaps my plan going forward will be to pump my breast milk and give Maya bottles, which will ensure she is getting the immunity she needs, but also a decent amount of milk in one sitting, reducing the number of feedings.  Nursing can be reserved for nighttime feedings, since after several hours of no feeding or pumping, I generally have enough milk to satisfy Maya for several more hours, during which she sleeps! And let's not forget comfort nursing, which I can offer to her now that pain is not standing in our way. 

After all, there has to be a reason, and a good reason at that, to breastfeed one's child. If the cons outweigh the pros, the purpose of breastfeeding has lost its meaning.  I didn't have a child to breastfeed.  I had a child so that I could parent, and nourishing my daughter is only one of the many ways that I parent her.  Put another way, breastfeeding has become an idol of sorts for me, and it stops today.

What's so great about "Natural"?

Having gone through fertility treatment in order to bring our daughter Maya into the world, I felt drawn to natural childbirth as a sort of equalizer.  I often hear romanticized rhetoric about children being conceived in love, yet generally these refer very specifically to the ... marital embrace, if you will.  During our childbirth preparation classes, whenever someone would allude to doing "what got the baby in" as a way to help get the baby out (sex), I couldn't help but notice a slight twinge of disappointment.  Even though no one needed to know that we had to jump through various hurdles in order to conceive, I knew, and that always seemed to remind me of what some people say about how our daughter came to us - namely, that it's "unnatural".  But really, what's so great about things that are natural over things that are not?

We are born in our birthday suits - this is natural.  Yet I don't hear anyone, not even avid nudists, complaining that everyone is going against what nature intended by covering up their bodies with cloth and linens instead of going a la natural.  I'm thinking in particular here about religious folk who, over the years, have given me grief about embracing modern medicine and technology in an effort to have a child.  It's not the way God intended, I'd hear.  (Ok, technically, I wouldn't hear this; I'd read it, predominantly online.)  If God had intended for us to have children, He'd have said "poof", and there Maya would be.  But since He didn't (they'd claim), we had no business putting forth any effort outside of the bedroom to become parents, because it wasn't "natural".

Phoey, I say to that.  With that line of thinking, giving birth likewise ought to be natural.  And frankly, when the epidural was first introduced, there were religious folk putting forth exactly this argument - that it was going against God's will to try to eliminate the pain of childbirth.  They quoted Genesis 3:16 as "proof", where God says to Eve: “I will greatly multiply Your pain in childbirth, In pain you will bring forth children."  But I think this only means that we have to work that much harder to get what we want (in this case, a less painful childbirth).  Frankly, the added effort and the millenia that it took for humanity to arrive at anesthesia of any sort is punishment enough, I think.

Very few ultra religious folk give a second glance to a woman's use of pain medication during labor anymore.  Some segments may encourage natural childbirth, but few consider opting out of the natural experience to be a sin.  So if delivering the baby to the outside world can be done with the assistance of modern medicine and technology, why can't the same be true for bringing the baby into the womb in the first place?

It took experiencing natural childbirth for me to look back and question if it really did equalize anything for me.  I cannot say that my husband and I simply did what was natural for a married couple to do, and that our physical expression of love for one another manifested itself in the form of our daughter.  Yet I can say that our emotional, intellectual, and spiritual love for each other did indeed manifest in the form of our daughter.  Is physical love the only kind of natural love?  No!  I won't argue that God's plan of 1+1=3 is anything other than divine.  Indeed, it's a beautiful demonstration of the mystery of the Trinity.  But that doesn't mean there is no room for those of us who have been left out of this equation to nonetheless experience God's love in the form of a child.

But to be honest, it's not the fact that I had my daughter without medication that brought about this observation; it's our struggles with breastfeeding.  

Maya is now 6 weeks old, and while nursing is no longer the gut-wrenching pain that it was in the beginning, the challenges have not resolved themselves.  Due to the damage that started the whole fiasco (described here), my milk supply has been unable to keep up with my daughter's demand.  Every time I have to rush around trying to warm up her bottle, I bemoan having to make her cry when nature didn't intend for it to be so.

If I were feeding  my daughter the "natural" way, there would be no need to warm anything up, no preparation time, no cleaning of bottles.  I wouldn't have to guess how much she was hungry for, or even if it was hunger that prompted her to want to nurse.  I'd just offer her the breast.  That's the way nature intended it.  And this is the message I hear everywhere I turn.  Don't get me wrong, I know that breast milk is the obvious choice for babies too young for solid food.  Yet it's not the obvious choice for every mom.  There are plenty of modern day obstacles that make exclusive breastfeeding nearly impossible.  (For one thing, it requires no separation between mother and baby for 6-12 months.  With most American women in the workforce, this ideal immediately becomes problematic.)

I lamented introducing formula, grieving my inability to be my daughter's only source of nutrition.  After all, that's what is natural.  I lamented it again recently, when trying to reintroduce breastfeeding after weeks of pumping, when it became clear that my supply didn't keep up with her demand. Formula is unnatural, right?  Feeding a baby with a bottle is also unnatural.  Expressing my milk with the use of a breast pump... unnatural.  It may be OK to milk a cow, but a human?!

As the list of "unnatural" decisions I've introduced into my daughter's life started to add up, I finally took a step back and asked  myself - so what?  So what if these things are unnatural?  And I'd argue to the contrary.  Bottles, formula, breast pumps - these are tools that human ingenuity invented to assist us when challenges come up.  It takes more effort, even more money, to not breastfeed a baby exclusively.  But does that make it unnatural?  Does using utensils instead of one's hands make a meal unnatural? It takes more effort to set the table, then wash the dishes, rather than just dig into whatever pot dinner is in with one's bare hands.  Yet no one bemoans how much more natural finger food is!

My conclusion?  Natural choices have their place.  But if one needs to be convinced to do something, doesn't that automatically make said decision unnatural for the individual in question?  Maybe our focus shouldn't be on isolated choices we make, but on the bigger picture. Let's enjoy motherhood in it's entirety, and not only bits and pieces of it that have been pre-approved by any group claiming to have "the" answers. Let's appreciate the forest as a whole, and not get fixated on individual trees; it's only natural.

Countering the Pros of Breastfeeding (a minor vent)

Breastfeeding advocates claim the following advantages of exclusive breastfeeding:

• Mom will lose weight faster (I was just at a La Leche League meeting where a mom of a 6 month old was complaining about how her diet and exercise efforts are making zero difference in her effort to lose weight.  She has been exclusively breastfeeding her baby since day one, yet whether she pigs out or watches what she eats, she is not losing any weight.
• It will save money.  I have personally spend $500 already in trying to fix our breastfeeding relationship.  On what, you ask? A baby weight and medical-grade breast pump rental; the purchase of an emergency breast pump to ease engorgement; various supplements to help with yeast and lactation support; medical co-pays for three visits with a breast surgeon to drain breast abscesses; co-pay for nipple cream, a nipple shield and nipple shells to help with sore nipples; a supplemental nursing system (SNS) to supplement baby at the breast; a nursing bra and tank; breastfeeding books; and a nursing pillow and nursing pads (ok, these were a gift so not my own expense).  Had I simply opted for formula right off the bat, I would have several months’ worth of nutrition for my little one.  As it stands, I’m paying for formula to supplement on top of all the other expenses.
• Baby will have less ear infections.  My sister was exclusively breastfed for over a year, and she endured recurrent ear infections.
• Mom has a decreased risk of breast cancer.  I recently watched a video discussion of breastfeeding, and one lady on there, who had exclusively breastfed three children, had to then undergo a mastectomy.  
• It’s more eco-friendly than formula.  In my case, it is not, as I have to pump, and with that comes the use of various plastics and glass.  I’ve also had to purchase a kit to go with my rental pump, which now has no home because it doesn’t fit the pump I got through my insurance.  
• It’s more convenient.  Yes and no. As I ride in the back seat with my baby while hubby drives, if baby gets hungry, I can simply feed her by bottle without having to pull over and get her out of the seat.  It’s not an ideal scenario for feeding, I know, because I do generally practice paced bottle-feeding to support the little breastfeeding that we do get to do.  But the option is there.  Also, being able to bottle feed in public rather than struggling the way we do at home is a huge plus. 
• It’s easier.  When you’re in pain, what you’re doing does not appear to be easy.  Believe me.
• It encourages bonding.  Ah, I think this is the one that really got under my skin, as it implies that without breastfeeding, bonding will suffer.  Tell this to adoptive moms!  I hear this so much that it’s hard to convince myself that all the other attachment practices we do, such as skin-to-skin contact, holding the baby, babywearing, rooming in... that all of these cower in comparison to breastfeeding.  Sucks when breastfeeding is the one thing we can’t do.  Don’t all the others count?!

I am amazed at how ingrained this notion of “breast is best” has become in my psyche, that in spite of having all of this outlined right in front of me, a part of me continues to grieve and hope we can still reclaim exclusive breastfeeding soon.  I get that it’s important, but it’s not more important than my enjoying my baby and simply doing what I can with what I’ve got. This won’t be the only time I’m unable to provide 100% of what my daughter needs.  I can’t let that make me question my abilities as a mother.  

Birth/Breastfeeding Connection? (2 of 2)

As it would turn out, while my little girl’s being small (5 pounds, 10 ounces) may have been beneficially for me during birth, it would prove a stumbling block to establishing a good latch.  Her mouth just seemed to be too small to take in the appropriate amount of the areola, nibbling instead on the nipple itself.  Furthermore, having come a couple of weeks earlier than expected, she fell into a category no one mentioned before – near-term baby.  As such, her rooting motions were quite jerky, and her sucking not very well coordinated.  Add to that a mom traumatized by early nipple damage, resulting in an inability to boldly and quickly maximize the few nanoseconds baby’s mouth stays open before attempting to suckle, and painfully sore nipples are bound to happen. 

Although everyone not directly involved with La Leche League claimed that a painful beginning (days? weeks? months?) was part of the deal, I had a hard time believing that my threshold for pain was that much lower than all of these other moms’. The aforementioned nipple damage traumatized me quite a bit. It was the last straw on a heap of a week’s worth of painful nursing sessions.  Contrary to what I knew had to happen once I began lactating, I was so afraid of anything coming anywhere near my damaged breast that I neither nursed nor expressed any milk from it for 12 hours.  When the scab came off in the bath, I was able to attempt to express milk using the manual pump I had “just in case”. But because my milk had just started coming in the day before, I spent two hours in all sorts of crazy positions, trying to maximize the amount I got with the help of gravity, yielding just enough for one feeding – by miniature bulb syringe – before realizing that I simply could not keep up with my little one’s needs.

First bottle feeding, day of trauma and drama :(

Utterly disappointed in myself for my inability to nourish my child the way nature intended, I had to succumb to allowing formula into the picture.  We had received some formula samples in the mail which I had gathered to donate, since formula did not fit into the ideal I was trying to establish in my early days of parenting.  But now I was so thankful that there was a way I could feed my baby, even if it was no thanks to me.  Alex, bless his heart, offered to take the entire night shift (since this became a possibility with the introduction of formula into the picture) so that I could sleep and thereby try to recuperate a bit from the day’s drama.

The next day, I found my damaged breast to be severely engorged, leaving me with a fever, chills, and later night sweats.  I proceeded to nurse my baby on the one good breast during the day, leaving the night feedings to my husband.  The following day, I began to wear cabbage leaves in my bra to soothe the heat and pain that I felt in my damaged breast, and tried to express milk with my manual pump.  I was convinced that between that and the rest I was getting, everything would just fix itself.  It wasn’t until four days after the damage first occurred that I finally called my midwives.  I was no longer just dealing with painful engorgement; I had a breast infection.

That whole day was spent trying to follow the midwife’s instructions for how to best begin the healing process.  After trying to no avail to find a medical supply store in our area that (a) sold electric breast pumps and (b) would bill our insurance, Alex drove around town picking up my antibiotics and nipple ointment.  As it finally turned out (thanks to the insight offered by whoever answered the phone at the lactation office I called), the idea that we could purchase a breast pump and have it go through our insurance was a rouse.  In fact, we had to order through our insurance and wait for it to ship in 4 – 6 weeks.  Well, I needed the pump that same day.  And so we paid for an electric pump out of pocket and I began pumping more efficiently.

However, over the weekend, I noticed one stubborn area of my breast where the redness and bumpiness was not going away.  Convinced that it was a blocked duct that wouldn’t go away (I tried warm compresses, massage, even putting an electric toothbrush to the area), I called my midwife back and asked about a solution I had read in The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding – an ultrasound that could break down the old milk proteins in the ducts and get the milk flowing again.  Since my two week postpartum visit was a few days away, the midwife preferred to wait until then before sending me in for an ultrasound which she wasn’t convinced would work. 

The night before my appointment, as I was flipping through The Womanly Art for the umpteenth time, I came across a small section about an “uncommon” problem called a breast abscess.  I had Alex read it to see if he thought – as I did – that perhaps I didn’t have a stubborn blocked duct; perhaps I had a breast abscess.  We both agreed that it was a possibility, and it was confirmed the next day.  My midwife scheduled an ultrasound to confirm her diagnosis for the following day.  From the ultrasound, I was sent directly to a breast surgeon who could drain the abscesses (turns out there were three!) that same day.

Over the weekend, there was noted improvement, though a lump remained, albeit somewhat smaller and less discolored.  At my follow up visit, I had the remaining abscess drained again, this time via an incision that would be left open to allow for ongoing drainage.  (It’s as creepy as it sounds.)  I also found out that the abscesses were resistant to the antibiotic I was on was.  However, my options of an alternative were a bit limited.  I’m allergic to penicillin, and I needed something that was safe for continuing to breastfeed. This left three options, all IV-based.  And so I ended up with an antibiotic that wasn’t quite as effective but still better than what I had been on up until that point, with the instructions to pump and dump my milk for the first few hours after taking each daily dose.

However, since the week I had already been on a supposedly breastfeeding-safe antibiotic caused Maya to have pure liquid poop (I’m not talking runny the way you’d expect on breastmilk, but basically what looked like brown pee), Alex and I agreed that it was best to eliminate it from her diet until I was no longer on an antibiotic.

It has been a week since I breastfed my daughter.  This brings tears to my eyes, in spite of the fact that often times, nursing her literally brings tears to my eyes as well.  But I’ve found the silver lining in this challenge.  While the pro-exclusive breastfeeding folks would have me believe that I am – and ought to be – the center of my baby’s universe if I know what’s good for her, I in fact believe that God has used this time to humble me instead.  I have to share my daughter with formula, bottles, and pacifiers, because pain prevents me from being able to fulfill all of her suckling needs on my own.  And this helps me to remember that Maya is a child of God first and foremost, and I have merely been tasked with the responsibility and privilege of raising her.

Here I am experimenting with a couple of holds to try to keep breastfeeding.

Football/clutch hold. For some reason it helped to stand up.

The whole first week we nursed in the clutch/football hold, as it is supposed to work better for tiny babies.

The cross cradle hold on the Brest Friend pillow.  Supposed to help by freeing my outside hand to hold breast in a "C" and observe her latch.

Yesterday I took my last dose of antibiotic.  Today, we began nursing at the breast again.  So far, it would seem that allowing my nipples to rest and giving Maya practice on the bottle and pacifier seems to have helped!  (We use paced bottle feeding to keep the flow similar to breastfeeding, ie. slow.)  She wasn’t too keen on Leftie (the traumatized breast), but she latched onto Rightie (you guessed it - the breast that had been holding down the fort on its own) no problem.  I kept trying to check her latch because it didn’t hurt going on, but it seemed fine, and she nursed for a half hour before falling asleep and letting go.  My nipple came out not looking like lipstick for the first time!  I immediately put on the nipple ointment, and it is sore right now.  But what I learned over these last couple of weeks is not to try to be a hero and to find that happy balance where I’m giving my daughter my best while still enjoying the miracle and blessing that she is.

Birth/Breastfeeding Connection? (1 of 2)

One of the main reasons I chose to have a natural home birth was to maximize a solid start to a successful breastfeeding relationship with my baby.  Everything I read about the multitude of interventions that are common in hospital births seemed to point to the beginning of the end of breastfeeding for mothers and babies who were “drugged” during birth.  And since I didn’t trust myself to turn down interventions in a time as vulnerable as labor, I opted for a homebirth instead.

  

Mine is not a story seen through rose-colored glasses, though.  While the convenience and psychological comfort of giving birth to my daughter at home cannot be surpassed, I will not sugar-coat the physical pain of active labor contractions, transition, and pushing.  Having “been there, done that”, as I read over descriptions of natural childbirth now, I’m able to see the descriptions in a new light and realize that I made a decision based purely on objective intellect.  My higher education background would have me believe that this is the mark of authentic truth-seeking; only objectivity leads to facts.  However, my recent experiences fly directly in the face of this assumption.  As Albert Einstein once said, “information is not knowledge.”

Only now do I notice key words and phrases like “chances”, “more/less likely”, “tend to”, “may/might/can”.  These are vague descriptors at best.  Did I seriously stake my entire birth and early postpartum experience on mere potentiality?  There is a chance of an unnecessary cesarean section at a hospital birth.  Hospital births are more likely to result in prolonged or even stalled labor. Mothers and babies who experience unmedicated birth tend to go on to have strong, successful breastfeeding relationships.  The epidural may lead to other, unwanted interventions.  Note how none of these are actual facts.  None of these are universals or guarantees.  Perhaps I’m the only one who got caught up in the ideals of a natural birth and exclusive breastfeeding.  Now I see that that’s the problem – I allowed an idea (an ideology, actually) to make my decisions. 

Gentle birth sounded so enticing, precisely because I assumed that it would be gentle for me, too.  And what can be more natural and empowering at the same time as providing your baby’s nourishment all by yourself?  I assumed that in order to fit in with a group I identify with, I had to ascribe to every single one of that group’s principles, whether they be spoken or presumed.

My drug-free, natural home birth, which lasted just under 19 hours total (including 13 hours of early labor) seemed to go by in a flash.  Time seemed to stand still when I was in the midst of it all.  The truly difficult part lasted roughly 6 hours. My contractions did not fit the pattern I had read about and learned about in childbirth class, and even the midwife on call, whom I consulted several times, did not think there was any hurry. But everything changed rather quickly.

Since our little one was coming nearly 2 weeks earlier than expected, Alex hadn’t yet finalized everything at work before taking family leave. We agreed that since birth was most likely another day away, he should go into work right away rather than in the early days after baby’s arrival.  And so I labored alone for about 6 hours, during which time I moved into active labor and my water broke two hours before Alex returned.

Perhaps it was this confusion and time of solitary labor that prevented my birth experience from being as gentle and empowering as I had imagined, or perhaps I just set my expectations too high.  Either way, in the throes of these quite literal labor pains, I was not thinking about breastfeeding my baby.  I wasn’t motivated by the fact we had waited to find out the sex of our baby until after birth.  It made no difference to me that transition and pushing were the shortest parts of labor. (These were all nuggets of insight I had read that were supposed to ease childbirth for me but didn’t.)  In fact, I wasn’t thinking about the future or the past, nothing other than getting through the current contraction.  I don’t think I’ve ever been more focused in my life.  I am constantly pondering what might have been or what could happen. But during labor, I was no more and no less than a laboring woman. 

Taking a break from pushing.

Maya getting weighed old-school.

To be fair, my plan against interventions did work.  I never thought of requesting a transfer to the hospital, where I could ask for an epidural; I simply worked through each contraction and waited for the ordeal to be over.  I knew there was no way around it.  But is this really the gentle birth I had imagined and hoped for?  Perhaps it was gentler for my baby.  Though I wonder just how gentle life needs to be for a little person who screams at the top of her lungs during a diaper change, leading anyone within ear shot but to assume that the child is in dire need of immediate assistance.

When I finally held my daughter in my arms for the first time (not yet knowing that she was a girl!), I did not think any of the crunchy poetics I had read about from other natural birth moms.  I did not think for one second that it was worth it, or that I’d do it all again if I had to.  It was over; that’s all that mattered.  Now my daughter was here, and I just remember thinking how tiny she was.  There was a definite disconnect between her presence and the manner of her arrival.  Other than giving me bragging rights, I did not feel particularly empowered by the natural birth.  And as I’d learn over the following days and weeks, the experience did not naturally (pun intended) lead to establishing a smooth breastfeeding relationship, either.