The Nursing Blues
By Julia A. Keirns
(This article published at ChildrensMall.com in January, 2001)
I no longer knew whether I was coming or going. I was so tired that I didn’t even care. I had raised and nursed two other babies, and supposedly should have known what I was doing, right? Wrong.
I had nursed both of my first two babies until they were about nine months and ten months old respectively. Not without problems mind you. I managed to obtain sore nipples and mastitis both times. Both times I wanted to quit, but both times I stuck it out. Thanks mainly to my older sister, who happened to be in charge of the local La Leche League and helped me through. After a few weeks of suffering, I was fine, and the nursing was wonderful.
I seriously considered choosing formula for my third baby, but money being tight and as scarce as it was, I decided to nurse again. After all, nursing provided free food for the baby. What in the world could I have been thinking? Would you believe, on the day he was born, I had viral pneumonia! At the actual time of delivery though, nobody knew it was actually pneumonia. I wasn’t diagnosed until ten days later.
Needless to say, I was sick, I had a fever, I could barely breathe without coughing, I felt lousy, and they were telling me to push. What a beginning, huh? I remembered all too well, the nursing problems I had with the first two babies, and I did not want that to happen again. We came home and tried to settle in. I was confident and careful, and I tried to remember everything I had been taught and learned before. But, like a recurring nightmare, it was beginning to hurt again every time I nursed him. I knew what was coming. I knew what was in store.
This doctor was able to finally give me an answer though. She said I had inverted nipples. My mother kept telling me they were too big. My sister said I needed to “toughen them up.” Toughen them up! I thought – Ha. They were already cracked and bleeding and still taking a beating. How much tougher do you want them to get?
I remember cringing every time I had to nurse him. In the middle of the night I would cry when he cried. He cried because he was hungry. I cried because I was the one who had to feed him. I kept hoping the soreness would go away. It finally did with the first two – with medicine of course – but no such luck this time. When he was ten days old, we went back to the doctor for a check-up. Sure enough, I not only had viral pneumonia, but I had a bad case of mastitis on both sides. What more could a new mom ask for?
I was fortunate enough that my doctor was able to have the visiting nurses come directly to my home instead of admitting me to the hospital. I was put on a home I.V. of penicillin that I had to administer to myself around the clock. Then, would you believe, on top of all that, my beautiful, innocent baby boy developed a serious case of the hives from the penicillin? I was told to quit nursing him immediately and bottle feed him. Thank goodness I thought. Someone was actually telling me I had to quit nursing. I was somewhat thrilled at first. But I found out the hard way, that the worst thing you can do to yourself when you already have mastitis is to quit nursing, cold turkey, and my nipples were so sore I wasn’t able to use a pump.
Well, needless to say, this baby was stubborn and would not take a bottle. He knew what he wanted. He would force that bottle nipple out of his mouth constantly. I finally had to give in and nurse him, for my sake and his. We survived – pain and hives and all.
His hives cleared up, although he is still allergic to penicillin. I healed up and I ended up nursing him the longest of all three babies. It is quite a wonderful thing when it doesn’t hurt. We struggled through two more bouts of pneumonia and penicillin in the first year alone, but we made it.
Now that I can see clearly, and I don’t have to look through the pain, there was nothing more satisfying to me than nursing all my babies. All three times I had problems. All three times I had sore nipples and mastitis. Whether it was my fault or my nipples and breasts, all three times I was glad I stuck it out and muddled my way through it. Today my children are much older. Sometimes I must remind myself of the love I felt inside, while I was holding them in the infamous football hold, and looking down upon them as they nursed (with no pain of course), Because today, I tend to forget just how sweet and innocent they once were, and I wish I could get them back into a football hold for reasons other than to nurse them!