The (Painful) Truth about Breastfeeding
By: Ayesha Rahman
Tags: Boobs, Motherhood, Breastfeeding, Babies Babies Babies, Breasts

As a wide-eyed first time mother, breastfeeding was in the top three of my “How to be the best mum ever” list. How naive I was into thinking that it would come so easily.

Prior to popping, my husband and I enrolled ourselves into a prenatal class. When it came to the part about breastfeeding, the lady facilitator merely skirted around the issue. If my memory serves me correctly, it was just a couple of images on a presentation slide, which hardly makes for an immersive, knowledgeable nor interactive learning experience. So one can’t fault me for thinking that the deed is simply too easy and didn’t necessitate a more in-depth explanation.

Nobody in my family ever mentioned a word let alone a full-blown story about their breastfeeding experience. I suppose there could be two reasons for this — firstly, I was part of a generation that grew up predominantly on formula milk, of which breastfeeding their young was short lived and secondly (albeit a sad realisation), I’ll touch on a little later.

Being the first among my close comrade of girlfriends to be pregnant, the topic was never brought up. The closest reference I had was an ex-colleague and all I got was that her baby latched on well.. and that was it. Hardly a sharing session.

39 weeks of pregnancy, 5 hours of labour and about 5 pushes later, I was lying down in the labour suite, filled with absolute bliss as my husband and I marveled at the little miracle we had in my arms. As per our birth plan, we had a nurse come in to guide us on how to breastfeed.

There I was, with the help of a lovely nurse, attempting to latch our baby onto me so she can get her first sweet taste of colostrum, and that’s when the realisation slowly started inching its way in — this breastfeeding thing isn’t as easy as I thought. We made numerous attempts with a few hits and many misses, but eventually I pegged it down to our daughter being too sleepy to feed.

The following morning, we were paid a visit by the hospital’s lactation consultant who came in to guide us on how to breastfeed and monitor the baby’s latch. We were then informed that the reason our daughter couldn’t latch well was due to my flat nipples and her tiny mouth, a winning combo for a very difficult breastfeeding experience.

That was the beginning of my breastfeeding woes.

On top of dealing with my sore bits, roller coaster emotions, overwhelming exhaustion and a host of other postpartum extremities, we had our daughter re-admitted to the hospital for jaundice. Seeing her tiny body dressed down to a diaper, lying face down in a transparent cot with UV light above her in the NICU ward broke my heart. For those who aren’t aware, rising levels of jaundice can be attributed to a number of reasons, one of which includes insufficient feeds (whether it be quantity or quality). The idea of breastfeeding on demand is basically feeding whenever the baby cries out in hunger, which happens almost every two hours in the early days, so that the baby can pass more stool which excretes the bilirubin hence lowering down the jaundice level.

We had two options — either we stayed in the hospital for as long as she was admitted or leave her at the hospital and go in either whenever she needed a feed or pump and otherwise leave a supply of milk at the hospital for when we’re unable to make it in time. We opted to stay at the hospital.

What made the experience even more heartbreaking was not being able to sleep in the same room as her as she was placed in the NICU ward. The nurses called me each time she was hungry and I’d have to slowly and painfully make my way to her. It felt like absolute torture.

On our first night in the hospital, that’s when my mature milk came in as I remember waking up in the middle of the night absolutely freezing due to the amount of milk that had leaked through my t-shirt and hospital bed sheets. So began the emergence of said stripper boobs (I swear to you this isn’t as great as it sounds).

Prior to being discharged, our pediatrician asked if we had any issues with our feeding as her jaundice levels could have spiked due to lack of feeds of which I nearly broke down in front of him. Was it me who caused her jaundice to get worse? I felt like a total failure of a mother and was angry at my body for not doing what it was supposed to do.

So many questions ran through my head at this point. Why hadn’t anybody said that in some cases, breastfeeding wouldn’t come so naturally? Why didn’t someone warn me about the pains — sore and cracked nipples, milk blisters, engorgement, mastitis? Why are there so many breastfeeding do’s and don’t’s that I wasn’t made aware of? Why aren’t we mentally and emotionally prepared for what breastfeeding on demand would entail? Why was there no mention of breastfeeding taking 16–18 hours of a day, everyday, for the first month? Why was it that on top of the 16–18 hours of this thing hanging off of me, I also had to put in an additional 12–16 hours of pumping so that I could avoid said engorgement and mastitis? Why was I one of the unlucky ones to be leaking 3–5 ounces of milk on one side, soaking through bed sheets and towels and clothing, whilst my baby was latched onto the other side to feed? I was so angry, frustrated, upset and in some cases, absolutely livid.

The months that came after didn’t come easy.

I remember crying — scratch that, more like weeping —for nights on end each time my baby latched. I remember biting my lip through the pain and discomfort to the point that my lips would bleed. I remember going through countless t-shirts, towels and bed sheets. I remember the odd hours of which I would pump whilst my husband and daughter slept, yearning to get some shut eye myself. I remember waking up in pure anguish from having contracted mastitis whilst on a holiday in London. I remember the endless boob massages I had to do whilst in the shower just to get some relief. I remember seeing no horizon in sight.

Going back to the second reason why I think breastfeeding never came up as a topic of conversation, I have come to the realisation and painful acceptance that it’s because mothers are just simply too ashamed. Of not being able to breastfeed due to an incorrect latch. Of not breastfeeding for the recommended two year duration. Of being pressured to breastfeed when they’d much rather bottle feed — whether it was expressed breast milk or formula. Of the pains they had to go through which would make them seem weak, or worse yet, ungrateful for their little gift of life. Of how they hate breastfeeding to their very core.

Which brings me to this — why are we made to feel this way? Why do we carry so much guilt? Why do we put so much undue pressure on ourselves? All mothers should be supported for their feeding decisions, regardless of what their decisions may be.

There are 2 billion mothers in the world, and yet I felt so alone and lonely. No new mother, or any mother really, should ever have to go through this loneliness. Bless our male partners, but unless their anatomy came with lactating boobs, we can’t blame them for only being able to provide emotional support and neither can we resent them for the lack of physical brunt they’d have to go through should they be able to breastfeed (some days, I really wished my husband could just so he could fully understand me).

As mothers, we often feel too embarrassed to reach out to others for a helping hand. The shame that seeps in for “not knowing everything” runs high, which inhibits us from getting the help that we need. Instead, we need to learn to seek out and support one another through our individual journeys. By support, I don’t mean sharing positive quotes we get off Pinterest, but real life stories about our breastfeeding journeys. The good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly. The actual truth instead of this mambo jambo “Breastfeeding is such a beautiful experience” crap which gets oversold all the freaking time when half of breastfeeding mothers know this is an absolutely unjust and unrealistic view.

Funnily enough, despite all the pains, I stuck with it. I knew it’d be a long road ahead but I was determined (and extremely stubborn) to want to see this breastfeeding thing through. I started opening up to a couple of friends, joined a breastfeeding support group on Facebook, called the midwife from the hospital where I delivered to come over every week for a little over a month just so I can be assure that I was feeding her right, did endless research on all things breastfeeding and read thousands of breastfeeding stories from other mothers around the world. Most importantly, I stopped comparing my journey to someone else’s, which is much easier said than done. It was all a mind-conditioning exercise that took weeks, if not months, of daily self affirmations, a supportive husband and plenty of lip biting and tears.

Today, 13 months in, I’m proud to say that I’m still a breastfeeding mama.

These days, I’m glad to report that most of the physical pains are now an all too distant memory. The journey hasn’t been easy. I feel like I went through hell and back to get to where I am today. Was it worth it? Abso-freaking-lutely.

Here’s me showing off my lying down breastfeeding position

So if you happen to be a breastfeeding mama and need help and support, go and seek it. Talk to the other 2 billion mothers out there. Find a local breastfeeding support group you can join. Check out Motherly for some great reads. Hit up a lactation consultant on Instagram. Speak to your partner about your woes and how you can both manage the journey together, maybe make him stay up with you every once in awhile so he can get the lack of sleep thing down at the very least.

If you need someone to talk to, you’re welcome to knock on my door. Or in today’s case, drop me a direct message because you know, Covid19 and all.