Laurita Dianita

Reflections and art on the topics of public health, social justice, and love

Archive for the ‘breastfeeding’ tag

Digital Story: Acceptance

without comments

I have been writing a blog post for a very long time that I have not yet completed and posted because, well, it’s hard to finish things like that with a lively 7  1/2-month-old baby and a full-time job. But it is coming. I think.

Recently, however, I was blessed with the time and space and guidance from Margaret David and Stefanie Cromarty to create a digital story about “Healthy Beginnings” (a maternal child health/family health focus) as part of the Alaska Native Center for Digital Storytelling. Here is my digital story — a story about breastfeeding, about how it was much harder that I thought and how scared and ashamed I felt. It’s a story about practicing acceptance in order to move through this fear and shame to get the help I needed. It’s about how acceptance and asking for help allowed me to better know my daughter and love her.

Written by admin

September 9th, 2014 at 7:08 am

Posted in health

Tagged with , , ,

On Breastfeeding

without comments

Oscar (avephoto.com) took this picture our first time eating out at a restaurant

The first few days of breast-feeding, I kept asking myself, “Why is it that the female of the human species has not evolved to have more arms?” The conclusion I came up with is that we haven’t needed them because humans are a cooperative and inventive species. Sarah Stevens, the lactation consultant at Geneva Woods Birth Center, said she thinks it’s because we have traditionally lived in tribes and had aunties and grandmas and sisters to help.

I think often of this help, of what it looks like today and what it may have looked like over our time on this planet. We have survived as a species because women have breastfed. For most of our existence, there was no alternative. And yes, there were wetnurses, but this was not available or affordable to most women. We have survived because women have breastfed successfully.

This fact might not seem remarkable at all, but the more I muddle through and learn in this process and the more I talk with other mamas and with those who work in the field of supporting mamas, the more evident it is that to survive, women have had to teach and support one another a considerable amount. Breastfeeding is not as easy as I thought, and struggling with breast-feeding related challenges is far more emotionally charged than I thought.

Breast is Best

 

I should preface anything else I write about the difficulties by saying that I don’t mean to scare anyone away from breastfeeding. It is absolutely the best choice for babies and mamas and families. It is free, it is convenient, it helps prevent postpartum depression, and it helps mom and baby bond deeply and form secure attachments, which will affect baby’s lifelong mental and physical health. It gives the child mom’s immunity to diseases and provides specific and responsive immunity to germs that baby encounters in the world. It protects against allergies, helps prevent obesity in the future, and populates the child’s gut with healthy microbiota. It also helps the child’s brains develop and contributes to higher IQs. Also, it’s just awesome—we can create the most nutritious food in the world from our bodies in whatever quantity our babies need! What a superpower!

But It’s Not Always Easy…

 

Knowledge & Support

We are meant to do this, but that does not mean that it all just falls into place naturally. There are baby issues, such as tongue-ties and high pallets. There are nipple issues. There are milk supply issues. There are all sorts of difficulties with latching.  Some women experience considerable pain because of some of these issues, and some babies are slow to gain weight until these issues are resolved. The very good thing is that with only some rare exceptions, they can be resolved and successful breast-feeding can be initiated and sustained.  However, this requires skilled lactation support.

When my mom was breast-feeding me and my sister, Claire, in the late 70s and early 80s, she had no real support. There were no nurses or lactation consultants to advise her on proper latch. She and my dad thought that bleeding nipples were just part of the deal. The “medical knowledge” about breast-feeding at the time, which my parents had access to as medical professionals, was often erroneous, such as the guidance to nurse only for eight minutes on each side. Fortunately, her milk supply was fine, and we plumped right up.

How is it that by the mid century in the United States of America, so much of our ancient breast-feeding knowledge was lost? Given that women have breastfed over the history of our species, I assume that there were always women in every community or tribe or family who were particularly skilled and were able to teach the younger women about latch issues, how to get their supply up, etc. In the US, I imagine there were people, probably outside of more urban areas, who retained their traditional knowledge of how to breastfeed even as it was lost in medicine. But boy oh boy the formula industry and medicine’s adoption of it really did some significant damage to our capacities as a whole.

We’ve come along way in medical and mainstream US American culture since I was a baby and my mom was a baby. We now have far more research on the science of breast-feeding. We have International Board Certified Lactation Consultants (IBCLCs), who go through extensive schooling, practice requirements, and examinations. We have personal breast pumps—which are finally covered by most insurance plans, thanks to the Affordable Care Act. Also thanks to Obamacare, employers have to offer breast pumping space and reasonable milk expression breaks to employees. Far more people have begun to understand the benefits of breast milk and question the sneaky tactics of the formula industry. WIC now encourages breastfeeding and gives out pumps. And there are more spaces now (especially online) for dialogue about changing the culture to accept public breast-feeding. As a result, far more women breast-feed now and do so for longer. (And yes, we have a long long ways to go yet.)

Fear, Inadequacy, and Shame

I have been involved in discussions of the cultural, medical, and economic issues around breastfeeding for a long time. I entered motherhood prepared to ask the IBCLC at Geneva Woods for help and prepared for the haters who were going to give me a hard time for nursing Ida in public. But I was not prepared for the feelings of fear, inadequacy, and shame I would experience when issues arose—feelings which, I have since learned from friends, are quite common among women who struggle with breastfeeding or whose babies have any kind of weight gain or other issues.

I hesitate to write about our experience because I am afraid of judgment, afraid of that societal chorus that hangs women out to dry for every outcome associated with their children, even afraid of a whole lot of well-intentioned (and often contradictory) advice about what I should have done differently. But I am writing about it anyway because so many of us go through these things and feel isolated and alone in the process.

I did everything I could to get Ida as much colostrum as possible and encourage my milk to come in. I wasn’t too too worried when her weight had dropped a good bit at her first Pediatrician visit, especially when I discovered at the end of the visit that my milk was coming in. She started to gain back her weight as my breasts became heavy and hard with milk. But then, about a week later, she stopped pooping regularly and she started nursing all the time, almost without break. She was acting hungry. (Though, as my mom and a few others said, she didn’t look like a worried, hungry baby and she was still strong and relatively content and alert and peeing a lot, so no one except me was exceedingly worried).

We didn’t have an opportunity to weigh her until she was 13 days old. When I saw the scale and saw that she was still 3 oz. below birth weight (you want babies to be back to birth weight by 2 weeks), I started to cry. I cried off and on through my 2 week visit and the lactation consultation. We had quite a few visits over the next few days and figured out that I needed to get my milk supply up and that Oscar and I needed to keep her awake and eating more actively. (She has this very slow approach to eating and can tend to fall asleep at the breast and just quiver her mouth instead of suck.) We also wanted to reduce anything that might be causing her to burn more calories than needed, so we turned up the heater in the house and took a hiatus from walks and even tummy time for a while until she was able to retain enough calories to poop.

By feeding her every two hours around the clock, trying different sleeping arrangements—including co-sleeping on the floor, which I said I wouldn’t do but baby girl was fussier and I had to feed her all the time so we did this for a few nights—, pumping after almost every daytime feeding, taking herbal tincture, upping my intake of fat, tickling and changing her to get her to stay awake and eat more actively, my milk supply increased significantly. By week 3, she weighed 6 oz. above her birthweight, she started pooping again, and I had (and still have) huge, heavy breasts.

But until we got that reassurance that she was alright, I was so scared. So worried, so embarrassed, so…ashamed. And I know better than to give in to shame! I know that shame is a toxic product of our culture and belief systems. I know that it’s useless. I know the importance of critical thinking, shame resilience, and connection with others. I tried to absorb the empathy offered to me to combat it. But I also didn’t want to be around people other than my mom and Oscar most of the time because I was embarrassed and scared. I didn’t want to talk about it publicly until it was over and resolved… until I could prove that I was a good mom, I think.

I think I experienced something shared by many mamas—we want nothing more than for our babies to gain weight and be healthy and happy. So when they aren’t doing this adequately, and it has something to do with us, we feel like we are failing our children, like our bodies are failing them, like our bodies can’t just do their jobs. I felt this same way about my body when it took us a while to get pregnant and everyone else I knew was getting pregnant all around me, many of them on accident. I am a critical-thinking feminist woman, and yet I had lodged somewhere in my psyche this old biblical, patriarchal (not to mention super gender essentialist) judgment system that came out to taunt me, to tell me I wasn’t a real woman.

Overcoming Shame and Secrecy

 

What the hell? How does this patriarchal stuff survive, even in the minds of feminists? One thing I know is that it survives much better in silence than it does when we share these feelings and experiences with one another. The women who shared their miscarriage stories after we miscarried (and the men who shared the miscarriage stories of their moms and sisters and such), the couples who talked about their efforts to get pregnant, and now, the mamas who have confessed to me similar feelings of inadequacy as they struggled with latch issues or the like—all this weakens the power of these woman-blaming discourses. Y’know, this old axiom:

El pueblo

Unido

Jamás será vencido!

(The people/united/will never be defeated)

I love how Anne Lamott describes both the fear and the triumph of this process when her son, Sam, is just a little older than Ida is now:

Sam is so much bigger every day, so much more alert. It’s mind-boggling that my body knows how to churn out this milk that he is growing on. The thought of what my body would produce if my mind had anything to do with it gives me the chill. It’s just too horrible to think about. It might be something frogs could spawn in, but it wouldn’t be good for anything else. I’ve had the secret fear of all mothers that my milk is not good enough, that it is nothing more than sock water, water that socks have been soaking in, but Sam seems to be thriving even though he’s a pretty skinny little guy.

I’m going to have an awards banquet for my body when all of this is over.

I have been a little hard on my body, and I think I owe it an awards banquet too.

For now, I will celebrate with a little image gallery of iPhone photos I’ve made representing how we spend much of our time—breastfeeding and falling asleep at the breast:


Written by admin

February 22nd, 2014 at 12:49 pm

19 weeks

without comments

Week 19 and non-stop rain, so Oscar set up the studio for this early morning shoot.

This week baby grew and kicked a little harder, my belly grew, and my breasts probably continued to grow though I keep praying that they’ll stop.

I figured I’d let my breasts join the photo this week because they are SO much a part of pregnancy for me. This is, in large part, because their rapid growth has caused very painful carpal tunnel in my right arm, but also because it’s been fascinating to feel them changing since week 5 as they shape up to eventually feed the little person inside me.

Since I can’t make the point as well as this lactation teacher that breasts and breastfeeding are natural and amazing and NOT obscene, I will just share with you the awesomest breastfeeding music video ever:

P.S. This week Oscar got to feel baby move for the first time. I love my perceptive and sensitive amor. I love how he is so excited to feel for baby’s movements and see my body change, and how he has also picked up the urge to nest and has been organizing and cleaning our home and garage with fervor.

Written by admin

September 3rd, 2013 at 8:57 pm

Posted in health

Tagged with , , ,