The Birth and Breastfeeding Adventures of Evelyn Aliese

Like all birth stories, this one begins with pregnancy. However, in an effort to avoid this entry being much longer than necessary, I will summarize my pregnancy with Evelyn by saying that it consisted of an out of state move at 34 weeks, and a hardship on my marriage that my husband and I nearly didn’t make it through. Perhaps it was Evelyn that acted as the glue that held it together until the broken pieces were mended. Not even earth-side, and she was already changing my world.

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Fast forward to her birth, I was planning to have a Vaginal Birth After Cesarean (VBAC). Emerson, now 2, was born via C-section. The official reasoning for his C-section was “failure to decent” although in my heart I never knew if he truly couldn’t make it through the birth canal, or if the hospital staff simply grew impatient and resorted to fear tactics to talk me into having the procedure. My suspicion has always been that the labor simply needed more time, and had we waited, my son could have been born vaginally. I’ll never know. Regardless, this brought me to seek a VBAC with my second baby. While in Missouri I was working with a midwife that I absolutely adored and trusted whole-heartedly. I also loved the doctor that would be overseeing my baby’s birth. I was also working with an amazing woman named Lauren who was a Doula and a prenatal yoga instructor. Lauren also taught Hypno-Babies – a method of pain relief during labor using self-hypnosis.  I used self-hypnosis with my first baby and loved it, so naturally I studied the practice again with my second. Although I loved Lauren and my doctor dearly, the downside of moving meant leaving them, and starting all over with a brand new doctor, doula, and midwife. 

Once I moved to Michigan I searched and searched and search for a hospital that would take me, but no one would take a 34 week brand new VBAC patient. Since I couldn't go with a hospital on my wish-list, I decided that I would go with the hospital that had sentimental value and I chose the hospital Dave was born at. I may have settled for this hospital in the beginning but in the end I was deeply and utterly grateful that Evelyn was born there. They were beyond wonderful to me. I still get choked up every time I drive by there just thinking about it.

And as it turns out, I secured the hospital in just the nick of time because Evelyn decided that she wanted to be earth-side two weeks before my due date. At midnight on Saturday January 10^th, shortly after leaving Dave's grandmas 85th birthday celebration, I felt my first contraction. It was mild enough to keep me calm, but intense enough to make it evident that this was it. Wanting to avoid the hospital as long as possible, I labored at home until Sunday afternoon. Since I was very aware that these were real contractions and that the baby would be coming soon, I instinctively began cleaning my house. At 1:00 in the morning I was doing dishes and my poor husband, unwilling to question my logic, joined in and helped me clean up other rooms in the house. We finally went to bed although I only slept for about two hours before the contractions woke me up again. I got up around 3:00am and moved to the couch. I turned on the TV and began timing my contractions. Five minutes apart with increasing intensity. I remained calm and tried to keep myself as relaxed as possible. I started to feel hungry, but unfortunately I had a very specific craving for eggs, and I knew that nothing else would satisfy my hunger. And we were out of eggs. I held out until 6:00am and I couldn’t take it anymore. I woke up Dave and told him that I was hungry… for eggs… and I needed him to make me some… and we didn’t have any in the house. (Side note: This was the one and only time during my pregnancy that I asked him to make an irrational food run for me, and I was in labor, so I figured I could use my irrational-pregnancy-craving card). So, being the wonderful man that he is, Dave got out of bed at 6:00am, went to the store, then came home and made literally the most amazing omelet I have ever eaten. Contractions continued and Emerson woke up around 8:00am and Dave made us all waffles, and I ate again. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to eat once I got to the hospital, and I didn’t know how long I would even have an appetite so I wanted to eat while I could. We continued on with our low key morning. Contractions began to get more intense but still bearable. When they got a little harder I jumped in the bathtub with my toddler, focusing on him playing while I tried to relax. Finally, around noon the contractions were getting pretty intense and Dave and I knew that it was time to go. We called our doula, the midwife, and my mother in law. Dave's mom came over to watch Emerson and off to the hospital we went. I could barely stand saying goodbye to my little guy, and cried all the way to the hospital, knowing that the days of just the two of us had finally ended.

I was in triage when my water broke. The staff moved me to the labor and delivery room as quickly as possible. I was fully dilated and it was time to push. My midwife, who I had only met once, was there and to my surprise she was wonderful. She was positive and encouraged me to try different positions. The nurses were wonderful as well. At no point was I ever asked if I wanted an epidural and no other interventions were suggested. I pushed for two hours with amazing support from my husband, midwife, and hospital staff when it became apparent that I was not making progress. With every push the baby’s heart rate dropped and my midwife became concerned. I could hear in her voice that she did not want to suggest it, but seeing no other option she suggested that I have a C-section.  The very fact that I could see on her face and hear in her voice that she too was heartbroken over this reality told me that we had done everything in our power to have the baby naturally, and it simply was not going to work that way. I asked my midwife and the hospital staff to leave the room so that I could talk to Dave and our doula alone. I asked my doula if she believed that we had done everything possible, and that a C-section was in fact necessary. She agreed. I could see the panic in Dave's face; I imagine both in remembrance of my traumatic C-section with our first baby, and in fear of how devastated I would be at having another C-section. I told him that I really believed that we had done everything possible, and that a C-section was simply necessary at this point. I felt calm and confident with what was happening. I felt that my midwife and the hospital staff wanted a natural delivery just as much as I did. I felt so supported, which is all I could ask for. So we proceeded to the OR.

Fortunately, I would be able to stay awake for this C-section. Something I didn’t get to do when Emerson was born. Dave and I were ecstatic about this. The next thing I knew the curtain was up and within moments my midwife was standing by our side holding our beautiful baby girl in front of us. Soon they cleaned her up and laid her on my chest. She was on my chest for quite some time when we heard the doctor ask for urology. Not knowing what to think we didn’t pay attention to this. Then again, and with more urgency in her voice, the doctor asked for the urologist. Something was wrong. Dave and the baby were sent away and I was placed under general anesthesia. During the C-section my bladder was cut and additional surgery had to be done to repair the laceration. Six hours later I was reunited with my panicked husband and beautiful newborn.  At this point I didn’t even care about the complication, I was just so happy with my birth experience. I was so happy that I was able to attempt a VBAC and that my team of people was so incredibly supportive of me. I was so at peace with the C-section, knowing that we had done everything in our power to deliver my baby naturally. It was never the C-section that I opposed with Emerson; it was the never knowing that we had tried everything we could. It was not being confidant that the people helping me were on the same page as me. It was the feeling that my birth plan was being changed to fit the needs of the hospital staff. This time things were different.

The next morning I learned that because of the surgery on my bladder I would have to wear a catheter for four weeks. I also learned that the medication I was on to prevent bladder spasms would hinder breastfeeding (something I couldn’t do with Emerson, and something I wanted to do more than anything in the world). Finally, after meeting with the doctor to discuss what exactly happened during the C-section, she delivered news that I would never be prepared to hear, news that still haunts me to this day. After explaining the complications that occurred, I thought that she was about to advise me not to attempt another VBAC. Instead, she told me to never get pregnant again, because it would be too dangerous to carry out another pregnancy after what I had just been through. My heart sank through the floor and has not stopped falling since that moment. We weren’t done having children. I lost my breath and instantly began sobbing. Dave rushed over to me, crying himself, trying to comfort me. Our doctor is one of those doctors with underdeveloped people skills. She was so matter-of-fact when she delivered the news, and it was apparent that she was taken aback by my reaction. Trying to back pedal she reassured me that nothing was set in stone. I recall her words in that moment actually were “it’s not like I tied your tubes while I was in there.” Yeah, let that one sink in for a moment. I digress. So here I was, so in love with this beautiful, healthy thriving baby in my arms, simultaneously grieving the fate I had just been delivered. I don’t know that I will ever be able to describe that feeling.  All in all, it was time to go home.

Breastfeeding

While still in the hospital breastfeeding already took a turn for the worst. Evelyn was hurting me while she was nursing, causing bruising and chapping, and she was not gaining enough weight – an indicator that she was not getting enough at the breast. I met with the lactation consultant, Jeannine, and before we left the hospital she set me up with a Supplemental Nursing System (SNS). If you know what SNS is or have ever used one – bless your heart. The whole time I was using the SNS I felt like a failed science experiment. It's not exactly the beautiful bonding that they sell you in the breastfeeding pamphlets. The medication I was on for my bladder was causing my milk ducts to not work properly. At 4 weeks when I had my catheter taken out I was finally able to get off the medication – relief! Evelyn had a more mature suck by this point so she wasn’t hurting me as badly. I was on fenugreek and Reglan to help increase my supply, but I still wasn’t making enough. To ease some of the stress from all the work I was doing the lactation consultant said that I could stop doing to SNS and just top Evelyn off after each feeding with a small bottle. Between week 4 and 6 Evelyn was getting fussy while nursing. Well, more like hysterical. It was really stressful. Every feeding I was basically wrestling her.  We were both stressed out and definitely not bonding. I had started a new medication called Donperidom to help increase my supply. Some days I would see an increase and get excited that we would be soon exclusively breastfeeding, only to pump again the next day and get almost no milk. At week 6 I went back to the lactation consultant, praying that Evelyn would get more during our weigh-and-feed so that I could start exclusively breastfeeding her. I had no such luck. She still wasn’t getting enough, and I would still need to supplement. The Domperidom was our last option for increasing my supply. There was no end in sight for supplementing while feeding from here. Devastated, I went home and nursed for another week, hoping to see an increase in my supply, again to find fluctuation with no consistent supply that was ample to exclusively breastfeed her. Between nursing and supplementing it was taking almost an hour to feed her each time. This was draining me and taking quality time away from both her and Emerson. I kept going back and forth with not breastfeeding anymore and I would just sob thinking of quitting. I think a lot of moms reach this place. I was heartbroken and didn’t know what to do. I felt the desire to quit, but hated myself for it.

Here is where a few things became clear to me through this experience.  I hated my body for failing me. I couldn’t do the two things that every woman is born to do: birth and breastfeed a baby. Of course, as soon as this thought ran through my mind I reminded myself to be grateful that I had a healthy thriving baby in my arms; some women will never know what that feels like. And here is what I think about that thought process. It is often tempting to compare our situation with the situation of someone else for the purpose of gaining new perspective. I understand this, and I do think it can be an effective exercise. However, the danger in doing this is that we invalidate our own pain. When we invalidate our experiences, we are hindering the process of grief. By comparing myself to other mothers I am invalidating the trauma that I experienced. I don’t think this is healthy. I think as mothers we need validation for our experiences. It is possible to grieve through the pain of our own experiences, while simultaneously being aware of our blessings and empathetic towards mothers who have been through bigger challenges. And the truth is my body hasn’t failed me. While crying to Dave one night over everything I have been through he said to me, “How can you look at those two beautiful babies and think that your body failed you? You made them, and they are perfect.” Thank you for the humbling reminder.

The truth is that pregnancy, birth, breastfeeding and motherhood is a spectrum of peaks and valleys. We cannot deny the presence of the valleys by choosing to only see the peaks. The valleys are what help us to grow what makes an otherwise ordinary scenery into a beautiful masterpiece. My children, my marriage, and motherhood are my masterpiece. To honor my masterpiece I hereby give myself, and every other mother, permission to grieve and mourn the valleys. I want to embrace my humanness and celebrate the miracles in my life. By giving ourselves permission to grieve we are not denying the presence of miracles in our lives, we are simply making the experience of them deeper and more fulfilling.