A Little Voice

by Sylvie Plourde

After thirty-one hours of labor my little Peanut (aka Chantal) made her debut into this world three weeks early and just less than six pounds. I didn't get to hold my little angel after she was born. I barely got to see her. All I saw was the NICU nurses fussing over her on the other side of the room. They were about to whisk Chantal away when I cried out to see her. They merely held her up and tilted her in my general direction as they scurried out the door with my husband hot on the trail.

Several hours later they brought her to me so that I could nurse. I was taken aback by how little she was. Little but beautiful. She was somewhat drowsy so I thought nothing of it when she wouldn't latch on. A few hours later, I painfully waddled my way to the NICU to try again. I was anxious to hold my little girl and establish that wonderful bond I had heard so much about.

As I approached her incubator I felt a pang of sympathy and worry upon seeing the intravenous tube coming out of her tiny hand and all the monitors she was hooked up to. She had developed jaundice and was a little dehydrated. I carefully lifted my little peanut out of her incubator and brought her, along with all of her tubes and IV drip, to the nursing area.

My second attempt at nursing was a dismal failure. Not only did she not latch on but also screamed in frustration as several pairs of hands trying to get her to latch jostled her about. The nurses then "told me" that they would have to bottle-feed her. I assumed that this was absolutely necessary and that I didn't have any say in the matter. After all, they were the professionals ...right?

When I returned two hours later I was told that Chantal's jaundice had become serious and that we wouldn't be able to go home until this was under control. For the next several days I stayed in the "family room" which felt more like a bed in a closet. My husband would come every evening to keep me company and spend as much time as he could with Chantal.

Every three hours I would make my way to the NICU to try and nurse Chantal. Every time it was worse. She would thrash about and wail until I couldn't bear it anymore. Enter nurse with bottle. By the time I pumped and trudged my way back to NICU with my meager offerings I might have gotten one hour of sleep between attempts.

In retrospect I can see now that everything that went on during those four days created a very confused little baby. I was told that my nipples were too flat, or inverted, or that I didn't have enough milk etc. We tried breast shields, lactation aids, and even had to resort to tube feeding her when she refused the bottle as well. My poor little girl was so exhausted that she couldn't even bother to suck anymore.

On several occasions, Chantal's thrashing and screaming would be too much to bear and I would find myself crying right along with her. I started to doubt my ability to breastfeed. But as I made my way back to my room that little voice inside of me would whisper, "don't give up".

Four days later I took my little treasure home....the elusive latch still not established. Over the next week I became a nervous wreck. Everyone, including my mother and my husband (who at this point was very worried about my state of mind and lack of sleep) suggested that perhaps I should give up on breastfeeding. But something in my heart kept telling me to keep trying....

One week later my pediatrician told me that Chantal "looked like a baby from a starving country". He suggested that I quit breastfeeding and stick with formula. With tears streaming down my face I exited the doctor's office and hurried to my car as quickly as possible. My husband caught up with me to find me sobbing and feeling guilty about "starving my baby". He reassured me that I was doing a great job.

As the tears subsided my guilt and humiliation turned to anger and determination. Again, something kept telling me not to give up on her. I became sleep deprived and fell into postpartum depression as I continued to attempt breastfeeding every three hours around the clock. At each failure my husband would attempt to bottle-feed her my expressed breast milk. Her intake was less than adequate. Maybe the doctor was right. Was I hurting my baby with my stubbornness to breastfeed? I couldn't even explain or justify my desire to keep trying.

Two weeks had now passed. It felt like a lifetime. In the dark hours of early morning, I dragged myself out of bed to rouse my tiny baby from a deep sleep to try nursing yet again. I sat myself down and mentally prepared myself for the possibility of another failure. I gently put Chantal on her nursing pillow and tried to latch her onto the right side. She rooted and squirmed and began to whine in frustration. This wasn't going to work...again.

I mechanically repositioned her and half-heartedly tried once again. My heart skipped a beat....I felt a momentary tug. Was I imagining it? I quickly readjusted Chantal and tried again. I dared not get my hopes up. That little voice inside me was screaming as I gently guided her tiny mouth to my nipple. She opened wide and hit her mark! No crying, no whining, no thrashing. Just a little chin moving up and down as she collected her reward.

When those big brown eyes looked up at me I was overcome with emotion and the tears began flowing down my cheeks. I wanted to laugh out loud I was so giddy with joy...but I dared not move in case I broke the latch! We have never looked back. It has not been an easy journey. We never did establish a perfect latch, which I now know, was caused by all the well meant but counter productive interventions in her first few days of life.

Nipple confusion DOES exist. I have battled with thrush and extremely sore nipples for 11 months due to the less than perfect latch. I have had to deal with milk production issues along the way and due to some complications resulting from childbirth I also had surgery when Chantal was only 3.5 months old. Yet, now that I have experienced the joys and rewards of breastfeeding, I can easily say that I would gladly do it all again.

My heart aches whenever I think of what I would have missed had I given up on breastfeeding. I believe that the emotional well-being and gratification experienced by breastfeeding mothers is unequalled by any other experience. The bond that exists between a mother and her nursling is unique. There is nothing that can soothe an upset baby like putting her to the breast. Whenever my little one is not well or is frightened I can instantly calm her by nursing.

I must mention that I also discovered breastfeeding to be the best cure for hiccups! So for any new mommies out there, who doubt themselves or are being pressured not to breast feed, make sure you listen to that little voice inside you called "mother's instinct".

Breastfeeding your baby is more than just a mutual benefit...it's a blessing.