Breastfeeding, Round Two: Devastation

And devastated does not even begin to desribe the past 48 hours.

I'll start back at the beginning. After talking with Eric about it, I realized Catherined had only pooped twice in her life. She's 5 weeks old. That's not a lot! I know breastfed babies sometimes don't poop very often, but three weeks since her last real bowl movement is a long time. So on Monday, I called the pediatrician, just to ask what I could do to get her to poop. The pediatrician, obviously concerned, asked that Catherine come in. So in we went.

Any parent knows the first thing they do at any check up for your child is weigh them. I was shocked at Catherine's weight, which was only 8 pounds, 11 ounces. Only up 5 ounces since birth? And down almost 10 ounces since her 2-week Well Child visit? I was shocked and immediately concerned.

Although Catherine checked out ok, she was sent back for x-rays to make sure her bowels were connected. I was assured that yes, everything down there is put together as it should be, but she was very backed up. The doctor prescribed a karo syrup and water concoction and to come back in Thursday as she was concerned about the weight loss.

When I got home, we gave her the karo syrup and water and almost immediately, she started straining and pushing and turning red. TMI, but a few minutes later, she had the biggest poop I have seen come out of a human being that small. Afterward, all she wanted to do was nurse, so I let her. That's where the clusterfeeding frustration began.

A couple days ago, I was ready to throw in the towel on breastfeeding, thanks to clusterfeeding. I looked up breastfeeding support groups at the hospital, and it so turns out that there was one the following day, Wednesday.

I wrangled my pride and packed Catherine up. I fed her for an hour before I went, and when I got there, she was still hungry. The lactation consultant was concerned and asked that we weigh her before she feeds and then after.

So we undressed her and weighed her. Again, Catherine had lost weight. 7 ounces, since she was weighed on Monday. Immediately, I started to cry. I was devastated. Not only that, but when she weighed less than an ounce more after she fed for an hour, I was devastated again. It was everything I could do to not crumble on the floor and cry. The lactation consultant tried to make me feel better by reminding me that she did feed before we went to the hospital. However, I'm not stupid. The poor thing was hungry when we got to the hospital and after feeding her for an hour at the hospital, she was rooting around, looking for more. Not to mention that she was obviously losing weight, especially so much in two days, even if the scales were different.

The lactation consultant gave me some tips on positioning, our latch, and encouraged me to pump between feedings and supplement. She also suggested I come back next Wednesday to see where we were at. I left the hospital, loaded Catherine into the car, and from behind the steering wheel, I cried for a good five minutes.

I cried almost all the way home. I cried when telling Eric about it. I cried while feeding her upstairs.

Because when the lactation consultant looked at me after weighing Catherine and said, "She got less than an ounce. We'd like to see more than that" all I heard was:

"You're not good enough." 

Even moreso, beyond the fact that I am not able to provide for my child, I heard, "She's starving."

That is a heavy burden to bear.

I'm supposed to be the sole provider. The one person who can give Catherine everything she needs. That's what I like about being a mom. It's an incredibly important job to be the only person to be able to give your kids everything they need. To me, the fact that Catherine is not getting enough of my breastmilk, it's a huge devastation.

Fastforward to her appointment yesterday, Catherine had lost more weight. The pediatrician is obviously concerned, as am I.

Combine the fact that she's also not pooping, and hasn't pooped since Monday, we are all concerned. Either the constipation and diet are two separate issues, or they are related with some gastrointestinal issue.

Monday, we are headed back to the pediatrician and if, with formula supplementation after nursing isn't adding some significant weight, we are headed to a gastroenterologist for tests.

It's been an incredibly difficult 48 hours. I cried walking through Target today, knowing that for 3 or more weeks, Catherine has been starving. No wonder she's sleeping through the night - she's lethargic! I'm beyond devastated.

I'm sad. I'm mad. I'm annoyed that I let my pride and ignorance get in the way that I didn't think clusterfeeding meant some other hidden danger. I am incredibly worried that this is only the beginning of something much more dangerous. I am stressed with the fact that I have to nurse, then supplement with formula if she's still hungry, and then pump after that. I thought I was done with pumping.

This morning, I woke up with a renewed sense of obligation. This is my child, and I'm going to do what's best for her. Not what I want to have happen, but what we need to have happen in order for her to thrive.

So I nursed her and while burping her between breasts, she spit up. After nursing her on the second breast, the burped twice, the second louder than the first, and then promptly spit up all over my shoulder, shirt and herself.

And then she kept spitting up. And then she started choking. It was an incredibly scary moment as a parent. To see your mostly docile daughter thrashing around with wide eyes, knowing that she cannot breathe. From where she was lying on my thighs, I promptly sat her upright and started pounding on her back.

She was able to swallow the mucus that ended up in her throat, causing her to choke. And then I cried.

This is so hard, so frustrating, and more than tiring. After choking, she was disinterested in the formula, and once she calmed down, I gave her a bath to clean her up.

My renewed sense of obligation was stronger after that, but my devastation that everything is not the way I thought it was, was even greater than yesterday.

But as Eric reminded me, it could be worse. It could be more dangerous. We could be in more trouble. She could be hospitalized, she could be underdeveloped, we could have had a preemie. It could be worse.

I am anxious for Monday, and a little scared. But hopefully, this weekend will bring up my spirits and things will be better.

Hopefully...