Happy Belated World Breastfeeding Week!

We were on holiday during Breastfeeding Week. I had every intention of blogging a little something about it, but vacation fun got in the way.

I thought I might talk about the fight I fought in order to breastfeed my son.

There was no doubt in my mind that I would nurse my daughter and I did and loved every minute of it.

When I became pregnant again (a mere 4 months after I stopped nursing Isabel, it dawned on me one day), there was no doubt I would nurse that baby too. When we found out it was a boy, dramatically increasing the concerns with regard to NDI, my determination didn't waver. I read various places that there was no reason that a baby with NDI couldn't be exclusively breastfed (while being supplemented with water).

My boy was born and within less than a day, it was determined that he was dehydrating and there was little doubt that he had NDI and wasn't getting enough fluid from breastfeeding. This was the first blow to my self-esteem and determination.

He had an IV put in and then a central line, still breastfeeding on demand the entire time. Once he was hydrated enough, the medical intervention was gradually removed and we tried giving him water in bottles. For another two weeks, we tried a multitude of different solutions for getting Orin eating, drinking and, most of all, healthy. When things were at their worst, Orin wasn't really getting enough water from the bottles, preferred the flowrate of the bottle to that of the breast, so he fussed at the breast every time I tried to feed him, meaning he wasn't eating either. Neither of us was sleeping because, as he dehydrated again, he became fussier and fussier - I slept a grand total of 1.5 hours one day. I was slowly losing my mind. I was losing confidence in myself and my ability to take care of my baby.

At this point, the paediatrician suggested we may need to start giving him formula. The first time it was suggested, I couldn't speak. I burst into tears - I knew that they were suggesting it because they wanted to get him healthy and get us home, but this was not how it was supposed to be. I asked the doctor if I could have some time to think about it. I thought long and hard. I spoke to my husband. I spoke to friends. I fielded a phone call from a well-meaning family member, encouraging me to use formula because "it worked for her kids." I took about a day to clear away all of the fog - the mess of opinions, the worries that others would think I was putting an agenda before the needs of my child, the guilt and fear.

The next day, I gathered myself up and waited by Orin's bedside for rounds. I knew what I wanted to happen and I was going to make it clear to all parties involved so we were all on the same page. When the doctor came around, I told her that breastfeeding my child was incredibly important to me. It was what he needed (both as a human infant in general and as a child with a sodium sensitivity - breastmilk is surprisingly low in sodium). I told her about the bottle preference and that I wanted the breast to be offered to him first at all times - every time he woke, fussed, seemed remotely hungry/thisty. I wanted to get rid of the bottles altogether for a while. I had seen many babies in the NICU with NG tubes because they were unable to eat themselves for whatever reason (usually because they were premature and were still too weak and small to nurse). I suggested we put in an NG tube for water in order to keep him hydrated and redevelop the nursing relationship. Once breastfeeding was well-established, we could attempt bottles again. I stood next to my baby, stone-faced, wearing messy gym clothes (my uniform while in the hospital) and generally looking disheveled, but serious. Much to my surprise, she said yes. As it turns out, the specialist in Halifax had suggested the same thing quite early on, but the local docs wanted to try more home-friendly options first

I couldn't pump (just as I couldn't with Isabel), so to feed him through the night, I had to be accessible. For five weeks, I lived at the hospital, sleeping in a 5'x 10' room when it was available and a leather couch in a TV lounge when it wasn't. I missed my family more than I can tell you. I lost the trust of my daughter temporarily. I didn't eat, sleep or maintain myself in anyway for five weeks. I dedicated myself to breastfeeding my son and helping him become healthy enough to come home.

He was released for good on March 16th at 5 weeks 4 days old. He will be six months old tomorrow and is still exclusively breastfed. Every doctor who has seen him (and there've been a bunch) have exclaimed over how healthy he is and how good he looks and how big he has gotten. One joked that whatever I have on tap is exactly what he needs - I couldn't have said it better.