I was a breastfeeding mother.
This picture is of the last time I pumped four months ago. I don’t have a picture of the last time I breastfed my daughter because the end came agonizingly suddenly.
I had to stop because both nipples developed an infection, and it was excruciatingly painful to feed my daughter. She was almost 18 months old, so you could say it was time to wean her. But it wasn’t: not for me, and not for her.
Breastfeeding with her came so easy. From day one she had that perfect latch people talk about. No infections. No pain (except for the first few weeks because no one gets out of that one). It was relaxing. Peaceful. Blissful. The kind of experience that I thought was bullshit when I heard it from others because, after what was the opposite journey with my son, it seemed impossible it could ever be this wonderful.
But it was.
Then, in the early days of quarantine, Spawnita had some sort of infection in her mouth. Blisters, bleeding gums. The pediatrician wouldn’t see us in her office due to COVID concerns; we did a phone consult instead. She reassured me it was viral. I asked her about possible contagion and transfer to me during her feeds. She said absolutely not and was adamant about continuing to breastfeed through this “hiccup” (her words). Should I take any precautions for myself? Not necessary. Would bottle-feeding be safer? Not necessary. “Just keep breastfeeding, it’s the best thing for your daughter”. So I did.
A few days later, painful, bleeding sores and blisters began to appear on both my nipples. A high fever floored me and I felt like death. I called my family doctor who, after scolding me for listening to my pediatrician’s advice, prescribed three weeks of oral and topical antibiotics.
And I had to stop breastfeeding, point-blank: to avoid spreading the infection, but primarily because it was pure agony. Aside from labour, breastfeeding had become the most painful experience of my life.
The last feed I shared with my daughter was marked by tears and pain so overwhelming it made me nauseous. The most divine of experiences became a nightmare.
This is how my breastfeeding chapter ends, as I will have no more children. I am still mourning this loss, grieving for the time I will never have to breastfeed my little girl. This is not how I wanted it to end. It’s been four months, and with everything that has been happening during this pandemic, it’s a loss I have barely had time to process. But I feel it deeply. An emptiness of overwhelming disappointment. A constant ache for something that will never come.
And I feel a burning rage.
I am angry at a medical system that still considers mothers as second-class citizens. Angry that my children’s breastfeeding matters more than my physical and mental health. Angry because for all the breastfeeding propaganda they shove down our throats, medical staff are still grossly underprepared and unwilling to address breastfeeding health as a priority unless it focuses on the child.
A breastfeeding baby’s health is intertwined with its mother’s. It is dependent on it. So why is my wellbeing still not treated as the foundation of my child’s welfare? Why is my health the sacrificial lamb to my baby’s health? Despite the increasing number of studies coming out that confirm, prove and call out the absolute lack of support to breastfeeding mothers, there have been no changes. Do you know what other numbers are increasing? Those of postpartum depression and anxiety among mothers who are unable to breastfeed.
If pediatricians are genuinely interested in a child’s health, while aggressively pushing breastfeeding to up to 2 years of age, then the breastfeeding mother’s health for those two years must be paramount. This is not the first time I have to deal with the medical system’s incompetence surrounding postnatal maternal health.
With my son, I underwent excruciating pain and discomfort, depression, exhaustion, and so much more with a bout of mastitis that took almost five months to clear because no one had a fucking clue of what to do.
Why am I sharing all of this? Because I am fed up with both the incompetence and the apathy of the medical system displayed towards mothers when it comes to breastfeeding. We are expected to give everything to breastfeed, and if we don’t, we are shamed for not trying enough, as if breastfeeding successfully is the undisputed benchmark of motherly love. Meanwhile, doctors have no obligation to understand the intricacies of breastfeeding and the complications that may arise from it. If mothers begin to have issues, medical issues especially that require treatment, they have nowhere to turn.
Who do you call? Emergency rooms have no idea nor the capacity to handle breastfeeding complications. Family doctors are not specialized enough beyond scribbling a line or two for antibiotics. Gynecologists? Their wait times are discouraging enough, but they will not fare better than a family doctor.
Lactation consultant numbers are on the rise, which is great; but they are not doctors. They cannot prescribe medication. They cannot refer you to specialists, nor schedule medical tests or screenings. Their work is precious, albeit limited in scope.
Advocating for mothers is equal to advocating for our babies and for their health. We need a holistic approach to maternal and infant health, one that treats with equal importance and urgency both a mother’s and her baby’s needs.
Breastfeeding is the perfect opportunity to champion a new approach that values both mother and child equally because they are two parts of a whole.
