I couldn’t breastfeed my babies.
In honor of World Breastfeeding Week, I’m sharing my story about why I couldn’t breastfeed — and the decision that caused me to be unable to nurse my children.
“Bombs away!” I’ll never forget these words. That was what I would hear while walking down the halls of my high school.
Why? Because I was a junior in high school with a DDD boob and an E boob. Of course, not only were my breasts huge, they were not even equal. After “developing” very quickly during my sophomore and junior years of high school, I had not only caught up to the other girls in school, I’d surpassed them. I could no longer wear just one sports bra. I couldn’t shop for cute bras with my friends. I couldn’t even stand for long periods of time without my back hurting.
During my senior year of high school — after enduring the physical and mental pain of my large and uneven “girls” — it was time for a change. After consulting with a surgeon, I scheduled a breast reduction during April vacation of my senior year. At 17 years old, I was voluntarily going under the knife to change my life.
I understood the risks of surgery. Like any surgery, there were risks of infection, swelling, or even death. But, there was an added risk other surgeries don’t have, and I remember the words exactly as my surgeon said them: “Due to the surgery and the way your incisions will be, you MAY not be able to breastfeed. There is no guarantee, but this is a possibility.”
Breastfeed? What? Why is she talking to me about breastfeeding? I’m only 17. I need these things to be smaller and will do whatever it costs to do it. I am so unhappy with them.
I remember waking up in pain, then after leaving the recovery room heading to the pediatrics floor of Newton Wellesley Hospital — because I was still a child. My mom stayed overnight with me at the hospital — I was still her baby, having major surgery.
I was feeling good after a few days and even ventured out of the house (with gauze around my incisions and special bra on) to visit with my friends that week. I couldn’t stay out too long before I had to get home and change my dressing and take more pain meds. But that first day out with my friends — in a normal shirt and without the weight I had been carrying around — felt amazing!
Approximately 13 years after my breast reduction, I had my first child. Throughout my pregnancy, my OB and I had many conversations about breastfeeding and what my chances were of being able to do it. Since the surgery incisions were quite extensive, there wasn’t much hope that I would successfully breastfeed. But, hey, I would give it a try!
Was I able to breastfeed? Well, sort of. Was I able to give my son enough breastmilk to nourish him? No. In the hospital, I was breastfeeding, supplementing (with a syringe), then pumping for each feed. It was a two-hour process, every two hours. Each time I pumped, I ended up with less than an ounce of milk. (And yes, I totally agree, it is liquid gold.) So I was only pumping six ounces a day — if that. And my son needed WAY more. Clearly, my boobs had failed me and my son.
But I don’t have any regrets. As a 17-year-old, I made an extremely important decision and one I would make again if I had the choice. I was so unhappy each day dealing with my huge boobs, and after having the surgery I felt a sense of relief — a relief that can’t be explained. A relief that my formula-fed sons have not suffered from. I have two very healthy and happy little boys and know that if I had not made the decision to have that breast reduction, I probably would not be a healthy and happy mama for them.
