When I went to the hospital to have my third child, I had a definite plan as to how I would feed him – I would pump breast milk and bottle feed him. In the event I couldn’t make enough milk, I’d supplement with formula. I’d been an exclusive pumper with both of my girls and, while it was definitely time consuming, I felt very comfortable with my choice. I believe in the benefits of breast milk and wasn’t willing to give them up just because of my own equipment failure. Pumping – although difficult and not entirely comfortable – seemed like the best way. And more importantly, it was the way that I wanted to feed my child.
But then it happened.
About an hour before Everett was born, the baby nurse was preparing the bassinet in the delivery room when she casually asked if I planned to breastfeed. I said that I wasn’t, but that I planned to pump and bottle feed. “Well, your milk isn’t going to come in if you don’t have the baby latch after birth,” she responded. The way that she said it was frighteningly absolute. If I didn’t know any better, I would have believed her. Instead, I assured her that it would and it had before, so I wasn’t worried. But unfortunately, that wasn’t good enough for her, and we continued to bicker for a few minutes. She wanted my baby to nurse immediately after birth. I hadn’t had my epidural yet and I was losing my patience quickly, so my husband jumped in and told her that we knew what we were doing. She shook her head and grudgingly backed off, but made sure to get in her disapproving last words before leaving the delivery room. The door had barely closed behind her when my labor nurse looked at me and said, “Stay strong, honey. There will be a lot more of that.”
She wasn’t kidding.
What followed were 3 solid days of hell. And not just the physical hell of recovering from birthing another human being, but the type of hell where I was bullied and badgered and lectured and sometimes even ignored due to my “refusal” to breastfeed. I don’t wish that kind of hell on anyone. Ever. Because for the 3 days I was in the hospital following Everett’s birth – the days I should have been celebrating his arrival – I had to beg for every single drop of formula I received. Literally beg. The nurses would give me nursette bottles of formula one at a time, and each one came with a plea to try and breastfeed. Each time I explained my plan and how I’d done it in the past. I explained how it had worked in the past. And most importantly it was how I wanted to feed my baby. But it all fell on deaf ears. Instead, they brought in lactation consultants, breastfeeding pamphlets, and, at some point during my second day there, a breast pump arrived in my room.
The truly sad part is that I could sooner get 2 Percoset than I could get 1 nursette of formula. Because other than my pain level on a 1-10 scale, there were no questions when I asked for Percoset. There were lots of questions when I asked for more formula – Had I tried breastfeeding? How did I know that it would be the same bad experience that I had with my first baby? Was I sure that I didn’t want to try…just once? It was exasperating. I almost asked my husband to stop and bring me some formula from the store, only to find out that it was “against the rules”. My formula had to come from them and they weren’t about to give it up willingly.
After 3 days of being judged and questioned – by people deemed to be medical professionals – I was done. My discharge paperwork eventually came through and I was all set to go home…but before I was discharged, I had to watch as they stripped all of the formula out of my formula brand sponsored diaper bag “gift”. They kept it all. Every single drop. They then announced it would probably be thrown away since it had been in one of the gift diaper bags and not “properly protected” like the formula that they keep locked up. So instead of going straight home with our little newborn baby, we stopped at the store for formula because I didn’t have any of the particular type he needed at home.
My milk came in the next morning and I pumped as I planned.
A couple days later I relayed my experience with our pediatrician – a doctor we selected years ago because of her pro-breastfeeding stance, since I was having such problems breastfeeding with my first – who responded, “Nope, that’s not the way to do it…you don’t win people over by bullying them.” I needed someone else to put it into words for me, but that’s exactly what happened.
I was bullied to breastfeed.
Of course, the bullying didn’t end when I left the hospital or after that first appointment with the pediatrician, but I expected that. Let’s face it, there are a lot of judg-y moms out there. And breastfeeding is a very hot topic lately. For every one post on the internet telling moms to feed their babies anyway they see fit, there are at least 10 insinuating that moms who don’t breastfeeding didn’t try hard enough, should try again, or, even worse, equate formula feeding to something that is unnatural or wrong. As sad as it sounds, I expected all of that.
It was the bullying in the hospital that blindsided me.
In this blasé world that we live in, I admire and respect those who are passionate, even when I don’t agree with them, but there comes a point when a line is crossed. A line that makes a person question their already well thought out choices or removes the choice altogether. That line shouldn’t be crossed when it comes to something as personal as breastfeeding.
I couldn’t breastfeed my daughter. I exclusively pumped too. She would not latch properly. My milk also took almost 5 days to come in. It was so stressful for me after my c-section. I gave in after trying for 4 days at the hospital and asked them for milk. I also asked to see a lactation consultant but she was ALWAYS busy. The nurse although asked me if I was sure i wanted to give her some formula was kind enough to bring me milk for that day and a few more to take home with me. Very personal choice. Mom’s choice and that’s it!