UBC Motherhood - Aftermath and Postpartum

Now that the baby is here, all is well.

Right?

Hold on, not so fast.

I had to look up when exactly the postpartum period starts. 

It beginns immediately after childbirth, and it includes the first six weeks following childbirth, says the Wikipedia article.

Boy, have I a lot to tell you!

Our baby was born and bathed, my doctor stitched me up, so far so good. We were ready to transfer from labor & delivery to the maternity ward.

"Why don't you try to pee before we leave", a nurse suggested. "Would you like a bedpan or get up and go the bathroom?"

What kind of question was this? 

I wanted to get up of course.

As soon as I was upright, I collapsed and passed out.

Looking back, the medically trained people in the room should have had an idea of how much blood loss I suffered from the first failed vacuum attempt and the episiotomy. 

In any case it was more than I could take.

When I came to, I heard a baby cry (my baby!), and people were  rushing back and forth, trying to get me back into bed.

Plan B came into play. The bedpan.

I could not pee. I didn't do it on purpose. They reinserted a catheter and called the doctor back. He did an ultrasound to check on my bladder.

"Sometimes there can be minimal damage to the pelvic nerves that control bladder function" he said.

Oh, goodie.

He couldn't confirm any damage. For the time being it was decided that the foley stayed in place, that way I didn't have to worry about getting up. Fine with me.

As soon as we arrived in my room, a lactation nurse introduced herself. 

"Let's feed that baby boy of yours. I'm sure he's up for a snack."

My poor son did a great job latching on and tried hard, but there was barely anything coming out.

She massaged my breasts with some special oil, and an hour later we tried again.

I had never even considered that low milk supply could be a problem. 

Breast pumps were dragged to my bedside. Simple ones and fancy ones.They had one thing in common, they took a long time, they made my nipples sore and were generally a huge pain in the butt.

Over the course of the next few days we tried many things, inluding applying soothing compresses and some lanolin ointment. Also they had me drink some herbal tea. It tasted yucky, but my motto was still:

Anything for my baby.

Back then I didn't understand that there was a war out there.

Breastfeeding vs formula.

Obviously if you're a halfway decent human being, you have to be on team breastfeeding and try harder.

In the meantime the doctor ordered two units of blood to boost me up. 

I enjoyed meals cooked by other people, served in bed. I was slowly feeling better. 

One of the eager lactation specialists came to talk to me about a rental agreement for a breast pumping system. She was very confident that if I tried just a little longer, things would work out.

I talked to my midwife who was kind enough to visit me and baby Colin.

"Did he get a little bit of milk, right after birth?"

Yes, a tiny bit.

"Excellent. It's called caolostrum. It's packed with antibodies, very good to jump start the baby's immune system! How much to you pump per attempt?" 

10 ml, 20 if I'm very lucky.

"And you pump every two to three hours? Which would yield some 150ml within 24 hours?"

The moment she said this, the scales have suddenly fallen from my eyes.

If I had to pump every two hours, and a pump session lasted 15 minutes per breast, there was not much else I was going to do all they long. Pump, clean the equipment, feed, burp and change the baby, and soon after start all over again.

Upon leaving the hospital, I left the rental agreement and the pump kit behind.

Millions of babies grew up on formula, and they turned out just fine. As did mine. 

After a couple of days I wasn't so sure about my decision. He seemed to suffer from tummyache after feedings.

We went to see my acupuncture lady. She asked what kind of formula a giving him? 

I told her.

"It's apparently nto good for him. Dump it. Try this one." She srcibbled a brand name on a piece of paper.

"What else do you want me to check? How did the birth go?"

She was shocked when I told her.

"Be very gentle with his head" she said. "He suffered a trauma from being ripped out like that."

Of course. It all made sense now. I had a hard time getting him dressed in T-Shirts or sweaters that needed to be pulled over his head. He cried and wiggled, and for the time being, I only dressed him in onsies that could be closed on his front side.

Same went for tight hats in winter. He didn't like them. Instead I loosely wrapped a scarf around his ears. A hand-knitted scarf a that. Hand-knitted with love. By me. I felt very accomplished.

This is significant because during the first couple of weeks I didn't feel too great about myself, and I am not talking about my physical complaints like sleep deprivation, incontinence and feeling sore down there for a really long time.

Recovering from birth and trying to get into a routine with a little one who didn't sleep for longer stretches than a half hour here or there was one thing, but every so often I was close to tears for no reason. It could be a song, it could be a thought, it could be any random little thing.

I didn't understand what was going on. 

Finally things had fallen into place. My baby was happy and healthy. I had the luxury to stay at home and structure my day around Colin's feedings and miniature naps. Why was I feeling so low?

"Look up Brooke Shields", a friend told me. "She was much worse off, and she wrote a book about it."

Fortunately I quickly "outgrew" my baby blues. Looking into my baby boy's blue eyes was a huge factor. He may not have been able to talk yet, but he seemed to want to tell me "we've got this, Mommy!" Easy for him to say, he digested his new formula much better and was eager to explore the world!