The Story: What happens next ~ Weaning

According to Dr. Sears, weaning is not “something that you do to a child. Weaning is a journey from one relationship to another.” He goes on to explain that “the key to healthy weaning is doing it gradually.” Through weaning, mothers are helping their children move into a new phase of development, “not forcing him into it.” He warns that weaning by desertion is “traumatic.” And yet, that was the only option for JR and I.

I could have told you then, and can tell you now, that neither one of us was ready to let go of the other. You can call it codependence, you can call it mutual need, you can call it attachment. Whatever you call it, it was one of the strongest rings in the chain and all of a sudden it had to be cut off. It still breaks my heart to recall how it had to be done. You could not have bestowed a harsher sentence on either one of us at that time, and probably still cannot do. Being asked to let JR go in that way, after having just been asked to let go of her potential sibling, was more than I could take at once. As for JR, the poor little girl did not know what hit her. One day she was attached to my breast and the next she was being forcefully removed from it. And it took no less than 5 people colluding together to do that.

Those were long days, and even longer nights. Friends and family offered their support in every way they could. Some took JR out, others distracted her when at home. People brought me literature, breast compresses, and cabbage. I took showers, sat through engorgement and lived through the pain. I heard JR’s cries, saw the look on her face, and felt her reaching out. But I could not reciprocate. I had to let her go. I hardened my heart and distanced myself from her. She had to be physically removed from my company, and she resisted. She was fighting for what she knew best, and wanted most. She cried when she saw me and she cried when she saw her Grandma and Teta walk in the door; she knew they were there to take her “away.” She did not want to go, she did not want to play. But the one thing she wanted, she no longer could have. It was a sad time in the Mike household, but we all needed to make sacrifices. It was too bad that JR had to do it at such a young age.

And one day, it was over. Everything I had worked towards in the realm of breastfeeding came crashing down. All the research, the worries, the talks with the lactation consultants, the hours with the pump, the stash in the freezer, everything became a distant, a memory, an icon of another time and place.  My supply dried up, my breasts stopped aching, my pump was put away, and JR learned to live without. But my heart still hurts and my eyes still well up when I think back. We were not ready, it was not fair, and it should not have happened that way. I wish I could go back and undo it, redo it, or not have to do it, but I cannot. It was a tough lesson, but maybe it was for the best. It was crash course introducing me to the art of “letting go.” Maybe it is time I let go of that time.  Maybe it is time I threw out the last of those frozen compresses that, at the time of writing this, still calls my freezer “home.” I had been holding on to it for all this time, but maybe I should let go.

The Story: What happens next ~ Second D&C

I did not know what happened that day, but heard about it from Jeff and the doctor. A remote part of my brain remembers being in the recovery room once, then twice, but at the time I thought I was being delusional.  Apparently, I was not. I had been taken out of surgery and out of anesthesia only to be put back on both a short while later. I had continued to bleed profusely after my D&C and they did not know what the issue was. In fact, I had bled so much that I needed a blood transfusion, 2 units of someone else’s life serum has since been running in my veins.

When back under and in the operating room, the OB did not know firsthand what was causing the bleeding. His first thought was that he has ruptured my uterus my mistake, something that could easily happen during a D&C seeing how the operation is performed by feeling and not sight. To solve the mystery, my, until then, unmarked belly had to take a hit. I had been so proud of how well I had maintained my belly skin during my first full term pregnancy. I had taken special attention to butter it in the morning and oil it in the evening. My C-section scar had healed well and was covered with clothes, so I was not super conscious of it. And the times that I did think about it, all I had to do was reflect on what came out of it to make it fade in comparison. The scars left from the endoscope the OB had to insert through various points in my abdomen, however, did not leave a new baby in my arms. Although they did save my life, it is still difficult for me to look at them in the mirror without being overcome with sadness, regret and frustrations. Other people’s D&Cs leave their skins intact, why did I have to take this extra hit?

The scope was in, the monitors were on, and apparently there were a lot more doctors in the room than at the beginning of the day. Jeff recounts how my OB sought him out with fear, and worry, in his eyes; what news could the doctor possibly tell him when he himself did not know what was happening.  “We will take care of her,” was all he could say, “I called for backup.” And, Jeff was left in the waiting room again with his thoughts and fears, while I lay oblivious of everything around me.  When the word came back, we learned that I had had placenta accreta whereby the placenta had attached itself to the C-section scar and decided to cause damage to my uterus on its way out during the operation. The doctors did something or the other to take care of the situation and put a halt to the bleeding. To this day, I cannot recount exactly what they did, although I heard it so many times, all I know is somehow the blood flow came to an end and I was sent back to the recovery room. I think my brain just decided to cloud that information.

Once in the room that was to be my home for the next 48 hours, I was filled in on the details. I was put on pain medications, IV and a catheter. I had been under so much anesthesia that I had to wait hours before I could keep any food down and even longer before I got to seee Jannah-Rae again. Frankly, part of me did not want to see her, or rather did not want her to see me in that condition but she came anyway and I was thrilled about that. My friends came over, called and checked on me and I told the story over and over again and showed them the sketch the OB had penciled for Jeff and me when explaining to us what had happened; I still have that piece of paper.

Then I was given the blow. I was, in no uncertain terms, to stop nursing JR and to start using the stroller. I tried to protest, to voice my opinion, to hold my own, but I was outnumbered and outwitted. I was under too much stress, too many medications, too little strength to be able to take care of both her and myself. I had to make a choice and the choice to my husband, my OB, my friends and family was obvious: I had a responsibility to myself; JR would be fine weaned. But I wish it was that simple. I wish nursing was a one-way relationship and had only to do with weaning JR. I wish giving it up was easy. It was not, and still is not.