My Poisonous Milk

Well, I got what I asked for....powerful drugs. But, as with all things in life there are tradeoffs. In exchange for three not-so-small wonder pills I have to give up breastfeeding for three days. Not a bad deal one might say. Don't tell that to Ian.

I woke up this morning still feeling lousy and thoroughly irritated. This was more than just a run-of-the-mill sinus issue, for which I have a miracle cure. So, I called my trusty primary care physician who squeezed me in at 10:45. The very kind and young physician's assistant was willing to hand over some mild antibiotics, even though she was pretty sure it wasn't bacterial sinusitis. However, she thought she should confer with Dr. O'Donnell first. He came in, took one listen to my lungs and pronounced that there was no need to go further. You have a romb'something'itis...an infected mucus ball in the base of your right lung. Lovely. He then took a look at Ian and said, you don't happen to be breastfeeding are you? Oh yes, and I'm allergic to z-pacs, the miracle drug for pregnant and nursing moms. The ONLY drug in the world to which I am allergic. Well, the only choice is to take this power master drug. But, you can't come near your baby with your milk for fear he'll grow horns or something. What is a hard-core nursing mama like myself to do? Pump 'n dump, as we say in the "industry." This involves hooking myself up to a 10 pound motor (courtesy of my co-worker, Lanelle - bless her generosity, this pump has serviced many, many NCEE babies) every time Ian eats and letting it suck the milk out of me just like we do for bovine in the modern world. Lovely, again. I'm to do this every time Ian would normally eat in order to "trick" my body into continuing to produce milk during this break in service so that I can resume providing Ian with nature's best when my body has evicted the gnarly mucus ball. Oh, and I'm to dump the fruits of my labor down the drain, with gloves on. (I made that last part up.) To a breastfeeding mother the only really good reason to pump 'n dump is after you've had 2 1/2 bottles of wine (each) with a bunch of girlfriends on a Saturday night and you are sure that pure alcohol will spill from your boobs. Two bottles of wine and you're clear. No one in their right mind would hook themselves up to this machine unless the results were going into the freezer so that daddy could do a late night feeding (usually on that same night when you had 2 1/2 bottles of wine). Otherwise, dumping is worse than burning 20 dollar bills for the fun of it.

What does Ian think of this? Funny you should ask. Feeding #1 today brought on a full-fledged riot. First, I had to find myself some formula. Then I had to dig up a bottle. By now he's screaming at the top of his lungs. By the time I figured out how to mix it all up and get it to the right temperature social services was on their way. I finally managed to get a bottle in his mouth. No way, he said. What is this silicone thing? Haven't you heard of the leaching of dangerous chemicals from plastic? What are you trying to do to me? I eventually tried to enlist Graeme's help. You know things are bad when a 2 year old is needed for assistance. Graeme tried to give Ian the bottle, but Ian was too worked up for his liking. Eventually, after much soothing Ian succumbed to the bottle and finished it. Then it was time for the pumping. I put Ian in the bouncy seat and started the pumping production. I kid you not, Ian stared at me and just sobbed, with big fat watery tears streaming down his face. How could you? Those are mine. Is money that tight that you have to sell my food? I was equally upset.

Feeding #2 went a bit easier. Now, of course, I'm fearful that he's going to turn on me when I can resume the old fashioned feeding style on Thursday at precisely noon (24 hours after the last monster pill). In the midst of this hoopla to get my child fed and myself well I'm supposed to rest.