In January of 1995 I underwent a breast reduction surgery taking me from a DD down to a small B. My surgeon told me that he would make every effort to preserve nerves and tissues that would still enable me to breastfeed in the future, but that there was a possibility that I would not be able to nurse future babies. At 19 I was not thinking about the future and really didn’t think it was a big deal either way. I just wanted the reduction to look good, and it did.

When I had Jasper in 1999, I did produce milk. He was a very healthy baby and avid nurser. My nipples cracked and bled. I cried every time I tried to nurse him. I knew I had milk but had no idea how to nurse him. I was in the Navy living in IL and had not read any breastfeeding books and didn’t seek out resources to help. I figured it would come naturally. I blamed my surgery for changing the shape of my nipples, causing an unnatural latch and thus the pain. I gave up after about two weeks and encouragement from my husband (at the time) to just give him some of the formula the hospital had sent home with us. Watching him gulp down the formula I was sure I had been starving the poor little guy for several weeks.

In 2000 I was pregnant again with Julia. I had picked up a copy of Spiritual Midwifery and was now very interested in natural birth and childrearing. I wanted to try breastfeeding again. I regretted not trying harder with Jasper and visited a lactation consultant. She assured me that there was nothing wrong with my breasts. She said that there wasn’t any reason I couldn’t breastfeed Julia when she was born.

Julia was born early as a result of an induction because of a premature rupture of my membranes. I fed her breastmilk from a spoon for a few days because she was so sleepy. My lactation consultant visited me during labor and right afterwards as well, encouraging me to tell the hospital staff I would be using kangaroo care rather than letting them keep her in the nursey. Together we couldn’t get Julia to latch. I was scared of hurting her.

After about three days in the hospital, a pushy RN told me I needed to get Julia to latch or they were going to give her formula. I was upset and said I didn’t know what else to do. She grabbed my left breast in her hand and pushed the babies mouth wide, and shoved us together. Julia latched and that was that. I couldn’t believe it. I am thankful to her to this day for her help. So I was breastfeeding, but then within a few days I had sore and scabbed nipples again. I visited the lactation consultant yet again. She checked Julia’s latch etc. which was fine. I suffered through it for a few more weeks.

Then we got thrush (probably from the antibiotics given to me during my labor with Julia to combat the GBS that I most likely didn’t have). Scabbed nipples plus yeast! Ick. It was misery. Still I tried to stick with it, and around 6 weeks, Julia started crying with intensity every evening. She would cry and I would cry too. My husband gave her a bottle of formula (again, sent from the hospital). I felt like a lousy mother. Here I was, intersted in midwifery and homebirth and all of this natural stuff, and I couldn’t even figure out how to breastfeed without bawling every time I did it.

Several months later I was diagnosed with post partum depression. I started taking medication which helped tremendously but breastfeeding was finished. I continued my studies of midwifery as a hobby, but my own self doubt left me thinking that I might not make a very good midwife. I didn’t have faith in my own body. How could I realistically expect to identify with other women, and encourage them to have faith in theirs? I don’t think that every midwife has to have had a homebirth, or breastfed or even have given birth at all to be a good midwife. But for ME to be a good midwife, I felt I would need to experience all of those things for myself.

Emma came along just three months ago, in 2009. I took a different path with my pregnancy and birth this time. I hired a midwife. I forced my husband to watch The Business of Being Born. I took my prenatal care into my own hands, eating carefully and faithfully taking herbal supplements four times a day to prevent GBS and to strengthen my membranes to prevent the premature rupture I had experienced in two of my pregnancies. I meditated and talked to my unborn baby about how to be born. I read and re-read several great breastfeeding books.I read every article on kellymom.com. I also joined breastfeeding support forums on babycenter.com, which really showed me how incredibly commom sore and cracked nipples are and started thinking that maybe I was just one of those people, that for whatever reason, just get sore and cracked nipples. It didn’t mean I was doing anything wrong. It didn’t mean that I had a bad latch or that that I was holding the baby wrong. It didn’t mean that I was a bad mom who couldn’t figure out how to do something that society tells us should come naturally. It just meant that I get really sore from breastfeeding 20 hours a day, and that was it.

So when Emma was born, I stuck her on the boob and that is where she stayed. I cried, I broke down and sobbed as she nursed! I had prepared my husband for the things I would say. I told him that the word “formula” was NOT to be uttered around me. I nearly gave up. I got mastitis. I was miserable. I was raw and exhausted. A girlfriend came to visit and realized how much pain I was having, and the next day (Thanksgiving Day!) dropped off a coulple of silicone nipple shields. Sweet relief! Why had I never tried these before? The lactation consultants and books I had read said these were a big no-no. But I figured better use them, and at least try to see if they would help, than quit again. I had been afraid of using them, but they saved me. I used one on my sorest nipple for a few days, and then weaned myself down to a few times a day, then only at night…until I didn’t need them at all.

Now, thirteen weeks later, we are going strong and I can finally say that I LOVE breastfeeding. There isn’t anything wrong my body. It took me seventeen years to figure that out, but better late than never.

I continued to read about the importance of breastfeeding, I hired doulas who had breastfed (one who still was/is), I surrounded myself with the so-called “milk militia” because I knew that if ever I wanted to give up they would give me the push and the support I would need to persevere. Also, hanging out with them and their boobing kiddies helped me to normalise breastfeeding as the done thing, and not be afraid to do it in public myself.

I had planned to do baby-led attachment for our first feed, sit in our birth pool and wait for my bubba to instinctively guide herself to my breast and feed. Unfortunately this did not go to plan, mainly because our birth pool was luke warm when she was born and rapidly cooling, so we didn’t spend as much time relaxing in the pool together as I thought we would.

She made the funniest grunting noises as she lay on my chest and began searching for my nipple, but when she found it she didn’t latch on. She sniffed and licked, and just generally familiarised herself with my nipple, but didn’t feed. I knew it was important for her to feed in that first hour so I asked my doulas to help me get her to attach. First we got out of the cooling pool and sat on the couch together. My memory of that first feed is hazy, all I really remember was being amazed at the strange new sensation of someone sucking for their life on my breast and the intense contractions that sucking caused in my uterus before our placenta had been born.

For the first two days we were doing beautifully together. Our attachment was pretty much always good, and when it wasn’t I sure knew about it. I could easily tell the difference between “getting used to breastfeeding” discomfort and “not effing attached properly” pain!

My milk came in on day 2/3. I remember sitting on the toilet, leaning forward and covering the tiled floor in white liquid! Over night my breasts changed entirely, and everything my baby and I had learned together so far about feeding went out the window. It was a whole new boob game now.

My breasts had become hard, hot, heavy, enormous, and nipple-less. And my daughter’s tiny mouth could not contend with these new monsters.

My doula came to see how we were going on the afternoon of day 3. I hadn’t been able to feed my daughter for many hours and I was becoming more of an emotional wreck by the minute. My doula spent hours with us attempting to help us get her attached, and to express some milk so my breasts would soften and make it easier for bub to attach. We called the breastfeeding association and got some advice.

She said that by the sounds of it I was big breasted and flat nippled and all we needed was practice and patience. In the meantime she suggested we try using nipple shields, to give my daughter that little bit extra to be able to latch onto. But it was late and the shops had closed so we couldn’t get any.

Eventually we decided the best thing was for my lactating doula to feed my daughter. Although it broke my heart, I was relieved when my doula gave her the feed she needed

My doula and I spent hours attempting to correctly attach a pump to my breast, and we managed to express 40mls over that agonising period. Pumping is still to this day the most painful BFing experience I’ve ever had.

After spending most of her night helping us, our doula went home to her own family and then the hell really began.

That night my baby went for hours with no feed. She cried and when I would try to feed her she would become even more hysterical, screaming and red-faced, and it was hard not to take it personally as she calmed (and sometimes even slept!) on her father.

We spoon fed her the expressed breastmilk we had managed to get while our doula was visiting, but unfortunately we lost a lot of it thanks to the lid on the bottle not being screwed on properly. I watched it spill in slow motion thinking of the hours of pain it took to get that milk out “NOOOOOO!”

I was feeling like a fraud. I felt like I wasn’t really my daughter’s mother because I couldn’t feed her. I tried to be rational about the situation – it was early days, breastfeeding is a skill we have to learn, every individual baby and her mother have to work out their relationship for themselves and that takes time and practice. But thinking rationally didn’t change how devastated I felt. I couldn’t help but feel rejected by my daughter – she had after all happily fed from my doula even though it’s a skill she’s supposedly just learning! Well she mastered it at someone else’s breast!

It hurt so bad to hear her wailing and knowing what she needed but not being able to give it to her on account of my own inexperience. I felt overwhelmed, sad, and guilty. My partner & I took turns at pacing the hallway with a hungry baby in our arms Baby, Mama & Daddy all cried through these hopeless early hours of the morning.

In the morning my doula called to find out how we were going, and I couldn’t beleive it had been less than 12 hours since we’d seen her because I felt like I had lived and died a hundred times since then. I burst into tears. She told me she was worried because it had been a while since my baby had eaten, and the weather forecast promised a very hot day ahead. She said we had to get a lactation consultant’s (LC) hands on help immediately.

She also suggested walking into the local hospital in the hope of getting to see a helpful midwife or nurse. I could think of nothing more stressful than getting my distressed baby and I dressed for the outside world and catching the bus to the hospital. We hadn’t been outside yet, not even out to our own backyard.

I began ringing around to find out about local lactation services. The local hospital put me through to an answering machine message which informed me that their lactation consultancy service was for women who gave birth at that hospital and they are not open everyday! Fat lot of good that was! Then I looked up my local maternal child health care centre and called them, but there was no answer.

While I was rapidly reaching the end of my rope my partner had gone in search of nipple shields. He came home with them and we quickly put them on me and brought a hungry baby to the breast. Miraculously the plastic nipple slid into her little mouth and found its way to the back, to her soft palate! She latched onto me for the first time in 22 hours! And she sucked away furiously!

For the first time since her birth our tears were happy tears. My partner danced on the spot. Our baby’s tummy was filling with delicious booby juice! The worst was behind us.

For the next week my baby fed almost around the clock using nipple shields. I finally understood why all the books, websites and pamphlets I’d read while pregnant stressed that you should get comfortable before you start feeding – those little mother suckers can stay in one feeding position for hours!!!

I remember one of the first nights I was feeding my baby. I was tired and cranky and I really didn’t feel like being touched. I cried as I fed her because the last time I didn’t want to be touched but my breasts got touched anyway was when I was being abused I got over it by talking to my partner, and looking at my baby and thinking about my love for her and how good booby milk is for her. I reminded myself it wasn’t about exploitation with my baby, she needed me for her survival.

Sometimes she’d slip off, sometimes it would be a struggle to get the breast and shield into her mouth – she loved to try and cram her hands in there along with boob! And other times I’d struggle to get her on because she’d grab at my breasts with those little claws and then YEOW she’d dig her sharp nails into my nipple!

As great as it was being able to feed my baby it bugged me that I had to use the shields. I knew using shields longterm could cause problems with my milk supply as a result of the nipple stimulation sensations being dulled. So we arranged a home visit from a lactation consultant to help me learn how to attach my baby to my bare breast.

The LC was helpful with showing me and helping me get my bubba to attach, but I found that what little confidence I had built with breastfeeding was once again undermined as she spoke about weight gain, “dummy sucks”, comfort feeding, and baby sleeping at the breast. Her visit now had me paranoid that despite all the feeding my baby had been doing, and how well I thought we had been going, my baby still wasn’t getting enough milk.

I cried to my partner how simple it would be to switch to formula. He was fantastic. He held both of us when we cried. He reminded me that aside from the minutes when we’re trying to attach we had a very happy baby, and that she is clearly healthy. He reminded me of her frequent wet and dirty nappies, how alert she looks, and how she smiles in her sleep, clearly “dreaming of her mama’s life-giving boobas”. And he reminded me that we are learning together and making great progress every feed, even though it felt like teeny tiny steps. His calm reassurance reminded me that even if our daughter had been predominantly comfort sucking she was still clearly getting enough milk. And comfort is a valid need too!

I still wanted to stop using shields, but I decided to go easy on us. I wasn’t having any supply issues yet, so I took it one feed at a time. Sometimes she would manage to feed bare-breast, but most of the time she needed a shield. Over the passing weeks the ratio of shield to bare breast feeds changed, and eventually we only needed them for lie down feeds. And then one day when she was about eight or nine weeks old I realised that we hadn’t used them at all for a couple of days!

I didn’t realise how far we had come in a matter of weeks until one day I was walking around My partner’s office breastfeeding without a shield as I wandered. Those painful, tearful early days were a distant memory.

These days I not only do I acknowledge the existence of my breasts, I am proud of them. I look at my rapidly growing healthy baby, every podgy roll of skin is a tribute to my life-sustaining breasts

I no longer think of my breasts as belonging to my sexual abuser. I think of them as belonging to my baby and to me, they’re “ours”. I love the hormonal haze I get while breastfeeding, how sleepy it makes bub and I. I love the way we gaze into each other’s eyes dreamily as we breastfeed. Now my breasts make me think of my baby, not abuse.

The everyday realities of breastfeeding have made me get over my self-hatred. I’ve had to learn to handle them all the time and share them with a little person, and it has been immensely rewarding.

Sarah is the author of Ilithyia Inspired, an honest and thought-provoking blog about birth, breastfeeding and motherhood.

Update (Feb 2009): Sarah has created a beautiful montage of the first year of her breastfeeding journey. Enjoy!

After my son was born, a long, and exhausting spurious labour resulting in an epidural, and vacuum extraction I was exhausted but exhilarated. When they put him on my chest, our eyes locked and the connection was instant. The midwife immediately put Liam to my breast for a feed, in the lying down position (the only one I could muster the energy for!). That still seemed easy-it was later on that our problems began. I guess there were multiple factors why breastfeeding in the early weeks of Liam’s life was not the easy, innate experience I’d imagined-for either of us. My breasts were larger (DD cup), he was drowsy after the pethidine & epidural drugs I had had during labour, and attachment was not easy. He screamed and fussed and I despaired of ever getting him to attach. I felt fumbly, clumsy, and hopeless. Finally, a lactation consultant recommended the ‘football hold’ coupled with a triangular shaped pillow, which was the most successful position so far. The midwives helped me to express some EBM and spoon-fed him. I asked why we did not use a bottle for the EBM. While I was drastically opposed to formula, I did not understand about nipple confusion. The midwives explained the concept and were very supportive & helpful.

At home the attachment problems continued. Added to this, I had a hard-core case of the baby blues that eventually escalated into PND, little support and a baby that screamed for hours every day with colic. Breastfeeding continued to be difficult, but we persevered. I suffered thrush, sore nipples and engorgement. I made three trips to the breastfeeding clinic. Eventually after 3-4 weeks we began to get the hang of it a bit better, and the 2 hour feeding sessions (40 mins of screaming and crying trying to get him attached-and that was just me!! began to reduce in time and difficulty.

The next thing that happened was I contracted bad case of mastitis. I still remember going to a friend’s house for dinner when Liam was about 6 weeks old, and coming home afterwards literally frozen with cold (her house was not well heated and it was the middle of winter).My breasts were engorged and extremely painful. I got in the shower and tried to get warm. I got into bed with three doonas, and the heater on. Nothing worked-I literally shook with cold and my entire body ached. My breasts were blocked up and the baby screamed…and screamed. My mum came and took me to the doctor, who prescribed antibiotics and then mum took us home to her house, where I eventually recovered. I spoke to a breastfeeding counsellor or health nurse on the phone (I honestly cannot remember which it was!), who told me the best way to deal with mastitis was to express the milk away under a warm-hot shower. I was appalled at the idea of losing all that milk-but I did it, and it worked!

It was relatively smooth sailing for a while after that, but when Liam was around 6 months old, I began to experience terrible stabbing pain in my breast after each feed. I consulted my maternal and child health nurse and my GP-who both told me it was thrush. However, the cream wasn’t working and the symptoms were getting worse, so I rang my health nurse again, this time in tears because the pain was getting unbearable. She send a lactation consultant out to see me, and the LC took one look and told me it was ‘white spot’ – a condition where a blister is blocking up the milk duct and getting infected;the cure for which was to poke a sterilised needle into the blister to pop it! The LC suggested I do this myself. I was horrified, but did as she suggested, and (TMI warning) the blister popped with a gush of pus, milk and blood. Ewwww. It worked though! I was fine after that, save for maybe two subsequent white spot attacks, with I quickly nipped in the bid with the trusty needle method!

Around this time, I spoke to the midwife on the phone who was conducting the follow up interview on the breastfeeding study in which I had participated. She was impressed that I had continued with breastfeeding after the white spot incident. To be honest, I came close to quitting, especially when my mother suggested it might be time to stop if it was causing that much pain, but I was so glad I persevered. At this point, my PND was improving thanks to medical treatment and I was beginning to enjoy parenting a lot more. I was determined to get to 12 months of breastfeeding, and by now felt confident I would.

Around the time Liam was 8 months old, I got a computer and connected to the internet-a whole world of information was at my fingertips! Due to a rather negative experience with being sent to ‘sleep school’ and ultimately rejecting the notion of leaving my baby to cry himself to sleep-but feeling very isolated in my parenting, I discovered some websites about Attachment Parenting. I found this fit my own philosophies and beliefs perfectly, and I read up on all the aspects. One of which was extended breastfeeding and baby-led weaning. I was intrigued to discover some people continued to feed their babies well into toddler hood, and many for longer. This wasn’t entirely a foreign concept, having a friend who had fed her daughter until she was 2.5. At that time, I’d been shocked to learn she was still breastfeeding such a ‘big child’! Not because I thought, it was gross, or wrong or anything like that-simply because I didn’t know you could! I had been under the impression that lactation only lasted a certain amount of time, and most mothers’ milk dried up by the time babies were past 12 months! I laugh at that now, but it goes to show how little many people know about breastfeeding before they have children of their own. Anyway, I began to review my previous notion of breastfeeding to 12 months as a result of reading about the benefits, and so Liam’s first birthday came and went-and I continued to breastfeed. I should also say that he decided to wean himself from my right breast around the age of 11-12 months, and so was feeding solely on my left one. We continued to feed this way for another 3 and a half years!

Many people were shocked to hear I was still breastfeeding well into Liam’s second year. My mother expressed her reservations-however I printed off a few articles for her to read and she never said anything else again! She was if not a convert, at least accepting of why I believed so strongly in the benefits of extended or full term breastfeeding-both physical and emotional.

The challenges Liam and I faced as extended breast feeders after that were purely of the attitudinal variety-let’s face it, breastfeeding past the age of one is still considered an anomaly in our society, however it is slowly improving as people learn more about the benefits. However, I’ve had some ignorant comments, even from GPs, whose education seems to be remarkably basic where breastfeeding is concerned. My MCHN was stunned to hear I was still feeding when L was only 15 months old!! Liam ‘day weaned’ at around 2.5, which in a way was a relief as it meant people at kinder and other places didn’t actually know we were breastfeeding-unless I told them so. As much as I’d like to be a militant warrior about it, I’m usually non-confrontational, and most of all, did not want my child to experience the negativity of anyone making comments in his earshot. However it’s interesting that I did meet a few mums who also breastfed their children as toddlers-who might have never said anything if I hadn’t admitted’ that Liam was still breastfed. I also had plenty of like-minded friends through playgroups, the breastfeeding association and parenting sites and so we were mostly in an environment of support and encouragement where extended breastfeeding was concerned.

Liam breastfed twice a day-morning and night from the age of 2.5-4, and then after a bit of gentle persuasion reduced down to one feed a day at bedtime. Eventually it reduced to once every few days, and then one day he had his last feed. Neither of us knew it was the last one. I was more than ready to stop by then, and only continued as long as I did because Liam’s breast feeds helped my breasts to produce more milk. I needed to express for his baby sister, who was born with a cleft palate so was unable to breastfeed. Had it not been for that factor, I probably would have encouraged him to wean a bit earlier 3.5 four probably. However I am so glad his feeds were able to help both him wean gently and gradually, and his sister to get the precious milk she needed.

Breastfeeding is a wonderful thing. It can be hard, and in some cases impossible-but where possible, it should be celebrated, encouraged and supported. All women who want to breastfeed should be supported to do so, for as long as they and their baby decide is right for them. The relationship I had with my son was one of the loveliest things about parenting a young child, and I still remember fondly all the glowing, warm fuzzy oxytoxin enhanced moments we shared. Looking into his big brown eyes made all the early pain and sacrifice worthwhile