Today Julie, yet another midwife, came and said that Dylan wasn't doing well, he seemed lethargic and "mewlish", she was right. As she looked him over a rash, which hadn't been there last night as I desperately tried to feed him, covered his tiny body, his cries like a little kitten, his eyes staring into nothingness.
Julie said it was the difference between "thriving or surviving". He was obviously getting something from me, but not enough. She gave me some powder to put on his rash and his belly button, which didn't look nice, all red and sore and advised me to give him a couple of formula feeds through the day to see if he picked up. If he didn't she would have to get us to go into the hospital - primarily to check that everything was okay.
The tears that followed her leaving were indescribable. Had my decision to bring him home early caused this downward slump? Was it my decision to breast feed, and breast feed only, that had lead to him "starving". Was I able to make any sensible decisions?
Here I was five days in with a baby who was only just surviving - even mothers in Africa with nothing seemed to be able to do what I was unable to do. The more I cried from guilt the harder it was to comfort the bundle that lay quiet in my arms, too hungry to cry. Mum and dad desperately tried to comfort us both. K finally got home to find me in tears, unable to do anything but cry, he put his arms around me and said it would be okay.
Through the day mum and I made up some bottles of formula and attempted to get Dylan to drink but he was either too tired or just not interested. It took me 40 mins to get 2 ounces inside him, all he seemed to want to do was sleep.
Somewhere in the back of my brain a little part of me cheered, at least it wasn't just my milk he was rejecting, at least it wasn't just me!!!
Julie returned about 5pm and we told her about his unenthusiastic feeding. Once again she looked him over, her professionalism judging me. The final outcome being that K and I headed off to the hospital.
Tears still poured and I felt nothing but guilt and remorse. K attempted to comfort me, holding my hand and drying my tears but nothing anyone could say would take away the fear that my decisions had brought my baby to this state.
The doctors did various tests - all of which came back with good results, he had lost weight, eight ounces, but the nurse who weighed him said that was normal. We sat around for a couple more hours waiting for a doctor, who eventually looked him over, said she couldn't see anything really wrong with him, (huge sighs of relief) and asked me to come back the following week just as a check up on his weight.
I asked if it was okay to continue breast feeding and was told that it was the best thing for him. That I should just top up with formula for the next couple of days, that I should be aware that breast feeding isn't an easy option, that we both have to get used to it, that we both have to learn. I asked if it was normal for women to struggle this much and the attending Dr laughed, she had attempted to breast feed for 8 weeks and had to give up, not all women can, some don't even try. She said I was doing all the right things and that I should just continue, but if I wasn't able to then I shouldn't beat myself up - her encouragement fortified me.
K, Dylan and I returned home somewhat relieved. As advised I fed Dylan - 20 minutes struggling for both of us, but he did seem to latch on and suckle for most of the time, I then topped him up with some formula.
I entered into this pregnancy with so many beliefs, things I would and would not do but even this early in and I'm being made to see that things will not be how I want them to be, things wont be like they are in the books, thing will be how Dylan wants them, we will do, together, what works!!!
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