By mid-morning of my daughter’s second day of life, I was miserable. I didn’t cry or shout or even yell at anything. But I sat there in my bed, staring at this little piece of perfection and felt like a total failure. Why couldn’t I get her to nurse? Two nurses had come by in the last twenty-four hours. Both tried to help me with her, both just kept assuring me to give her time and to keep trying.
I was miserable enough that their suggestions felt critical – not exactly something you want to hear when you’re as frustrated as I am. The bottle helped to get some food into her and helped her to rest. She was even more interested in rooting and trying to nurse when it came round for our next feeding.
That one took a lot of expressing too and she still wasn’t latching. Another shift, another nurse and this one suggested that I make her do the work – hunger is a great motivator. Okay, maybe it is – but my daughter was barely a day old – I really wasn’t going to make her STARVE to get fed.
My obstetrician came by to see me and give me one more check-up before signing my release orders. I think my misery was showing. She sat down on the edge of the bed and asked me what was wrong. I explained it to her and she grinned at me.
Grinned!
I was incensed. Before I could say anything she handed me a card for a lactation specialist. She told me to give her a call. The woman would pay a house call and help me evaluate my daughter’s ability to latch as well as provide me with some expert assistance in that area. I called her before we even left the hospital. We took some formula and a couple of bottles with us and I mix and matched expressing with some bottle feedings to get my daughter through the next night.
When the lactation specialist arrived promptly at nine the next morning – I was desperate.