Story #81 - Lynne, Gatineau QC (CANADA) - Breech Baby, Cesarean Section, COVID, Breastfeeding Journey, Postpartum Depression & Expectations vs Reality
Photo sent by Lynne.
This is the first—and last—image taken with her two babies.
My midwives and I weren't sure of the baby's position in the womb. We did an ultrasound at 39 weeks and discovered she was breech. I cried so much. I'd gotten ready for delivering her naturally, so to think I would end up in the OR crushed me.
I was transferred to the hospital, and the OB advised against vaginal deliveries for breech babies. I wanted to try anyway, so we planned for it. There was a long list of things that needed to happen for me to even attempt it: labor would need to be spontaneous and active when I came in. I would need Pitocin and an epidural to avoid physiological pushes. I was okay with that.
But of course, life had other plans.
A couple of days before she arrived, I fell.
We called 911 and I went to the hospital. Thank god, the baby was fine, but it caused bleeding and latent (early) labor for two or three days. I couldn't sleep because of the contractions.
We eventually went in. It was two weeks after the full lock-down, and we were only allowed to go in once because of the hospital guidelines. We'd forgotten two bags in the car, and my partner wasn't authorized to leave to get them. So there was that: we had to do with a lot of missing items.
Between 1 and 9 pm, my labor progressed well. But it was not fast enough, and I never dilated until 10cm, so we had to put plan B in motion, which was the c-section.
Overall, it went "well," considering it's a major surgery. The staff respected my wish of not being tied to the table like Jesus on the cross, which I appreciated. When my daughter came out, I heard her cry a little, then a lot. I kept saying, "I can hear her! I can hear her!" She sounded like a baby calf. My partner was so excited. He told me, "She has so much hair!" but my eyes couldn't focus to see it. And then, my pressure dropped.
I missed the first moments of her life because of the nitrous oxide they had given me. I was incredibly nauseous. My partner left with her to begin skin to skin while they removed the placenta and sew me back up. I could hear them rip it off the uterus. I can still hear the sound of it. It was awful.
I was put into the recovery room for almost two hours and kept asking when I could see my child and partner. They wouldn't let me see them and kept telling me to rest, but I never fell asleep. I'd listen to all their requirements for me to be able to get out of there as fast as I could: move my toes, be able to sit, etc. I'd force myself to "perform" them to the staff so that I could see my kid.
They finally transferred me to the postpartum ward, and I was able to hold Éléonore for the first time.
Her first latch was terrible. I was groggy and in pain. To be honest, the first few weeks of breastfeeding were intense and horrible. I hit four major obstacles. I have inverted nipples, I hate having my breast grabbed by strangers, and my nipples are super sensitive. I was also terrified to hurt Éléonore. She looked so fragile I had the feeling I would break her like a porcelain doll.
It sucks because you truly need time and space to figure this whole breastfeeding thing, but it's almost impossible to do so at the hospital. There's always someone interrupting or grasping and tapping your flesh. They didn't have a lactation consultant and the nurse who “helped” me hand-express the colostrum caused bruises all over my breast.
They suggested a nipple shield but didn't have any on-site. They wouldn't allow my partner to go out and get one, so I was basically screwed. It made no sense.
The following day, I wanted to get up and was able to walk to go to the bathroom by myself. My partner would sleep on the reclining chair next to the bed and eat my food because he couldn't leave me to get his own and the hospital would only provide incomplete meals. Luckily, we'd sneaked food in the first and only bag we'd brought in, but they wouldn't allow us to put some of it into their refrigerator, so we lost a bunch of it.
The hardest and longest part was feeding her. They'd tell me I had to nurse her 8 to 12 times a day. They'd write everything on the board above the bed, so we tried to follow their chart. But I couldn't hand express the colostrum, and 24 hours after she was born, I had a mental break down at 4 am. I told them to take her away and give her formula. I was able to rest.
When I woke up, I realized they had put her back in the bassinet next to me. I felt incredibly lost, didn't know where I was.
They let us go after two days, which felt odd. My midwife came to us on day three and five, and I'm so grateful for it. It allowed me to start breastfeeding from scratch and trust my instinct. I began to be more confident in handling Éléonore.
We reviewed my hospital records together. My midwife told me that someone had written, "Mom is very emotional" Fuck them, seriously. Of course, I'm emotional. Do they take the time to understand the experience of having a c-section and then being stuck in a hospital during a pandemic with no support?
I had hoped to begin PT for my pelvic floor, knowing the first six weeks are critical. I can't walk or get up from a chair without pain. At the same time, I'm trying not to ask too much of my body.
I can't help but think that what I just said is contradictory.
We keep telling women to care for themselves, not do too much, but there's no support. I'm trying to be on top of the news regarding COVID and women's rights because we all know they tend to regress in times of crisis.
I want to make sure my story serves as a shield against losing our dignity and freedom as women.
I was kicked out of the hospital less than 48 hours after my c-section because of COVID. I get that I was able to pee on my own and walk, but no one made sure I was okay. The doctor ripped the bandage over my scar to check it, all while talking to me about contraceptive methods. It was ludicrous!
They also didn't tell us Éléonore was losing too much weight—I think that if they had, she wouldn't have passed the test and they would have had to keep us. They let us go without telling us why.
It sucks because no one takes the time to tell the new mom who just had a c-section how to truly heal from it. PT should be mandatory after birth. It's a major surgery with risks: possible abdominal hernia, scars that don't heal properly, and diastasis. I had to find out on my own that there were exercises I could do to recover and eventually make my life less painful.
Being home was such a game-changer. A friend of mine came and delivered a nipple shield. We weren't sure of the sizing, and La Leche League wasn't offering consultation. I found a lactation “godmother'“ with whom I could text, and that helped. Thank god, I had attended breastfeeding classes beforehand and also had my midwife for support. I constantly needed my partner to be close-by because I couldn't do most things by myself.
The first two weeks were rough, but we made it through. Éléonore got her birth-weight back, so it was incredibly reassuring. But she can't sleep anywhere else but on us, which means that I can't sleep.
I'm sure I went through a harsh case of baby-blues. My mom had to come at the beginning of the week because I had a mental break down. She lives far away and is over 60, so I had an ethical dilemma to ask her for help. We ultimately broke the lock-down rules, but it was a necessity. She didn't stop anywhere on the way here. Peed in the bushes on the side of the highway to make sure she wouldn't be in contact with anybody—what a world.
Before asking her to come, I called the Info-Social 811 [a telephone consultation service for psychosocial and non-urgent health issues]. The nurse was kind. She told me, "I cannot instruct you to break the government guidelines... but if you need help, ask for it." It was the best advice.
I had been put off work since February 2019. I was granted a leave of absence for psychological harassment at work, but it ended in September. By then, I was well into my second trimester, and finding a job was virtually impossible because I would have had to be put on maternity leave by March. Employers won't openly discriminate against a pregnant woman during interviews, but we all know what "not being a good fit for the organization" means.
Because of it all, I'm currently trying to keep myself in check. I'm vulnerable. Communicating with my partner without snapping is difficult. I was supposed to receive help from "Les Relevailles," an NGO that helps new mothers, but it's not happening because of the virus. Our family lives far away, so it's hard for them to support us.
We're taking it day by day. My partner has gone back to work, and although he’s teleworking, I often feel like I'm alone at home.
The other day, he went for a bike ride, and I felt quite resentful and jealous. It's difficult to accept that he can still ride, volunteer, and work, while I can barely shower once a day and brush my teeth.
Feeding is still an issue in the sense that I'm always on duty. I was reassured when my milk came in, and we had kept doing formula at night, but now I'm wondering if we should stop so my partner can sleep and work in the morning. I can't seem to trust my instincts.
Someone suggested we hire a babysitter, but I'm nervous. We found one who's a student, but she also works in a pharmacy, so I'm on the fence. At the same time, I could really use the help.
A lot of people brought us food after Éléonore was born, and it was nice to have people drop off dishes on our front porch. We would open the door and have an adult conversation 2 meters apart from each other. We also had an extended-family-zoom last Sunday. Last time everybody was together like that was for a funeral in 2013—some of the COVID silver linings.
I'm not sure what I expected.
I mostly feel like we are giving up on mothers and I'm apprehensive about what will happen to us after my 6-week appointment.
We still don't have a family doctor for our daughter. We can either wait in May [2020] for my own appointment and sneak her in or use the access gateway for orphan clients [AGOC is an online portal for patients who don't have an assigned family doctor.] Universal health care is excellent for many things, but not this. I used to work for the Public Health Department, and with nursing homes, this is the weak link of the system. Its management was already sickening before the COVID crisis, but now they've taken it to a whole new level.
When Éléonore was born four weeks ago, she was having neck problems. My chiro agreed to perform emergency appointments at home, so he'd come to our house with his table, gloves, and mask. She also had a dislocated hip, and my partner went with her to the hospital by himself because only one parent was allowed. We have to hold her a certain way no to make sure we're not making it worse.
A couple of days after her birth, my cat Duper died. She taught me what caring for another being was, and what it meant to learn to know someone with kindness. I couldn't be at the vet with her to share her last moments and I struggle with that a lot. COVID has impacted the end-of-life of many beings, not just humans.
But I like to think that her passing and my daughter's arrival collide. The world is in a constant transition: from birth to death, pregnant to postpartum…from fur mom to Éléonore's mother.
UPDATE 7.16.2020
Lynne sent me this message via email:
I truly felt the system had given up on us after Éléonore turned six weeks.
I had my six-week postpartum appointment with my midwife then returned home completely lost. I'd finally managed to wean her from infant formula, but she still didn't have a family doctor, and I felt her weight was off.
I tried, by all means, to have my own doctor call or see me, so I could try to convince him to take her as a patient, but he didn't. Instead, he prescribed a lactation medication without even talking to me. That was supposed to help my milk production, but it also happens to have a side-effect on the heart. Had I not researched it, the consequences could have been terrible.
Breastfeeding started to get better around week eight when she got angry at the breast, and I gradually gave up the nipple shield.
She was two months old when Quebec began its deconfinement. We met with a lactation consultant who detected a tongue, lip, and cheek ties that hand not been diagnosed by the pediatrician at the hospital or my midwife. We eventually proceeded with the surgery but had to cross over in Ontario to get it done in the private sector. Finally, she's gaining weight, and I can say that I have a big baby! I will also benefit from "Les Relevailles," more than three months after she was born.
I cannot take hormones while I breastfeed, and if I want a VBAC, I cannot get pregnant until Éléonore turns one year and a half. There are not many contraception methods I can use, so I reluctantly had a copper IUD inserted, since it was the most reliable and is good for ten years.
When Éléonore had just turned three months old, I finally received a call from the hospital to treat her plagiocephaly and torticollis, which she had had since birth... I could not have breastfed her from both breasts without the means or the contact of my chiro, who regularly came to treat her at home during confinement.
I was finally able to have a zoom appointment with my therapist, who diagnosed me with attention deficit and hyperactivity disorder. It finally gave me the necessary impetus to have an in-depth discussion with my partner about our well-being and our sharing of Éléonore's care and household chores.
This week, three and a half months after giving birth, I attended a social-distanced salsa-baby-wearing class outside. I had tears in my eyes to see so many moms together, finally feeling less alone and isolated.
Neither the monthly La Leche League meetings nor breastfeeding "halts" resumed, and I never met my breastfeeding "godmother" either.
This week, my PT told me I could run and jump again. My body is finally recovered from the c-section.
In short, anxiety, undiagnosed familial hypochondria (ha!), and the COVID-19 pandemic cause me to be very worried about Éléonore's health. Next problem to be solved: the redness on her buttcheeks! Other than that, she seems to be developing well.
The pandemic feels like it's never-ending and is compounded by climate change that has given us three heatwaves since May. I continue to learn about the latest scientific developments relating to COVID-19, and I am rather relieved to have given birth in ignorance...