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| One of my adorable milk recipients with my milk |
I hoped with my second baby, who would of course be
full-term, that I’d finally breastfeed her as I’d always imagined, snuggled
close in a soft rocking chair. The morning after I had my daughter 11 weeks
early, the lactation consultant wheeled the hospital-grade pump into the room.
The sight of it actually made me queasy.
For my daughter’s first few months, she tolerated breast milk,
but because she too was a 2.5-pound baby, I accumulated another enormous store
of milk in the freezer. Then, she started having digestive problems, and after
a series of diet changes, we had to eliminate breast milk from her diet
entirely.
I was crushed. I had failed to do so many things for my babies,
like carrying them full-term. The least I could do was provide some of their
food! My dreams of breastfeeding my daughter in an easy chair disintegrated. I
had no room left in the freezer for milk, I was simultaneously caring for a
5-pound preemie and a toddler, and being hooked up to a breast pump was making
life impossible. So I quit.
Just the sight of that deep freezer full of milk irritated
me. It was a reminder of yet another thing I couldn’t do.
After two months, I decided to be proactive. I found a
Facebook page for my area that connects donors with women needing breast milk.
I posted that I had thousands of ounces to share, and within hours, I had
fourteen requests. Fourteen! I sat at my computer and cried while reading each
mom’s request. Their words were so pure and raw. Some of the women had adopted
babies. Two had polycystic ovarian syndrome and produced very little milk. A
few women had preemies who desperately needed the immune support breast milk
provides. The most amazing story was of a woman who had adopted a special needs
baby born early and drug-addicted. At 13 months old, he was still unable to eat
any solid food. She had managed to sustain him on donated breast milk, and
without it, he faced having a tube inserted into his stomach for his feedings. We
met at a restaurant several hours from my house, and I was able to touch the
chubby cheeks of the little boy whom I fed for a week.
Seven times I met women in mall parking lots. I opened up a
cooler and removed bag after bag of frozen milk. My baby was in the NICU when I
was pumping that milk. I had sobbed while pumping that milk. I pumped that milk
in the dark of night when the house was sleeping. Now, it was going to baby
after baby, children I’ll never know.
The truth is that milk was not given freely. Had my daughter
been able to eat it, I wouldn’t have been so generous; I would have stockpiled
it for months, over-compensating for my perceived failures. But, what seemed
like another failure was actually a blessing in disguise. Those mothers gave
me, a stranger, a depth of love and gratefulness I’d never before experienced.
It was as if I had pulled a kidney from my body and handed it to them.
As I was emptying the deep freezer, I decided to reintroduce
breast milk to my daughter. I’m not even surprised any more at how this preemie
journey works. Of course, after I’d shared so much milk, my daughter tolerated
breast milk again. Knowing that, would I change what I did? I wouldn’t take
back a single ounce. My daughter will still have a small amount of milk until
she turns one.
As it turns out, donating breast milk was one of the most
magical of all the crazy experiences this journey has given me.
For more information on milk donation, please email me at
twotinybabies@gmail.com.
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