Confessions of a Mom who Didn’t Breastfeed

This is National Black Breastfeeding Week. And I have soo many emotions around breastfeeding. If you read our first post, you know this isn’t your typical birthing blog space. The essence of who we are is reflected in birthing and all of its pluralities. I didn’t fully realize this truth until I had to navigate my own challenging breastfeeding journey as a new mom, but also as someone facing an unexpected illness. I could not separate breastfeeding and what was happening in my child’s body from what was happening in my own body. 

For the first few months, I breastfed my daughter fiercely. Despite the initial concerns of my white attending nurse who first looked down and said, “Hm. I think you’re too heavy chested and the baby won’t be able to get a good latch. Let’s get a breast shield.” As she moved to get one, I began to try anyway and Anyah being the tenacious person that she is, latched on perfectly despite the nurse’s surprise. Breastfeeding was the one thing that still served as the connection between my body and hers. Still after six months, I decided to began the weaning process. I was never the mom who saw formula as some evil concoction to be avoided at all costs. From my research, I knew it was able to satisfy the needs of my child and I was ready to begin introducing rice cereal and purée foods. Although my supply decreased, it was always still there. I didn’t worry at first. I knew this was normal. But when my daughter turned one and I still could notice a supply, I thought to myself, “Hm.” When my daughter was one and a half and I was still producing milk, I knew something was indeed strange, but I didn’t think much of it. 

See, two years before my husband and I conceived Anyah, I began experiencing occasional nipple discharge. I was in grad school at the time, barely had enough money for health insurance yet alone medical emergencies. I casually walked into the campus health center and had a doctor who conducted his assessment and said, “It’s probably due to sexual activity.” Like many white physicians, he just put two and two together so that his answer remained deeply steeped in implicit, racial bias. Here’s a black woman who is experiencing milk-like discharge. For him, it must have been tied to promiscuity. I was young then, but not stupid and I knew my body. Something was off. After having to literally state multiple times that this could not be it, he finally said, “Ok. What do you eat?” I shared my diet, filled with all the grad school favs; potatoes, bread, rice, meat, etc. He decided that if I changed my diet, I’d probably see the nipple discharge go away, (cultural bias, again). Still after insisting he’d do more, he reluctantly wrote me a referral to do a mammogram. 

When I arrived at Duke Hospital for the mammogram, they said“You’re too young to do a full mammogram so we’ll use an ultrasound machine to check instead.” I obliged, being grateful I was even permitted to see this specialist. Nothing was found. I went on about my life assuming I’d have to just learn how to cope with it since apparently it wasn’t going away and like so many other black women, doctors didn’t believe me and didn’t care to find necessary answers that could’ve have dramatically reshaped my life over the next few years.

Fast forward to Anyah being well over one, I decided to go see an epidemiologist with another major healthcare system. I came in wiser, more prepared, and gave him the full timeline of events. He listened begrudgingly, clearly frustrated that I came in with a prepared speech. Eventually he said, well since you had an ultrasound already, I guess we’ll do an MRI. Chances are we’re gonna get the same results and find nothing there, but if that will help you feel better, we can do that.” And so we did. The MRI results were in. A week later, I was back there sitting in his office as he walked in with his face much paler, his voice much softer, almost apologetic for what he was about to share.

Much of it is a blur, and if it wasn’t for Andrew being there, I probably would have left too stunned to ask questions or understand what was going on. It was prolactinoma. In other words, they  found a tumor on my prolactin gland. Of course this is the gland that produces milk and why I had been experiencing all of this for the past three years. Because so much time had passed, it was at the size now where it was pressing on my optic nerves and could not be reduced with a pill, but rather required surgery. If it wasn’t for a praying family, therapy, and my faith, I’m not sure I would have been mentally prepared. But the surgery went well. The tumor was mostly removed, over 90%. As I talked to the neurosurgeon during the post-op visit, I asked about breastfeeding if I were ever to have another child. He suggested that I be very cautious since the next 5 years were most crucial. Any discharge could be a sign that the tumor was coming back. 

When Judah was born, I decided I would breastfeed anyway. It wasn’t until a few months later when I realized how anxious I would get each time Judah would latch that I finally confronted the trauma I recently went through. My breastfeeding would always be associated with disregarded illness, cultural and racial bias, doctors who don’t believe or respect my truth. It took me weaning Judah and introducing formula for me to finally confront my own trauma. I was no victim. But I was someone who learned to come to terms with my own strategies for coping, even if it means getting disapproving looks from others in the birth world who still insist breast is best.. 

In my doula work, I always encourage breast/chest feeding while also knowing that it is not an option everyone can so easily access. Breast milk is not “best” for everyone, especially if it leaves you debased by the emotional and physiological residual effects of trauma, stress, pain, etc. Studies in maternal mental health have shown that 80% of birthing persons experience postpartum blues, and 1 in 5 birthing persons will experience a PMAD (perinatal mood and anxiety disorder). This does not take into full account the way previous physical trauma may complicate and exasperate these experiences. When we think about breast/chest feeding, we also have to consider the thousands of parents who do not have that option, whether due to their own biological makeup, physical illness, past experiences of sexual trauma, and a myriad of other reasons. 

I’m thankful that today, 84% of birthing persons breast/chest feed. This is truly a testament to how far many in our own villages, as well as the CLC community have come in advocating and educating new families on its benefits. However, I would never trade my decisions to wean my children early. It was the best decision for my own wellness. The lesson I discovered in all of this points to the importance of acknowledging our truth. You won’t always be able to celebrate your truth. It sounds nice, but reality tells us otherwise. Sometimes your truth means confronting physical, emotional, and even biological pain and dis-ease. However, as you confront your truth and express your truth in the sight of those who disbelieve, you become free. The truth will not only set you free, but it will create freeing paths for your children as well.