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No Breastfeeding Zone

Updated: Feb 28, 2021


My journey with breastfeeding with my daughter 2 years ago still makes me emotional to think or talk about. I’ve kept much of it inside and it wasn’t until very recently when one of my best friends was going down a similar path, that I really opened to her about what my experience was like. As I scroll through social media, I constantly see women posting about this wonderful bonding experience with their baby and the many joys that breastfeeding brings them. Whether it’s influencers (I have a guilty pleasure of following former bachelor contestants!), mom pages, or people I know...I never see women (myself included) sharing the opposite.


As vulnerable as this forces me to be, I think it is time to break silence and for women to be honest with each other about all experiences with breastfeeding so we can be aware of the severe impacts it can have on one's emotional well being; whether that being positive or negative. I remember feeling isolated, alone, and like the worst mother in the entire world. As if being a new mom isn’t already hard enough!


13 days before my scheduled C-Section with baby #2 I am sitting here worrying about the nurses and lactation consultants asking me about breastfeeding. While my first birth experience was anything but positive, I am hopeful that this time will be better. Last January, I was the first woman in my family to become a previvor. Cancer previvors are individuals who have a predisposition to cancer but who haven't yet had the disease. In my case, I have the BRCA1 gene mutation and my risk for breast cancer was incredibly high. The best decision for my family was for me to undergo a preventative mastectomy and reconstruction surgery 10 months after having my baby. This time around, I am unable to breastfeed with my fake boobs. I share this with you because if my story can resonate with even one woman, then it’s worth sharing. With that being said, I dread having to share this over and over again with the nurses, doctors, and lactation consultants after I give birth. I do not want to feel the need to defend myself or my family’s decision for me to have the mastectomy. To be completely transparent, even if I hadn’t had the mastectomy I can’t imagine breastfeeding again (judgements not welcome, please!) Part of me feels a sense of relief that I don't even have the choice this time around.


Let me start at the beginning. Leading up to having my beautiful daughter Ava, breastfeeding was extremely important to me. I read the books, followed all the pages, talked to friends...there was nothing that could deter me from this “beautiful bonding experience” with my baby girl. I had always dreamed of being a mother and I truly believed that nursing my baby correlated with me being a great mom. After hours of labor, during the pushing stage my birth ended with an emergency C-Section. Ava was whisked away to the NICU and I laid on the OR table in disbelief. Not even being able to process that I didn’t get to see or hold my baby- all I could wonder was “Will I ever get to see or hold her? Is she going to be okay?” My whole world began to tilt and slide off of its foundation.


Later that night, I was rolled into the NICU on a stretcher and got to see the back of Ava’s head as she lay in an incubator with tubes hooked up to her. That night was brutal and while much of it was a blur, there are snippets I remember clearly.

  • I remember being in excruciating pain and having nurses and lactation consultants hooking me up to pumping machines. I couldn’t move and I could barely stay awake.

  • I remember when nothing was coming out, having different people squeeze my nipples and my husband trying to suck up the tiny bit of colostrum with a syringe (per my strict orders).

  • I remember calling the NICU every hour all night to check on Ava.


The next day, we had a repeat of the night before. I was in unbearable pain, hooked up to a catheter, bleeding a ton (yes, had all of the side effects of a vaginal birth). The breastfeeding clan continued to “support me” in my wishes of non-successful pumping, squeezing, and syringes.



Later that day, it was finally time to meet Ava! As I was wheeled down to the NICU the emotional excitement overrode all of the pain and trauma from the day before. Unbeknownst to me, seconds after Ava was placed in my arms my gown was unbuttoned and 3 nurses stood around us trying to get Ava to latch. I hadn’t had even 10 seconds to bond or hold my baby girl. Over 24 hours of waiting to meet her, I still didn’t have a grasp of what her face looked like. After what felt like eternity of being hassled and squeezed by all different hands, one of the nurses told me it wasn’t working and Ava really needed to eat. She got minimal colostrum from the night before and they had to give her formula already anyways (ouch).




The days following I wasn’t able to use the bathroom no matter what medications they gave me and the stitches on my incision began to tear open from the constipation. I would spend hours each day trying to get Ava to latch and placing demands on my husband to help. The doctors became concerned about my fixation on breastfeeding and lack of concern for my personal recovery. They also were alarmed to learn that…

  1. While breastfeeding I would have to forego all breast cancer screenings and surveillance for my BRCA1 gene mutation.

  2. My 34 year old cousin with BRCA1 had just been diagnosed with breast cancer while breastfeeding.

  3. I refused to take any medication for my anxiety (even if studies showed it was safe) because I was breastfeeding.


I truly didn’t care, nothing was going to stop me even if it meant risking my life.


When we got home I developed severe postpartum depression. While I do not think nursing was the cause of the PPD, it was definitely a contributing factor. It also interfered with my recovery of PPD. Ava cluster fed and I wasn’t producing enough milk. I was literally up the entire night, every night, trying to feed her. Because of the PPD I couldn’t eat and would throw up if I tried. It was hard to keep anything down, even water. As I continued to nurse, I was depleting myself and doing everything except focus on my health, both mental and physical. Again those days were a blur but there are clear moments of time that are still fresh in my mind…


  • I remember bursting into tears while nursing.

  • I remember dreading each feeding and disconnecting to try not to cry (literally the opposite of bonding).

  • I remember both of us getting so frustrated. Ava was starving, I was beyond exhausted.

  • I remember chaffed and bleeding nipples and the pain when Ava would finally latch.

  • I remember breastfeeding consuming my days and nights and overshadowing the joyful moments that I had always hoped for.

  • I remember hating breastfeeding, but feeling too ashamed to tell anyone. Even my husband and one of my best friends who was ironically also going through a similar experience with breastfeeding.

As the PPD got worse I would spend days in bed and questioned if I even wanted to live anymore. Again, per my demands my husband or mom brought Ava to me in my attempts to continue nursing while I was essentially close to my death bed. Surprise, surprise I soon landed myself in the ER.


I will never forget the moment in the ER when I asked the doctor if they had a pump I could use. My husband looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, “We love you. We need you. We need you to stop and get better.” While my heart broke and the mourning process of not being able to breastfeed began, I knew I had to do what was best for my family. As soon as we began exclusively formula feeding, I could solely focus on recovering from PPD so I could be the mom for Ava that I had always envisioned.


My experience with breastfeeding was traumatic. I was so angry with my body and the guilt was unfathomable. What I imagined would be a natural bonding experience, was in fact quite the opposite. Learning that what I envisioned would be "best" for my baby was making her frustrated and hungry weighed heavy on my heart and reiterated the dialogue in my head that I failed my daughter and wasn't a good mom. I understand this is just my journey and many women have very different and positive experiences with breastfeeding. Those are the beautiful stories we often hear about and that’s wonderful. Whether or not a woman has had a surgery preventing them from nursing, a past experience, or simply makes the personal choice not to breastfeed...I wish we lived in a society where we didn’t feel the need to defend our decisions (or in my case, not a decision at all) either way. So as I sit here making a sign to hang up at the hospital, I just want to remind you- you are not alone, don’t let yourself be isolated, and you are a great mother no matter how your baby is fed.









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