Mastitis: Enemy of the Boob

I practically should have expected it. There were plenty of reasons for it to happen. There was a bleb, or milk blister, on Lefty's nipple (= susceptible to bacteria) ; I started battling a cold late last week (= depressed immunity); then M and I went out of town for a wedding last weekend, which involved lots of fun, late nights, and partying a little hard (= "run down"). Conditions - according to what I've read and been told since then - were pretty much ripe for what happened Tuesday of this week.

I went to bed feeling fine and normal Monday night, and woke up at 5:00 in the morning with excruciating pain in Lefty (a note to readers who haven't picked up on this before, but Lefty is by far the more successful sister as far as milk production). At first, I thought it was just engorgement, easily fixed by pumping since Fiona wasn't awake yet. Very quickly I realized there was a big problem. It was so painful to pump I was immediately nauseous. But I could feel the wedge-shaped clog on the top of the breast, and knew that not working it out could mean bad things. So I continued, not wanting to chance that things could get worse. Too late: they were already worse. The pain got so intense I started to feel faint, and I started to cry. Really, really hard.

I stopped, and heated up my little flax-pack, which I'd been using for the past several days before nursing to ease the pain of the bleb. It wasn't helping that morning, but I knew I had no choice. So I took it to the next level and got into a hot shower, bringing my trusty little manual pump with me, and kept trying. But it was an exercise in futility. Hardly anything was coming out, and I wanted to die the pain was so awful. Let's put it this way: I didn't cry out in pain while pushing out my nearly-9-pound daughter... but I couldn't stop crying during this.

By now, it was 6:00 and Fiona was awake. Having had a clog once before, I knew that she was the best person for the job of getting me unclogged. I figured it would be uncomfortable for sure. But I was determined to deal with this thing and get on with my day, and figured I was so used to her that maybe it would be better than the pump. I was horribly mistaken. Pain shot through me like a bullet and I wailed like a siren. This, naturally, scared the hell out of Fiona, and she, too, began to cry/nurse/cry/nurse. M says it sounded "like a torture chamber", Fiona and me both screaming and crying. She did work out the bulk of the clog, thankfully. But the pain persisted, and my plans for the day (namely, going to work) were were scrapped. There was no way I would be able to function in normal society like that.

My mother-in-law, who cares for Fiona when I'm at work anyway, was generous enough to come over as usual and allow me to be sick without having to take care of a baby at the same time. By this point, I was pretty sure the issue wasn't just a clog, but likely the more serious - and dreaded - mastitis. On my mother-in-law's (much appreciated) insistence, I called my OB's office to talk to a nurse. I didn't even make it past the receptionist: when she asked why I was calling, I said "extreme breast pain" and she said, "Well! You need to see a doctor. Come in at 1:45." Fastest appointment I ever made.

I pumped again, only because I absolutely had to, and then went to bed in the interim, miserable as hell. MIL woke me at 1:00, gave me some soup, and sent me off to the doctor. Predictably, mastitis was confirmed, and the doctor wrote me a script for antibiotics. My temperature there was only 99.2, but certainly explained why I was feeling woozy. I left the doctor's office, called my mom, and headed straight for the pharmacy to pick up the drugs. I was sitting in the parking lot, just saying goodbye to her when I heard the rushing wind and felt that all-over tingling you get right before you pass out. Before I could do that, though, I got the 15-second warning indicating that barf was imminent. So I did that instead, right out the side of my car door. Good times. I think the pharmacist must have known I was in a bad way because she gave me the briefest, most sympathetic look as she said, "Do you want to wait for it?" And I did.

The rest of the afternoon dissolves into a haze of fever, pain, and general misery. I woke up at one point with a temperature of 102 degrees, took some Tylenol, and went back to bed only to be awakened a few hours later sweating myself silly the way you do when a fever breaks. That cycle repeated itself twice more throughout the night and into the next morning.

I still felt pretty banged up by Wednesday morning, but my temperature was mostly back to normal, and I just wanted to start feeling normal again. So I went to work and sort of glazed my way through the day. By the end of the day, though, I was feeling considerably better, in spite of the fact that pumping was still pretty painful (and producing very disappointing amounts of milk). Since then, I've improved leaps and bounds, and was even able to nurse Fiona by Thursday morning. Not comfortably, but I did it. I think she's the only thing that will bring my dwindling supply back to its former glory. Lefty's nipple is still pretty touchy, but it's getting better all the time.

There are women out there who have gone through far worse episodes of mastitis than the bout I just experienced - and who have gone through it many times. I have to bow to these women, because to endure this kind of torture is nothing short of miraculous. I myself hope to never, EVER go through it again, but I know that having had it once makes me more susceptible to having it again. Still, I know what to watch for now, and with luck it won't kick my ass quite so hard if it does ever recur. Yeah, right.

Crying it Out

These are tough times.

I'm sitting in our living room, listening to the heart-wrenching sound of my daughter crying herself silly. It is nearly 10:00 - about 2 hours after her usual bedtime. Of course, her bedtime has slipped considerably in the past few days as she has decided that going to sleep is not really her thing, regardless of how exhausted she is. And she is definitely exhausted today, as she was yesterday, and as she was the day before.

Fiona used to be a champion sleeper. By the time I returned to work after my maternity leave, she was frequently sleeping through the night. And the nights she did wake up, it was to be fed just once, and I was happy to bring her to the big bed with me where she'd remain for the duration. Eventually she got to a point where she wasn't waking up hungry, and she slept all the way through almost every night. I counted myself among the lucky ones.

Then disaster struck - in the form of two top teeth - about six weeks ago. She was pretty uncomfortable with the new chompers breaking through. Then she got the mysterious itchy rash that forced us to stop solids for a bit. Taking the food she had grown accustomed to out of the picture messed with her hunger levels a little, so we were back to waking up for food in the wee hours.

After a couple of particularly rough nights a few weeks back, plus the fact that M's parents would be soon be taking her for an entire weekend while he and I were off for a wedding in New Hampshire, pushed us to what I called "Baby Sleep Bootcamp." I had planned to allow for lots of crying it out, difficult nights, and one really pissed off baby. Fortunately for all of us, Fiona did pretty well. She only hollered a little bit a couple times, and the few times she woke up in the wee hours, she put herself back to sleep after a little fake crying. All was well until this week. For whatever reason, the past 3 nights have been a nightmare again. Last night, I gave in when she woke up at 1:30 - only 2 hours after we'd managed to finally get her to sleep after much cajoling, rocking, and soothing - and I brought her to bed with me. Even then, she was not to be swayed, and she buffeted against me all night. I, too, am exhausted.

And now, as I have been writing, she has finally passed out. We went in three or four times during the howl-fest to reassure her that we were still around.But in between those visits, we let her scream it out. And lo and behold, it worked. Painfully, but here we are... and it is quiet. She fell asleep while sitting up, and slouched over her own lap. We gently put her into a position that would not cut off the blood supply to her legs, and she remained asleep. I am cautiously optimistic for now.

That said, I worry about of the sanity my generous in-laws will retain after this weekend when M and I leave Fiona in their care for two full nights. Let's face it: letting your baby scream with misery and exhaustion is not for wimps. Good thing they're not wimps. I'm a wimp. But then, I'm her mother.

Favorite Photo Fridays - May 2

It's time for another installment of Favorite Photo Fridays. Sorry for the delay. I know you've all been on pins and needles. Without further ado...


Does my kid have the most marble-blue eyes you've ever seen or what? This one was taken just last week as she stood in her crib. That's her new thing: standing in her crib, trying to make trouble.


This one was taken in early April at M's parents' house. Few people can make her smile and laugh as much as her Grampa can. Note the tiny pearly whites on the bottom

Thanks for joining for today's installment. More to come next week! Well, I hope so anyway.

Baby's First Doctor Visit

With the exception of the day after we brought her home from the hospital, Fiona never had any reason to go to the doctor except for her wellbaby visits where she got weighed, measured, poked and stuck with vaccines. Last week, however, I made the first phone call to the doctor's office in over 8 months.

A rash that had been quite minor and small when it appeared on her upper chest under her neck just before she turned 6 months had become much larger and very itchy to my little girl. She could barely keep her hands off it. Whenever we would take her top off, her hands would immediately latch on to her chest in a scratching frenzy. And let me tell you - this kid is strong. I don't know how she does it, being so small, but it took both my hands to pry her clenched fingers off her rash. It reminds me of trying to cut the cat's nails: Xena weighs all of 8 pounds, but she'll manage to wiggle her way out of M's super-strong-and-manly grip just to release a powerful stream of cat whiz on both of us before scampering under the bed (this actually happened just the other day).

Anyway, I digress. Fiona's rash was looking more irritated every day, and she was clearly getting itchier. So off to the doctor's office she went with her Nana late last week.

The verdict: Eczema. Nothing terribly serious, and not at all uncommon in babies. We got some recommendations - lukewarm, infrequent baths; Eucerin and Aquafor; 2.5% hydrocortisone cream for really itchy times; and starting from square one with solids. Boooooo. So much for slow weaning with the help of solids. I was really hoping to eliminate my worktime pumping sessions because good GOD am I done with the pumping. Besides that, Fiona really likes food. So it's a bummer to have to start her back at the beginning and move with the pace of a glacier again. Sorry, kid, no more sweet potatoes for you for a while.

We managed to get the rash under control very quickly. Within less than two days, it was nearly gone. She didn't have solids again until yesterday when we gave her some oatmeal (so much less disgusting than rice cereal). Bad news: that may have been the culprit. As of this morning, the rash was back and in multiple spots. Sigh. I don't know what this means other than that oatmeal is off the list for now. Maybe we really do have to resort to rice cereal. Sadly, she just doesn't really like rice cereal that much (I tried it - I don't like it either).

One interesting factoid that came out of the doctor visit... Fi got weighed and came in at 2 ounces LESS than she was at her 6 month appointment. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised - she's been moving around like a maniac, standing all the time and more trouble than a monkey in a banana shop (what?). Sweet - that buys us some more time to use all her "good to 25 pounds" baby gear!