{Haven't read Part 1? Scroll down!}
Normally, I'm a suck-it-up-and-deal-with-it type of person. Post partum, I was a gushy I-will-cry-about-everything mess. Add in the stress of trying to figure out how to get my body lactating more, and you have a super teary combo.
I consulted the lactation specialist at Parker Adventist after the doctor advised me to give M formula. She told me to get a hospital-grade breast pump so that my body would have enough stimulation to produce breast milk, since M would not be suckling as much. She gave me two places where you could rent a pump, one being a Walgreens. If I had thought I was stressed out already, it gets worse.
I called the Walgreens and spoke to someone about renting a pump. I asked if I could have one put on hold for me, and was informed that was not necessary and to come in, they had them available.
Matt and I made the trip from the hospital to the Walgreens, and when I asked for a pump, I was informed that they no longer had any available and why didn't I have one put on hold?
The devil himself could've stood before me and said that and I would have ripped him to shreds.
To keep from having a complete breakdown immediately, I walked away from the pharmacy counter to try breathing exercises. The tears were already coming, I couldn't control that at all. But I was choking on a vicious urge to strangle the pharmacy tech and Matt had disappeared to the restroom while I went to the pharmacy, so I was momentarily on my own.
The poor girl who stopped and asked if she could help me didn't deserve what she got. I won't lie—I was a wretched, hormonal you-know-what and she got to hear about it all. I started out yelling and was a breathless, sobbing wreck by the time I stopped. Bless her heart, she offered to call other Walgreens to perhaps locate another one that rented pumps and really took my horrid behavior quite in stride. Because my lactation specialist had already informed me that this particular store was the only one to rent pumps, I knew her search would be fruitless, but she tried.
During that time, Matt had returned, found out what happened and was trying to calm me down. Not an easy task, when you consider the mess I was at that point. And the worst thing was, stress itself is a major factor in let-down while breastfeeding—I was only making my situation worse.
{I should also mention that another Walgreens employee noticed my train wreck and came over to offer help while the first girl was making calls. It did not play in her favor to ask why I hadn't had a pump put on hold. Cue another emotional breakdown.}
We left Walgreens with a promise that a manager would call, and we went back to the hospital. My lactation specialist was an angel during this time, a calm, caring woman who managed to get the hospital's one pump to me despite unfavorable circumstances. Now I had a breast pump, a lactation diet, aids to encourage M to suckle, and the words "don't stress out" in my head.
Did you know that babies will stop trying to suckle as hard once they've experienced the ease of bottle feeding? "Don't stress out" was like telling a bird not to fly.
I had all of these things (finally) and now, my baby was beginning to develop a dislike for trying to suckle at the breast! One of the aids was what is best described as an IV drip so that M would receive enough milk to encourage her to suck harder at the nipple. You put the premixed (read: more expensive) formula in a special bottle that feeds a tube, hang it on your bra or whatever is available, then manipulate the baby into taking in your nipple and the tube into her mouth just right.
Now, take your 3 a.m. feeding, add in additional aids to encourage baby (which means formula) and getting the little tube in her mouth, then finishing with pumping (in the middle of the night!) and I was not only stressed, I was mentally and emotionally exhausted.
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