

The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why. Mark Twain
As a first-time mother, I was determined to breastfeed my child until he was 2 years old, or when he was ready to wean off the breast. I made this conscious decision based on all the information and research that I had gathered throughout my pregnancy concerning the benefits of breastfeeding. However, this perception changed when the reality of nursing struck me hard within days of giving birth.
My son cried helplessly due to hunger and I couldn’t seem to produce any milk to meet his needs. I tried haplessly to get my nipple to his lips only for this to make him more exasperated. His cries during and after breastfeeding tore into my heart. I was failing him. I had no milk.
Based on my limited prior knowledge, I was doing the right procedure; skin-to-skin contact and positioning the baby properly for effective suckling, taking the breast to his mouth (instead of bringing his head to my breast), but he was not getting much out of the breast. Earlier, I had been informed that in the first few hours/days of breastfeeding only colostrum come through and it is the most important milk for a baby’s immunity. I painstakingly tried to pinch my nipple so that small droplets of milk could land on his tongue. This seemed to calm him down albeit for a second.
“Make sure the areola is in his mouth,” the midwife ordered. The midwives at the hospital in Nyeri, where I gave birth, were not very forthcoming with information, assistance, and encouragement on breastfeeding. Arguably, they (midwives) were too few on duty vis-à-vis the number of mothers and newborn babies under their supervision. My calls for help were often directed to a Kenya Ministry of Health poster hanging on the cold blue ward wall, with vague instructions on how to properly nurse and latch the baby.
“Which part is the areola?” I enquired rather sheepishly, baby brain in full effect. It’s not every day that the areola gets pointed out or given credit as a significant body part. It is there, visible to a woman every day but more aesthetically than functional, well, until one gives birth.“You mean to tell me that you don’t know which part of your breast is the areola!” she exclaimed, visibly irritated and impatient. “The areola is that big black area surrounding the nipple on your breast.” She remarked.
I looked at my areola. Sure I had seen it for as long as my breasts had started to grow out of my chest. I looked at my small fragile newborn baby, his mouth pouted in anticipation ready to suckle. My gaze flickered – unsure, blank, novice – back to the midwife who was expecting me to take her words as a cue to get my breastfeeding act right, immediately.
“You modern young mothers baffle me. In all my years as a midwife, I have never seen a generation as clueless as yours. Perhaps it is ‘The Facebook’. It has brainwashed you. You are too busy, staring at your phones, instead of giving your child the attention that he needs.” And with that remark, I was left to my own devices.
Never mind that I couldn’t find the correlation between my breastfeeding woes and ‘The Facebook.’ Perhaps she had seen too many of us new and ‘old’ mothers, camped up in the postnatal ward with our shrieking infants, and could not tell us apart. Furthermore, newborn babies look alike – like tired little old men and women. (No offense moms, I know we do not like to admit it, but truth be told, our little bundles of joy only begin to turn into cherubs after a few weeks/months post-birth.)
From then henceforth, my breasts became severely engorged and felt like overripe melon about to burst out of my chest. The nipples started to crack and bleed. My son became extra cranky, like a hungry drill sergeant he kept wailing around the clock, and could not latch properly. Despite my best efforts, he also began to lose weight. I could not shake off the feeling of being a failure.
I would break into a cold sweat whenever my little one pouted his mouth in anticipation of a feed. I would offer him my breast to which he would suck eagerly from the cracked nipples, thus causing me pain that would shoot throughout my entire body. The discomfort was unbearable. Nobody told me that a newborn baby has the appetite of 5 Bukusu men put together, and would need to feed 24/7.
Friends and family advised me to introduce him to formula milk so that I could save myself from the breastfeeding nightmare, and perhaps focus my energies and attention on bonding with the young earthling. They knew that breast was best but in this instance, they were willing to make concessions on my behalf. I was assured that formula feeding would not make me less of a mother (and indeed it doesn’t). However, I was determined to get past the agony and give my son the WHO-recommended six months of exclusive breastfeeding. If he would at least promise not to suck my soul through those cracked nipples.
This desire to keep breastfeeding despite the agony and low milk supply led me to seek out the counsel of fellow mothers. I joined several Facebook support groups, and there I sought advice on latching, expressing, and increasing milk flow. Many mothers were forthcoming with their experiences and opinions on what I should do to overcome the challenges that I was facing. Conversely, this only added more pressure to the stress and underachievement that I was already experiencing.
The mother should be seated or lying in a comfortable position to avoid hunching and hurting the back, shoulder, and neck muscles. Choose from either cradle hold, football hold (preferable if you have had a CS-section), or lying down breastfeeding positions (for the night or relaxed feeds). A friend later recommended that I seek the help of a professional lactation consultant. This was the first time I came across that term.
I never knew that breastfeeding challenges could lead one to seek professional help. I contacted Susan Kamengere-Muriithi, a Lactation Consultant and a Registered Nurse, working with Toto Touch. She is passionate about helping mothers and babies, and for that reason, she graciously drove from Nairobi at 4 am and was in Nyeri by 6 am. She taught me these tips on how to latch baby properly, breastfeed, proper management of cracked nipples, and overall techniques that helped me overcome the challenges of breastfeeding:
I believe that the services of a lactation consultant are invaluable. They made the rest of my breastfeeding experience blissful, even when I had to sit up for frenzied feeds in a sleep-deprived-vegetate state.
In retrospect, Kenyan hospitals should designate a lactation consultant to help navigate new mothers through the bewildering world of breastfeeding. I am of the impression that the midwives at my birthing hospital in Nyeri somehow expected me to have innate breastfeeding skills, even though this was my first child. Thus the lack of patience on their part. Lactation management and support services should be included in the maternity package (payable by NHIF or local insurance companies). Susan also recommends that all first-time mothers should seek the help of a lactation consultant or Breastfeeding Support Specialist as soon as they begin to experience trouble with breastfeeding. This would help a lot of mothers from the grief of poor breastfeeding techniques, underweight babies, and the pain-inducing-teeth gnashing mastitis that keeps mothers from further breastfeeding.
Editor’s Note: For more information and support Contact Lactation Consultants practicing privately in our MumsVillage InfoCentre.
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