Midwife knows best I was bullied by the ‘Breastapo’
Support at last for mothers who decide to bottle-feed their babies brings back harrowing memories for Judith Woods
It is hard to convey how I feel about the breast-versus-bottle debate without getting a little weepy at the memory of how badly I was treated by brainwashed midwives. Updated advice from the Royal College of Midwives (RCM) this week stresses that new mothers should be given appropriate support if they make an informed decision to bottle-feed, rather than being “shamed” into breastfeeding.
About time. In my case, instead of help, I was met with hostility. If you think that sounds melodramatic, read on. My second daughter, Tabitha, was born in 2008, three weeks early by emergency Caesarean after I developed gestational diabetes. She came out wide-eyed and crying but then fell into what can only be described as a state of unconsciousness. Despite the fact she wasn’t feeding, the midwives bossily insisted I take her home. I got the distinct impression their motivation was reallocating the bed rather than looking after me and my baby.
Over and above that, I was suffering badly from a series of botched epidurals during the initial attempt at an induced birth.
I received a dural puncture, which is where a needle pierces the membrane surrounding the fluid present in the spine and brain.
As the fluid drained from my head I was gripped by an unspeakable headache and could barely see or walk. I was prescribed caffeine tablets but there were none available, so the midwives gave me six strong cups of coffee every day.
It never occurred to them the adverse effect that might have on a newborn. My husband murmured the word “bottle” but was dismissed out of hand, breast (even a rocket-fuelled one) being incontrovertibly best.
As it was, the caffeine/decaf issue proved to be academic; although I was wired and jumpy, the baby was eerily still and unresponsive. Despite being half blind, I knew something major was wrong but the midwives started chivvying us out the door until a paediatrician suddenly arrived. She had been alerted by a kind midwife who had gone off duty with a lingering doubt and had – God bless her – telephoned the neo-natal department.
Tabitha was immediately admitted to the special care baby unit, where she lay plump and pink-cheeked but immobile. Brain scans and blood tests were carried out, which came back clear. But still she slumbered.
I pumped milk for her day and night on a hi-tech machine and the wonderful nurses spent hours feeding Tabitha my expressed milk from a bottle, one tiny drip at a time. Four or five days later she was returned to me on the ward, eyelids still shut, and I was instructed to continue feeding her by bottle until she “woke up”.
But the response from the midwives there was horrifying. Every time I asked for assistance, they point-blank refused to give it to me on the grounds that bottle feeding was bad, shameful and possibly a crime against humanity.
I requested a brush to wash out my bottle. “We don’t promote bottle feeding.” Can I have a label to put on my bottle, so I can keep it in the fridge? “We don’t promote bottle feeding.” My husband has brought me sterilised bottles and labels. May I have a pen to write on them, please? “We don’t promote bottle feeding.”
Are you aware that this is my breast milk and that I have been instructed to bottle feed my baby in order to keep her alive? “We don’t promote bottle feeding.” It was Kafkaesque. Again and again I reassured them (yes, I was the one with the poorly newborn and they were the ones who needed reassurance) that I knew breast was best in general, but as comatose babies can’t latch on, could they just make a temporary exception? No, they could not. It was genuinely difficult not to see them as adversaries.
I’m no shrinking violet normally but I felt helpless, tearful and at times overwhelmed. When staff glanced over and saw me sitting up in bed, forlornly holding a bottle to Tabitha’s mouth, their expressions were unequivocally disapproving.
The complete lack of common sense, initiative and just human empathy was staggering. Again and again they gently bullied me to go home. I had to summon all my strength to withstand their pressure. One midwife “assured” me that I could always take the baby to A&E if I was worried. I told her I was already worried enough and insisted on seeing a registrar, who could see I was frantic and agreed that if I felt that strongly about it, I should stay if I wanted to.
Presumably he wasn’t responsible for freeing up beds, but I took solace from his authority. Thank God my baby did eventually wake up, howling with hunger, one week to the day after she was born and latched on to the breast with astonishing, fabulous ferocity. I left shortly after, shaken and shocked by the whole ordeal.
That was a decade ago. but my sense of injustice remains, which is why I am delighted to hear mothers who bottle feed will no longer be treated like pariahs. But I worry that initiative and personalised care is in short supply on many a maternity ward. My fear is the message will become so skewed in the other direction that it could translate into the disastrous dogma: “We don’t promote breast feeding.”