Welcome to the 2014 Voices of PCOS blog series at The Infertility Voice, in honor of PCOS Awareness Month!
Seeking Redemption in My Body: Fertility and Breastfeeding Struggles with PCOS
By Erin Corbett
Editor’s Note: Please be aware this post discusses pregnancy and parenting.
I’ve always had an inkling that becoming pregnant might be difficult for me. My mom had struggled for years to have a baby and, although she never pursued treatment, my lack of siblings is proof that I was somewhat of a surprising anomaly.
I was put on birth control pills when I was 16 to control my stubborn acne, but nobody really explained why. I went through cycle after hormonally-induced cycle for the majority of my teens and twenties, and generally enjoyed the convenience of having a normal period. When I finally did get off of BCPs, it was due to a diagnosis of hypertension at the age of 24. My cycle became irregular and unpredictable, but my husband – ever the optimist – thought I would become pregnant as soon as we began TTC.
Fourteen months in – after a lengthy visit with a RE, an internal ultrasound of my ovaries, and a horribly painful HSG (seriously, how do they not knock you out for these?!) – I was given a diagnosis of PCOS and a prescription for Clomid. I was happy to have a diagnosis, but less than thrilled about what it meant for my long-term health: increased risk of diabetes, endometrial cancer, hypertension, high cholesterol, and heart attack.
My husband and I endured seven failed rounds of Clomid/Femara and two IUIs before we found ourselves in a situation we were both beginning to think wasn’t in the cards for us: I saw a second (faint; scarily faint) pink line on a HPT. A wave of relief washed over me – even if this didn’t result in my “take home” baby, I knew that it was possible to get pregnant.
Unfortunately, we learned at my six-week ultrasound that the pregnancy was not meant to be. It was assumed that I would miscarry, like so many women with PCOS do. When I began experiencing severe pain several days later, I was brought back in for another ultrasound and was hit with another blow: the pregnancy was ectopic, there was “cardiac activity,” and I would have to have surgery that day to prevent a ruptured tube.
After the ectopic pregnancy was removed, we were benched from trying for at least three months. As a self-proclaimed control-freak, I wanted to move straight to IVF as soon as possible. My husband advised that we take a mental and physical break from treatment though, so we put IVF plans on hold for a little while longer. We took a break. And I got pregnant.
I don’t necessarily love being “that person” that your well-meaning friend or aunt tells you about, but I’ll own the label because my infertility and subsequent successful pregnancy taught me an important, however clichéd, lesson: I cannot control everything in my life.
When I gave birth to my daughter (now five months old), the happiest and sweetest human being on the planet, it was due to circumstances that I again could not control. I was diagnosed with preeclampsia at 36w3d and was induced at 37 weeks. She was born healthy (thank goodness), but I struggled extensively with breastfeeding and experienced low milk supply that was surmised to be due to PCOS. My baby lost 14% of her birth weight and was re-admitted to the hospital at day 4 of life due to severe dehydration and jaundice.
While in the hospital with my daughter, I began pumping in order to try to get my milk to come in. After my struggle to conceive, I wanted to experience nursing. I wanted the redemption of nourishing my baby with my body. I wanted to have control again. I was pumping less than a measly ounce per session, and attempting to nurse my daughter as often as possible. After seeing my milk output, I was advised by a pediatrician to temporarily supplement with formula until my milk more thoroughly came in.
It never did though. I never became engorged, rarely leaked, never experienced the satisfaction of seeing my baby throw her head back in a milk-drunk stupor after nursing; probably because of my PCOS.
Now I only nurse for comfort after my daughter has had her fill of formula. She often becomes frustrated at the breast though, so I fear our nursing relationship is coming to an end sooner than I planned. I sometimes wonder why I didn’t throw in the towel earlier with breastfeeding and all of the accompanying tears, anxieties, and frustrations. I think it’s because I wanted to maintain some semblance of control over the situation.
I have experienced some redemption of faith in my body though. My body carried and nourished my baby girl for 37 weeks and delivered her into this world, safe and healthy. I know this isn’t the outcome for everyone, and I feel overwhelmed with gratitude every morning I see my daughter’s heart-melting smile. At the risk of sounding trite, I really would re-live the uncertainty and heartache of infertility if it meant the same outcome.
Erin Corbett is a photographer/photo retoucher and the proud mom to a five-month old baby girl (and two lazy fur babies.) She blogs about her family’s adventures at lifewithbusybee.com (don’t be afraid, she’ll probably approve your request to follow if you’re interested!)
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