I am an African American RN who became an IBCLC in 2013. I don’t have a story of seeing my mother breastfeed. She was the oldest girl in her family, so as she was having her children, her own mother was still raising young children of her own. She didn’t have the support that most mothers have. So when the nurse handed each on of us to her and she attempted to breastfeed, without their support, she quickly called for a bottle of formula. She recalled doing that with all four of us. I can assume, that I was likely the most difficult attempt, weighing in at 5lb 1oz 1 month premature. My mom was a brilliant woman who excelled at everything she touched. At least 400 of our family, friends and former students came to her homegoing celebration and commented countlessly how Mrs. Wiltz “was something else, strong, committed, fearless.” So why couldn’t she breastfeed. 

Fast forward, to my second oldest sister by 12 years who became a nurse. I watched her breastfeed my nephew. She seemed to do it flawlessly to my 14 year old self. I would not find out until I birthed my own children about the pain, breast engorgement and that she didn’t make it past  6-7 months. My 3rd oldest sister birthed a 36 weeker and fed her every 2 hours until she went back to work at 8 weeks. She couldn’t keep up with the pumping routine and gave up by 3 months. 

My story doesn’t end any differently. However, I had been a mother/baby nurse for at least 6 years and a lactation consultant for 1 year(I would sit for the IBCLC exam a month after I returned from maternity leave) prior to having my first child. I like to say I’m  not sure where the gift to support mothers breastfeeding came from. But deep down I know it is in my DNA. I have assisted a countless number of women of all races, religions and ethnicities reach their breastfeeding goals.

When I set out to nurse my first son, I was beaming with confidence. Partly, because of all the mothers who said to me as I helped them while I was pregnant that “I was going to be great at this.” He latched in flawlessly and had his first meal in the OR. Some back story, my mother who had been my biggest cheerleader, died when I was 3 months pregnant, so I too for others reasons than she, would not have a mothers support after having my child. I was also a single mother with a partly supportive partner. 

I had some pain in the hospital but we seemed to be getting the hang of it. I used a nipple shield off/on when the pain was too much and pumped only a handful of times. As, I had counseled others, I slept one block of 4 hours overnight and fed on demand or by 3 hours during the day. I should have noticed the fullness of breast as a warning sign each time I woke after the 4 hours, but I didn’t. Even his frequency increase of every 2 hours didn’t alarm me. I would feed him whenever he wanted. By the time we got to our 2 week visit he was 5 lbs under birthweight. The doctor was alarmed and quickly gave me samples of formula with instruction to feed him 3oz after I breastfed. I was in a fog. How could my baby be underweight. I quickly support from an IBCLC who did a pre/post feeding weight and he transferred only 1oz. She reiterated to feed him 3oz. I did this while pumping, managing high blood pressure and feet swelling all by myself. His weight improved but my pain came back and you know it ends we got further and further from my goal of 2 years exclusive breastfeeding. I only made it 2 weeks with another week of supplementing before I called it quits. As the depression set in I yearned for being able to take it all back and start over. 

My next son, was tongue tied and after two revisions and excruciating pain, tube feedings at the breast, a lactation consult and lots of tears. I pumped exclusively for only 3 weeks and then gave up. 

I sit here wondering, how could I help so many others and not even help myself. I know that I didn’t have the support that I myself have given my patients. But why is that? Now when I look at pictures of slaves breastfeeding another woman’s child, I too feel the sting of giving myself to others and having nothing in return. My hope is that sharing this story will enlighten you to the lingering effects of racism with regards to breastfeeding and how this still haunts many of the African American women that you will encounter. Know that it’s not as simple as making a choice to breastfeed. If the support from your family, community and peers is not there, their journey will be similar to mine. 

Blessings to you all

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