Tony --

        Your description of your work in pediatric cardiac critical care moved
me deeply. Exactly four weeks ago today my 18-year-old son Philip lay in
cardiac intensive care, recovering from surgery to replace the aortic
root and spare and repair the aortic valve, a very exacting procedure,
performed by only a few highly skilled cardiovascular surgeons. Philip
is young and strong; the surgery went well, and he spent only one night
in intensive care. But that one night was more than enough to convince
me that, if he had been my newborn, lost in all those tubes and wires,
surrounded by monitors and monster machines, breastfeeding or even
breast milk, though dear to my heart, would not have been uppermost in
my mind or in my priorities.

        That said, an incident occurred in that CICU cubicle which I think
Lactnetters might appreciate. Visitors were permitted only once every
hour, only for five minutes per visit, and only when the nurse summoned
us from the waiting room. On my last visit for the evening, the
nurse--CICU has one-to-one nursing--was joined by a second nurse. She
explained that she had come in early to brush up and be briefed because
this was her first shift after her maternity leave. She said she was
breastfeeding, and, of course, I asked if she had contacted La Leche
League, and told her I was a Leader. She immediately began asking
questions about storing her milk. The conversation progressed, and the
other nurse, herself a former breastfeeding mother, joined in.

        One thing led to another, and I pointed out that, Philip, supposedly
sedated and unaware but apparently recovering very nicely, had been
breastfed for fully two years, and this was undoubtedly the reason that
he was doing so well. Now Philip, in good teenage boy fashion, is always
embarrassed, or pretends to be, when his mother discusses breastfeeding,
at all, not to mention HIS breastfeeding. At this point Philip, our
supposedly sedated and unaware patient,  raised his hand, shook his
fingers, and commanded in a voice strong enough to be heard in the next
cubicle, "Go, Mum, go."

        We needed no further assurance that Philip was going to be just fine.

Donna Cookson Martin,
thankful for the wonderful medical staff at Toronto General Hospital,
but so glad to be back home with my convalescing son in Sedgewick, Alberta

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